A stoned cove, Bryn? Translated into Oz, that's a legless bloke, right?
Grecianurn- don't think we've properly met yet!! G'day!!!!!! * %
* (:sneaky: Always keep the chef on side, so you don't end up with a non-existent fly in yer surreal soup, like Nomad apparently didn't)
% - But then you've got to 588 posts, so either you talk more than er no names no packdrill, or I've been away with the piskies.. don't answer this!
Special poem for Grecianurn
THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Courtesy of Mr Keats
http://www.bartleby.com/101/625.html
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I like the idea of the Cornish pipes and timbrels and wild ecstasy. Goes well with cooking!!!