Left Bank, Right Bank, Bottle Bank

The Old Socialists’ Drinking Society
The Old Socialists’ Drinking Society
Is called to order tonight.
They have convened to battle sobriety
And, nearly as bad, the Right.

They don’t know the words
To the Internationale,
Their red flags no longer fly high.
The bookshelves that line
The old Hampstead parlour
Groan not with Engels, but Fry.

‘Moab Is My Washpot’.
Saddam was no despot.
(Isn’t it a shame what happened to Hitch?)
Who would you rather,
Chavez or Carter?
Don’t start me on Rand, the frigid old bitch.

The Old Socialists’ Drinking Society
Melts into the North London night.
Next week they’ll convene to battle sobriety,
And, nearly as bad, the Right.


‘Some people’s blameless lives are to blame for a good deal.’ – Dorothy L. Sayers, Gaudy Night


Don’t Forget To Be Happy

Recall Now The Roses
There will be a time to cry.
There will be a time to remember that you’re the only one
Who went home alone.
There will be a time to go twelve rounds with yourself
And lose on points.
There will be a time to second-guess every glance,
Every laugh, every conversation and every half-heard whisper.
There will be a time to call yourself a cunt.

But in this place
Of vast, terrifying beauty that seems
To us more-or-less intelligent primates
The last word in permanence but
Has only been for a few blinks
Of the great geologic eye;

And under these stars
Shining their impossibly ancient light,
Light that was born before the first
Rocks of Earth collided and now
Rests orphaned in your tear-damp eyes;

And with these people
Who, despite their happy, normal, love-filled lives
Can still find the time
To remind you that their world at least
Would be the poorer for your absence;

In this place,
Under these stars,
With these people;
This is a time to hold on tight to
And say,
“I am happy. And that’s okay.”


No quote this time, Buzzfeed already said it all (or rather collated it all):

Okay fine, here’s your quote, with a pretty picture to boot: