From The Centrifuge

Not an original GBD post, this one - more of a re-post really. In fact, this anonymous early Middle English love-poem pre-dates the internet by quite some way. However, it never ceases to make me smile, despite being sappy to the point of sickliness. Incidentally, replacing "Alysoun" with another girl's name is an easy win for a quick and enigmatic love poem! Enjoy. Bytuene Mersh ant Aueril, When spray biginneth to springe, The lutel foul hath hire wyl On hyre lud to synge. Ich libbe in loue-longinge For semlokest of alle thynge; He may me blisse bringe; Icham in hire baundoun. An hendy hap Ichabbe yhent; Ichot from heuene it is me sent; From alle wymmen mi loue is lent Ant lyht on Alysoun. On heu hire her is fayr ynoh, Hire browe broune, hire eghe blake; With lossum chere he on me loh, With middel smal ant wel ymake. Bote he me wolle to hire take Forte buen hire owen make, Longe to to lyuen Ichulle forsake, Ant feye fallen adoun. A

It’s Local Election Day in Cardiff, and on my way out with the dog, I am greeted by the smiling faces of the Liberal Democrats’ Plasnewydd Focus Team. I had naively believed that I might go one day without being harassed by the Liberal Democrats, but obviously today was not going to be that day. Nonetheless, it was the final straw for me and my paper-thin patience. A little history, and some contemporaneous comment, would be useful right about now I think. The Lib Dems have led the council in Cardiff since 2004. My sources in the Welsh Conservative Party have indicated that they are about to take a complete pasting in today’s local election, with Labour way out in front, likely to come close to the 50 members they had back in 1999. In my opinion, this is a justified spanking. And yet I am unable to justify this on a political level. According to some of the bombastic nonsense that comes through my door unbidden every single day of the week and often on weekends too,

I was excited to have remembered my own 4th wedding anniversary this past week, especially as I have a habit of forgetting such things (sorry mum). That said, I barely made it in time with a celebratory laurel tree, thanks to a very lovely lady at Covent Garden Flowers , for my gorgeous and under appreciated wife. She, on the other hand remembered well in advance and got me what she thought was the most appropriate gift imaginable.  At this point I should probably reference Wikipedia's anniversaries page , at which I found out that I was in the the correct customary area in my choice of gifts. Year 4 in the UK is traditionally fruit and flowers, and my laurel tree was in flower - see the handily appended table below. Year U.S. U.K. 1 st Paper 2 nd Cotton 3 rd Leather 4 th Linen, silk Fruit and flowers However, she on the other hand had missed her mark.  "One is paper," she said authoritatively, "whereas two is something like cloth, or crinoline, and

I noticed something today, something that I had previously ignored, on locking up my practical (in every sense except cost-effective) bicycle this morning in the bike shed provided by my place of work. When I entered the enclosure (see diagram 1 below), I realised that nearly every other bike hoop had been taken, so I started thinking about which space it would be most proper to appropriate for myself. Normally, at 8.15am this is a mere formality, as I park in a nearly empty bike shed at the far end, directly underneath the security camera. Today, I'd dropped off le petit monstre at his nursery (that is not an euphemism for anything before you begin) and so was a few minutes later than is usual, hence the rather replete shed.  What am I doing? I thought to myself, this is not a toilet, just take the first space available. Diagram 1. Our shed has a nifty half-pipe style roof.  Great for  nearly keeping the weather out, bad for  bashing  helmets there upon. That's when