Saturday; Satire; My stinging pen.

The Observer;

Many countries in Europe are in the dregs thanks to the wonderful world of banks and Euro thugs living on high heels and powdered wigs on Government's purse in the beautiful city  of  Strasburg or whatever first class ticket they are riding on.

Spain is one of the countries with high unemployment and a dire outlook on prosperity for the people.  While they are sitting idle and supping on a plate of watery soup, they are still supporting a bunch of free wheelers in the palace.

The idea is to auction the “Royalty” off on ebay as they are the property of the Spanish people. Unfortunately they have no merits and no skills apart from spending money from the public purse, so this will be not easy.   It will be a snag to sell those  royal puppets on a string because nobody wants them!

Any idea to prop them up for a quick and easy sale,  would be appreciated, but please do not suggest a new outfit from Dior, that just won’t do.

©Ts

Wednesday; old...ish

Tune your brain and muscles everyday!

The Seven Ages of Man;   (As you like it) William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players,

They have their exits and entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school.

 And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth.

 And then the justice

In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws, and modern instances,

And so he plays his part. 

The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,

His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,

For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,

Turning again towards childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound.

 Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.; 

  (As you like it) William Shakespeare

 If you can cope with this you coped with anything!

©Ts

Tuesday; seasons;

There is no season more beautiful then the next one...

© Ts

Monday; every...

Every living thing needs a little kindness;

©Ts