As One Gets Older, One

At Twelve Noon, The Natives Swoon And No Further Work Is Donebut Mad Dogs And Englishmen, Go Out In The Midday Sun.

Of Course, The Age-old Tradition That A Star Must Appear Even If He Or She Is Practically Dying Is An Excellent One, But It Can Be Carried Too Far. I One Played A Performance Of The Knight Of The Burning Pestle With A Temperature Of 103 And Gave Sixteen Members Of The Company Mumps, Thereby Closing The Play And Throwing Everybody Out Of Work. There May Be A Moral Lurking Somewhere In This, But I Cannot For The Life Of Me Discover What It Is.

We Have No Reliable Guarantee That The Afterlife Will Be Any Less Exasperating Than This One, Have We?

The Stately Homes Of England, How Beautiful They Stand, To Prove The Upper Classes, Have Still The Upper Hand.

Wouldn't It Be Dreadful To Live In A Country Where They Didn't Have Tea?