Well let's not get carried away here: you're still a crazy person. :-p
One of my favourite possessions is a book called Poetry Speaks. I'd lend it to you, but you're out of town. It comes with 3 CD's of great poets reading their own work, from a crackly old wax cylinder recording of Tennyson, through to more modern recordings of Parker and Plath. Many of the longer poems are incomplete in the recordings, but the experience of hearing them read their own work is still magical, imo. You'd love it, I think. :)
PM <3s Paula Bennett, scorns "that other lot".
I thought you might enjoy Larkin himself, reading his poem The Explosion: http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_8435000/8435768.stm
As for "disaster porn", Vonnegut insightfully quipped: "If you die horribly on television, you will not have died in vain. You will have entertained us". That sentiment may be too cynical for what has happened here, perhaps. I don't know. I do know that I have wept openly when viewing coverage of this awful tragedy. But reports of media vultures feeding on the raw grief of loved ones made me think of Vonnegut's pithy observation, nonetheless. Too much sensational voyeurism; not enough unsentimental empathy.
Nice radio show. Thank you. :)
Yeah, it'd be great if you could get away with succesfully saying, in an interview, "look, please giz the job, and I swear that after a month or two of earning some proper money, my fashion sense will improve markedly".
I’m only 4 minutes into it, and I dislike her intensely, already!
“If people choose not to work…” . Oh, fuck off back to the US, you shallow, thoughtless bint!
And of course, single parents have always been single parents...no one went on the benefit after having a couple of kids and finding themselves separated or divorced from those they had their children with, under the romantic notion that their relationship would never end. Good grief. Piss off.
Sally Jones: Amen!
Also, rich listers hogging teh welfare: http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10690977
Make that 12 weeks in the winter, with a vehicle that has just failed it's warrant and needs re-registering, an outstanding doctor's bill to pay 'cos your child had tummy bug, and a freakin' washing machine that's just clapped out on you again.
Actually, make that 24 weeks, because you missed out on that sales/retail/whatever job you went for, just because you needed a blimmin' haircut to look 'professional'.
12 weeks in the winter.
That was an excellent read! I feels it.
Garth McVicar is a <insert your own angry swear words here>