Priests
The simple life of heroes, the twisted lives of saints,
They just confuse the sunny calendar with their red and golden paints.
Judy Collins album "Wildflowers" (1967) has some marvelous tracks - Sisters of Mercy, Both Sides Now, Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye - but this simple, eerie little song with its unadorned orchestration and Collins' voice in its clear, youthful purity, is surely something rare and wonderful.
8 comments:
Ahhh, sweet Judy Blue Eyes, mrs i. A very fine noise indeed, and very sixties.
yeah, deep man...
i'll have whatever len was smoking.
now, i don't know whether anyone here can confirm the veracity of this story, but on bbc radio 4's the world tonight, i just heard a lady political analyst tentatively suggest that mr wangcock may have to "fall on his sword"?
Fabulous, mr ultrapox, did the lady political analyst do it on purpose, I wonder? A sly dig? Quite apart from the fact that Cummings (do they choose these guys for their risible names?) is utterly vindicated in his assertions that Handcock is a serial liar: lied on television to the country, lied to the Cabinet, lied to his Prime Minister, and now stands revealed in his shameful lies to his wife, kids and his lover's husband. Quite apart from the fact that he has breached the requirements imposed on the rest of us to maintain a social distance - in my open-plan office, there is yellow police-tape laid across desks and in two-metre stripes across the floor to keep us apart, lest we should be inclined towards closer cooperation with colleagues. Quite apart from the stupidity of fouling his nest within sight of a camera - quite apart from all these indicators that the man is not intellectually, morally or emotionally fit for high office, and he broadcasts from his toilet and he cries on television. Quite apart from his sexual incontinence, which matters naught to his Prime Minister, being something of a pork swordsman himself, the question asks itself - what about all this nepotism in Whitehall? Isn't it time that all these tax-payer funded special adviser and go-fer posts are subject to the sort of rigorous, fair, recruitment process that most of the rest of us in the public sector have to negotiate in order to secure a job? Instead of Members of Parliament being able to appoint anyone they fancy. I understand Gina was an old chum of Matt's. Just saying.
As the old saying goes, Mrs I: "you can't make this shit up".
Almost as funny as some British ship trying to take on the might of Russia in the Black Sea. Don't they know that Britain would cease to exist in 5 minutes, if Russia so chose?
Mr ultrapox: it could have been worse. It could have been a male aide - a la Hague.
I say worse, but that's just me being an old judge-mentalist. Checking into the re-education camp, forthwith.
the wangsoc-scandal could certainly have proved worse - and may allegedly yet become so - however it is an interesting - and not necessarily academic - point which you raise, mr mike, for, circumstantial to this affair, there remain a couple of seriously pressing questions - the first being as to why the prime minister did not sack the corrupt bull-shitting bounder on-the-spot, and the second being as to why he did not boot out the blathering bonking-mad blaggard a year since.
indeed, could the answer to these niggling little queries perhaps lie in the possibility - no matter how limp - that "handy" matt, the cock of all trades, was busy nobbing the boss too?
i mean, is england socio-ethically - or even emotionally - ready for its greatest peace-time-leader to just desert his new missus and then shack up in a fully bi-sexual ménage à trois with his former cabinet-minister and that ministerial moron's mega-méchante mistress, i ask you?
more saliently, is ms dial-a-dingleblow squire wangcock's longtime cia-handler...?
now that, my dear old judge-mentalist, is the billion-dollar-question.
Really, mr ultrapox? Really?
I'd believe anything of these Tories and their SPADS - and the idea of the CIA infiltrating the Spad culture is just so shockingly delicious that we'd better assume it's true.
What does one have to do to be appointed a Spad? The apparent qualifications seem to be youth, beauty and willingness, whether male or female - but what's the job description and person specification actually require? And what's the application process? And where are the jobs advertised? And who sits on the recruitment panel? And what is it that they are specially advising about? How can they know anything at such a tender age? You'd expect a Spad to be an individual grown wise, grey and austere in office or academe, someone with a deep knowledge of politics, economics, philosophy, psychology, psephology, statistics, sociology - someone, in short who knows something and can therefore provide advice from a depth of wisdom and understanding of the world.
As it is, it appears to me that Spad is the new euphemism for sex worker, and so shall I use the word in my dialogues.
yes mrs ishmael, these evil jokers are, without exception, a publicly-funded portfolio of not-very-covert american intelligence-assets.
let's just start with top cia agent tony blair-raid and his chilly chambers-minder cherie, and then - not forgetting the prudent war-monger "crash" gordon and his psychiatric nurse sarah - move right along to boris "jig-a-jog" johnson and the empress concubine carrie, then professor "know-all" foggisum and mistress "sturmabteilung" staats, then matt "the twat" and his sultry oxford-soulmate ms calapedalo, then "hooligan" harry and meghan "the military-grade migraine", then prinz williwarmer and his personal uni-stalker kate, and of course last-but-not-least, sweaty prinz andy and "iffy" epstein - his royal blackmailer.
meanwhile, as a sunday-afternoon retirement-hobby, creepy count mandelspun is single-handedly masterminding the phantom-pandemic, the great reset, and the new normal all from the shadowy bolt-hole of his gothic garden-shed.
oh yes, it gets does get worse...
reportedly, matt and gina are making 'a go of it' - and so i suppose, in order to locate the randy runaway-couple, the tabloid-hacks will now simply have to follow the sound of frantically creaking bed-springs.
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