Pandora's New Box
Well…it’s back to the grind of keeping you ungrateful fuckers amused, I suppose…
They arrange these things better in Morocco. As a descendant of a pal of the Prophet (May God Grant His Luggage Not Be Searched), I was treated with entirely appropriate consideration: Yes, Effendi; No, Effendi; Your wish is my command, Effendi; the King wonders if you might spare him a moment, Effendi…
But it’s back to dealing with riff-raff, who don’t appreciate these important distinctions. Oh, well…my shoulders are broad. My patience is legendary. You’ll miss me when I’m dead (not that I believe I’m going to die: dying is too, too vulgar, my dear. I leave that sort of thing to the likes of Mowbray. In fact, I might even help speed him along to his just reward, i.e. decaying in a hole in the ground).
In the mean time, in between time, ain’t we got…erm, Terza Rima, actually…
Let’s have terza rima on what the future may hold.
Give me time to unpack, settle in and get half a bottle of Calvados down my neck and I’ll do a terza rima myself…
Noone has ever found a way of avoiding history it is upon us and around us all. The only thing when you look at the cuning vilaninous faces in our class you wonder if history may not soon be worse than ever.
–Nigel Molesworth in Down With Skool by Geoffrey Willans and Ronald Searle (1958)
Worse Than Ever
The past’s a mess, an awful crime
But wait until tomorrow comes:
You’ll beg to travel back in time.
The future’s clumsy, it’s all thumbs
The cards it deals are often crap
And lead to losing tidy sums.
The future is a kind of trap
You’ll gnaw your leg off when you’re caught
And be tomorrow’s gimpy sap.
It’s coming sooner than you thought:
The past’s long gone, today’s too short.