August’s tweets from London’s Singing Organ-Grinder
Bit late. Twitter trouble. Apologies for any distress caused. Money-back guarantee applies.
Great tunes, great doggerel, small simians
Bit late. Twitter trouble. Apologies for any distress caused. Money-back guarantee applies.
William, patron saint of hatters and well-hatted bohemians? Photographs of the crowd at the Blake Society’s unveiling of a new memorial on Bunhill Fields.
A self-guided walk from Ciampino Airport to Rome along the Appian Way.
Lionel Richie opens a butchery in Bradford, while Frank Sinatra with the Count Basie Orchestra refuse to sell a raspberry ripple to the Archbishop of Canterbury in Jerusalem. With a generational categorisation of Millennials.
If tears could build a stairway / And memories a lane, / We’d walk right up to heaven / And bring you home again.
Yet another Anglophile.
“‘Tis glorious misery to be born a man,” generally taken to refer to a hen-pecked husband, is in fact a misquotation of verse by the 17th century Romford and London poet, Francis Quarles, dealing with human mortality.
Russophone Kazakh rapper tramples the identitarian jungle in praise of his idols. With William Blake, and Guf and his granny.
It takes its tune and several lines from a 1960s song evoking the Siege of Leningrad and a verse and style from Liverpool fans’ 1979 performance against Dinamo Tbilisi of You’ll Never Walk Alone.