sethoflagos

Just not something England would do, even if they disagreed with the decision. Wouldn't want to be accused of bad sportsmanship. The principled action for the US team would be to not field Balogun for tonight's game. But there's fat chance of that happening is there.

Point taken. But unlike Brazil, the England players know Haaland very well - keeping him quiet has become an essential part of the Premiership toolkit. A can you see a viking goal coming from anyone else?

Puh-lease! We're trying to discuss some serious science stuff here!

They'll beat Norway but lose to both Argentina and Spain. You expecting ICE to detain half the Belgian squad?

Personally, I'm happy to see our diaspora Lagos boy get a second chance - the sending off was on the harsh side. Ironic that his qualification to play for the US in the current climate is down to an airline refusing his heavily pregnant mother to board her return flight to London following a brief visit to New York. No harm in having the corrupt nature of US immigration policy highlighted for all to see. Besides which, in order to reach the final, the US have to get past Belgium, Spain, and France. Good luck with that! And if he beats all those odds, he'll either get to face England, the team he would have played for if he'd been good enough, or a team good enough to beat England. ...so give the US team the benefit of the doubt in all marginal decisions, and leave the US administration without a shred of an excuse when they bear the humiliation of an inevitable defeat.

... and definitely not confined to the Paridae (tit family) either. See "Cloaca Pecking Foreplay in Dunnock Courtship" for similar 'shenanigans' in genus Prunella. Incidentally, for those unfamiliar with this particular LBJ, dunnock derives from the Old English for 'little brown bird'. Hence, it is the archetypal 'Little Brown Job'.

The 'true' (translated!?) text is:

Do we have an attribution glitch in the works?

Some think this a 'bad' poem:

Why are these not simply examples of psychological manipulation? - the often willful means of reducing the critical thinking capabilities of the audience to the point that they will accept dodgy assertions as "true"/"factual" when they are not so. Reminds me of that old chestnut of Kierkegaard's: (paraphrasing) "If ten thousand people assemble and say the same thing; they're wrong even when they're right". Simple belief does not establish actual "truth"/"fact" for anyone. The claim to "truth" under such conditions merely demonstrates conviction, not veracity.

Whereas Haver & Boecker Niagara suggest the preformed liner version is "easy to cut and install". Wonder if we'll ever get to see a proper independent fault analysis.

Some staff at my school were leading lights in York Amateur Operatic Society, so I got regular paying gigs as trumpet in the pit orchestra. Learnt Mikado, Pinafore, Pirates, Iolanthe, Gondoliers, and Yeomen pretty much back to front. Nice little earner at the time - half Musician's Union rate for a pre-teen!

Mikado version

Emily finds British legislation confusing: Wales Act on sin on a canon is not case law

Slough by John Betjeman (1906 - 1984) John Betjeman published his poem about Slough in 1937 in the collected works Continual Dew. Slough was becoming increasingly industrial and some housing conditions were very cramped. He came to regret his musings on the destruction of the town when they were partly realised shortly afterwards in WWII bombing raids. Not exactly 'bad poetry' but maybe somehow inappropriate under the circumstances. Slough Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough! It isn't fit for humans now, There isn't grass to graze a cow. Swarm over, Death! Come, bombs and blow to smithereens Those air-conditioned, bright canteens, Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans, Tinned minds, tinned breath. Mess up the mess they call a town A house for ninety-seven down And once a week a half a crown For twenty years. And get that man with double chin Who'll always cheat and always win, Who washes his repulsive skin In women's tears: And smash his desk of polished oak And smash his hands so used to stroke And stop his boring dirty joke And make him yell. But spare the bald young clerks who add The profits of the stinking cad; It's not their fault that they are mad, They've tasted Hell. It's not their fault they do not know The birdsong from the radio, It's not their fault they often go To Maidenhead And talk of sport and makes of cars In various bogus-Tudor bars And daren't look up and see the stars But belch instead. In labour-saving homes, with care Their wives frizz out peroxide hair And dry it in synthetic air And paint their nails. Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough To get it ready for the plough. The cabbages are coming now; The earth exhales.