busker

Tara'd and Feathered

As Plautus would have had it, Fac me cocleario vomere!, or "Gag me with a spoon!" (I know it reads more like "F*** me, as soon as my head clears, I'm going to vomit").

Up betimes of a Saturday morning, on with the kippers and toast n marmalade, and check the old email for maternal beratings:

"Your brother sent me the most lovely jpegs of Tiffany and Samantha; all I get from you is 'Everything cool here, mater. More news anon.'

Darling, I know one has to fit in with the natives, but you *have* become terribly 'American'. And how longactually _is_ an 'anon' - surely not 20 years and a marriage? Do write. I don't mean to hint, but I'm seeing Costas this afternoon about my Will and I'm seriously thinking of achieving more of a balance between the spaniels and you. Bainbridge sounds divinely cosy but haven't they discovered the telephone yet?"

Tiens! What do I see but a succinct message from one of my Goddesses of the e-firmament, the sainted Tara Calishain - and could there be a more divine name?

("Lord Hartlepool, before we get down to business, may I introduce my consultant, Tara Calishain?" "By Jove, a man of action, I see. Charmed, m'dear".)

Ouch - la TC has clearly tracked down one of my breathless recommendations. Scary. Quoth the Regina of Research:

"But I don't think it's that popular. I always thought it was a bit on the obscure side.

Have a good weekend, Tara"