A visit from the doctor - Dr. William Dembskijones.

Beneath the sheets of Cnwch-y-craig, above the mattress of Llangoedmawr, west of the stain of Bryn-y-mynach, the Discovering Institute lies continually, and therefrom today we reap a very special and important thinker-harvest - the pioneer scout ranger master debater of the local no-IDer movement, extinguished feelogian and mathemagician, Dr. William Dembskijones. Dr. William Dembskijones began life as a fully-formed adult. One thing he certainly did not do is grow gradually from less complex beginnings. He struggled for quite a while to get a job at our very own Glanwern college, being rejected at first, but in the end after years of trying, he finally failed. However, like a catbutnotliketoast he certainly somehow landed the right way up on his feet and smelling of rosehips and now drives a P reg Ford Escort Ghia Deluxe Sedan. Where did I go wrong?

Now today is even the more exciting for the introduction of our new interactive electric text phone live debate chat feature. Listeners and readers alike will be enabled to - if Sioned has it right - submit their own questions to Dr. Dembskijones from their MPpodplayers. This is a first for Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun, and almost certainly a last too as Glenys the baps says the text-mast makes her children eat cheese erratically, and she wields a certain influence over Councillor Phillips. What's that Sioned? Two influences? Beth? Never mind....

REJ:- Dr. Dembskijones! A very warm Llanfihangel-y-creuddun croeso to you indeed!

WD:- Thankyou very much.

REJ:- Now Dr. Dembskijones - before we go to the text lines - could you just quickly explain to us what exactly a mathemagician is?

WD:- Certainly Richard. A mathemagician is an expert in a very special variant of the discipline known as mathematics. I like to call what I do Mathemagics -

REJ:- Mathemagics?

WD:- Yes Mathemagics. Don't be embarassed - I often have to explain. Basically Mathemagics is mathematics that noone else can follow, that noone else can see -

REJ:- You mean like invisible?

WD:- Yes! That's it! Oh you're much quicker than that Shallit fool! Yes I'll give you an example:- What is 1 divided by 3?

REJ:- I'm afraid I don't have my difference engine in this room -

WD:- *whisper* say 'a third!' -

REJ:- *whisper* a third! -

WD:- Pardon?

REJ:- A third! Is it a third?

WD:- WRONG!!!

REJ:- But you said -

WD:- Wrong! one point to me! You gave the typical blinkered answer propagandised so successfully by the mathematics community. 1 divided by 3 is 1.

REJ:- I did?....it is?.....wha -

WD:- In Mathemagics 1 divided by 3 is 1 - You know - like three persons but one essence. Now in information theory, specified complexity -

REJ:- Yes. Indeed. No - what? er - I think we'd best be getting along to those text lines...SIONED! - IS IT WORKING?

Sioned:- YES! YOU'VE HAD THREE TEXTS ALREADY!

REJ:- Good God! PUT THE PHONE DOWN IF IT GETS TOO HEAVY LOVE!

Sioned:- WHAT?

REJ:- Hang on a minute....I know! TEXT THEM THROUGH TO MY PHONE!

WD:- Hum te hum....dum de dum....Jerry Coyne is Herman Munster...tee de hee...ho..de ho...

REJ:- That's it Willie! Singsong while we're waiting...I'll just stand on one leg by the window to get a signal......*Beep!* Oooh! got one! Ready?

WD:- Ready!

REJ:- William Dembskijones....Would you like a competitive cash loan? refused elsewhere? credit history no problem...Oh -

WD:- Well Richard, I've gotten used to this kind of vitriolic personal attack from the neo-Darwinist fascists, but the short answer is no, I don't think it's a violation of the establishment clause of the first amendment to the U.S. constitution.

REJ:- Er - yes - let's have another one...Here's one from Sir Allan of W:- Dear William Dembskijones, in the Kitzmiller vs Dover area school trial, Judge John Jones - no relation! -

WD:- No species are related! -

REJ:- er...Judge John Jones wrote 139 pages saying you were wrong. What do you say to this?

WD:- Well Richard you may know I invented amongst other things, the law of conservation of information. This is an absolute, unbreakable law - and I should know because I'm the one that made it up. So basically, no! he didn't. There is no way that more than one page of information could have been written.

REJ:- Is that true?

WD:- I cannot lie.

REJ:- Well what did the Judge say when you told him that?

WD:- Unfortunately I could't be there to crush him with my superior intellect as a Darwinist saboteur had turned my satnav upside down, and the law of upsidedownsatnavs states quite clearly -

REJ:- Let's take another one! Oooh! One from Dr.Laurie Fraser of Buggermaroo university, luckyland. 'Dear William Dembskijones, How many Intelligent Design papers published for peer-review have there been to date? You lot are nothing but...- er yes that's the end of the question -

WD:- Well that's an easy one. The answer's zero!

REJ:- Zero? Hang on a minute...in mathemagics zero is really lots yes?

WD:- No. It's zero Richard - that's why it's called zero -

REJ:- But -

WD:- This is another common misconception, Richard - don't feel that you are alone! The law of conservationofpeerreview clearly states that without exception, if there is an exception, then that exception is excepted. Now as an - if I may be so modest - exceptional person of great and crucial insight, I am indeed peerless. And so peer review is impossible. Well I do have one peer actually - onethree peers...

REJ:- You mean God?!

WD:- Not necessarily God! I didn't say that! It could be aliens. But yes, God.

REJ:- Hmmmm. Well we've one more text - the interest has been underwhelming. It's from Polygenetomathic pyrobrum Dr. Steve 'the hat' Zara, and he's texted the rather cryptogrammic 'Ha ha ha! Bee Hee Hee! Irreducible Com-plex-it-y!' - does that mean anything to you?

WD:- Indeed it does. It means I am right. When opponents stoop to such childish mockery I think their argument is lost for all to see. He probably looks like Herman Munster. With a hat. I bet he's flatulent too like that 'Judge'. There's only one that can judge me, Richard. I think I'll do a cartoon for my blog. And troll some Darwinismist sites. And -

REJ:- Careful Dembskijones! Watch out for that wedge! Don't step -

WD:- Wha wha - What wedge? There's no wedge! What do you mean? -

REJ:- Oh that was little Ethan Emmanuel Jones! Quite the mischief maker! He took apart the mousetraps we set for a certain biscuit burglar - and do you know what? He's made 7 of incrementally increasing complexity - that's what he said - Look! that one's just the snappy bit -

WD:- Well, forgive me if I correct the little....person, but the law of unincrementallyincreasingcomplexitymousetraps clearly states - *SNAP!!!* JESUS H CHRIST!!! the little fucker! I'll have him!!! I made up a law! a fucking law! Not a guideline! My toes! my toes!...etc

Prayer for the day

Y Parch Hosanhir has asked my good self to enpublish an exhaustion list of prayery to uplift and ennoble the youngsters of the villages and to prevent blindness. But I think one should be enough for now. And here is that one for now, a bedtime prayer for boys:-

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John
Bless the bed that I lie on
And if I die before I wake
Please get my hand off my trouser-snake.

Words of wisdom Parch, words of wisdom. Yes.

A regrettable holiday to Dinbych-y-pysgod and back and the teletubbies.

Bore da pawb! I have regrettably been away on a little holiday to Dinbych-y-pysgod and back. Less on that later. Now many people haved lived and died in llanfihangel-y-Creuddun. In fact so far everyone's died - it's quite an unlucky town in that respect. Of the four thousand two hundred remaining residents, the vast majority are alive and ill but they do have one other thing in common. And that is that they are not farmers - unlike I seamlessly linkly say today's front-room guest Mistar Ifor ap Jones, Glanwern, who farms at Glanwern farm and is as we say in these parts, a farmer.

REJ:- Jones Glanwern!

IJG:- Richard Emmanuel Jones! Duw, we've got the same surname. I must buy a lottery ticket. I'll call you Richard -

REJ:- Please do -

IJG:- And I'll call me Jones Glanwern. You can too -

REJ:- Indeed. Good, that's settled then. Now Ifor, you are as we say in these parts are you not a farmer you are aren't you isn't it?

IJG:- Well almost right Richard, the actual word is custodianofthecountryside -

REJ:- Oooh that's quite an impressive word there Ifor -

IJG:- Diolch! but it's the NFU's word not mine, chwarae teg -

REJ:- Credit where credit's due fairplay chwarae teg -

IJG:- And can you tell me Ifor what exactly a custodianofthecountryside actually does?

REJ:- er - you're in my chair -

IJG:- Sorry -

REJ:- That's alright. And can you tell me Ifor what exactly a custodianofthecountryside actually does?

IJG:- Indeed I can.

REJ:- Well would you please?

IJG:- Well at the moment Richard, but not this exact moment - I'm mostly just talking now - I am planting hedges. Two rows of Radnorshire weave, one metre apart, two metres high, twelve hectares a -

REJ:- Planting hedges...

IJG:- Hedges, yes. You know what hedges are Richard don't you? The stitching in the patchwork, the -

REJ:- Why to good God are you planting hedges?

IJG:- Well fifty thousand reasons really! -

REJ:- But twenty years ago you ploughed up all your hedges. What was that in aid of?

IJG:- Well that was in aid of the two new RangeRovers - you see grants were different then -

REJ:- They were?

IJG:- Yes back then I got paid to plough the hedges up - look Richard - I know what you're thinking -

REJ:- You do?! Iesu Mawr! How do you know what I'm thinking? This is beyond! This is magic! What am I thinking now? Go on Ifor! What am I thinking? Are you one of those magic voodoo men like Derren Randi off the telly? What am I thinking now? I'll give you a clue - it goes woof! - no that's too easy, I'll think of something else - er - dammo! I can't get the blasted dog out of my head now - it was a dog you see -

IJG:- Really? I thought it was a horse -

REJ:- Oooh! close! Right number of legs....a tail....two eyes...a mout -

IJG:- Yes. One in the eye for Dr. Blackmore eh? Anyway we were talking about windfarms -

REJ:- Oooh! You mean talking in our minds don't you? mind-talking!......let me see.......windfarms......windfarms.....Sioned's pants......Glenys the baps.....windfarms?......ah!.....Glenys the baps.....Teletubbies! Yes! I was mind-thinking -

IJG:- And what a mind. Yes I get £1200 a year a prop and I've 200 so far. Do you know Richard, that's enough electricity to power 50,000 homes!

REJ:- Well we've only got 4000 -

IJG:- It's not about that Richard, it's more about making up the money I lost during footandmouth -

REJ:- How much did you lose?

IJG:- Minus a million, Richard, minus a million!

REJ:- Minus...

IJG:- Yes. Losing minus a million left me with a net +£million payout from the ministry. My whole herd was destroyed and I was forced to accept full market price -

REJ:- That must have been hard -

IJG:- Tears were rolling down my cheeks Richard, they still do whenever I think about it -

REJ:- You're shaking now -

IJG:- Well - I didn't get into farming to kill animals for money - it goes against every farmer's nature - excuse me a moment....

REJ:- Oh but you're sobbing! It sounds like you're sobbing! Poor Ifor bach! And such bad luck that your herd was the only one infected in 200 square miles! - those bubbly blisters on those poor creatures...ooooh they must have hurt!...reminded me of when little Ethan scalded his leg....when the kettle...

IJG:- Well thanks Richard, I think I should go now -

REJ:- And all the time you kept such an outwardly cheerful demeanor! Such a brave face you put on it all! -

IJG:- Well you have to try and keep the spirits up -

REJ:- And you kept singing! What was that song you kept singing? Sosban fach yn berwi ar y tan, Sosban fawr yn berwi ar y llawr! -

IJG:- I really must go, Hwyl fawr Richard, ooops I've dropped some money -

REJ:- What did that song mean again? Sosban fawr yn berwi ar a llawr.....big sospan boiling on the floor...is that right? Sioned! SIONED! What does that sospan song mean again? -

Thought for the day

Well raise my rent! We have a new feature. Making this a triplicate, tripartite, trinitarian blogulition. I have always thought of plagiarism as the highest form of theft. And who bigger to theft from than the 'big G' Himself? Why the BBC of course! So here then starts the new enthefted feature complete with stolen title:- 'Thought for the day'. Today's thought is a prayer I think. See if you can recognise the 'influences'.



'Our absent, unnecessary, impotent, undetectable Father, who art ‘elsewhere’, creator of the damned planet, creator of the laws and constants of physics that assuredly guarantee the earth’s future destruction, the earth’s final solution, creator of the unspeakable cruelty of the natural world, creator of the sentient brains that must know the nightmare life-in-death from without by lacerating predators, from within by rasping parasites, Lord of boundless pain, misery, disease and death, your laughably flawed creations with the feeble minds you gave them in your image kill each other in interpretation of your ambiguous texts, your tinsel miracles, Lord, vomitous God, have mercy on yourself, forgive yourself, for we humanity never can, Amen'.

Poem for the day

What do you call a donkey with three legs? - A surprisingly good darts player. I don't get it either. Now a lot of person say to me 'Richard! If you're so clever how come you can't dress yourself? Why can't you change your socks weekly, as is the local custom, whether you really need to or not? Why can't you put those bloody shelves up like you promised LAST AUGUST!!! Why can't you take the rubbish out for a change? Why can't you cook dinner? - women aren't magically born knowing how to cook dinner! Why can't you pick the children up from school? they are half yours? Why can't you take me out once in a whileisthattoomuchtoaskyoutookyourlastfattartout lotsandlotsbutnoImnotgoodenoughisthatityoubastard?!'

You've guessed who it is haven't you?! Why yes! - it's William Blake from beyond the grave! disturbing my dreams with division of labour domestic chore political correctness gone mad! Last night he appeared in full physical manifestation and directly challenged me:-

WB:- Richard!.........RICHARD!!!

(I was pretending not to hear at first!)

WB:- Richard! I can't rest! I muffed one of my poems up! Got it all back to front sort of thing! Please can you update it in the light of the new Physics! I have chosen you! wooooooooooo!..........WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

REJ:- Yes, I heard you the first time.

Alright then, I will:-

William William burning bright
Not quite rhyming through the night
What immortal symmetry
Framed thy fearful hand and eye?

Why, the immortal symmetry of four-dimensional spacetime of course!

There. That wasn't difficult was it? Now piss off.

A 'bonzer' day in Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun

Dr. Laurie Fraser of Buggermaroo University is 70% water yet rarely freezes, and is married to a 30% metal wife, who rarely rusts. Surely matchsticks are made in heaven. Dr. Fraser is an expert in critical thinking, philosophical hermeneutics, propositional epistemology, some other things off Wikipedia, and drinking. But today he's here with his linguistical hat on, dangling rosetta corks of wisdom that swat away the flies of translatory ignorance with every shake of his once magnificently maned brain-case.

REJ:- Dr. Fraser, croeso i Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun, and I believe Sioned has a little surprise for you in the shape of a Fosters Australian lager can of embeerment. SIONED! do the honours love!

Sioned:- MAE'N YN Y FFRIJ! THERE'S A HANDLE ON THE DOOR, PULL TOWARDS -

REJ:- A-hahaha! Bit of a domestic goings on. It looks like I might have to get it -

DR.F:- Strewth Richard! I'll save you the trouble. I'd have to have a throat as dry as a dead dingo's donger to drink that piss.

REJ:- er - I'll take that as a 'dim diolch' -

DR.F:- No wuckers mate! Reckon your nan could skull a slab of that with no danger of a liquid laugh. Love yer jumbucks by the way, some real beauts.

REJ:- Indeed. um. er -

DR.F:- cssssssssssstch! I brought my own amber fluid - just incase - you having one? I don't like drinking with the flies.

REJ:- The flies yes. er - cssssssssstch! - I see you've opened it...er did Sioned go out?

DR.F:- Strewth! You're under the thumb mate! That stands out like the dog's balls.

REJ:- The dog's balls yes -

DR.F:- Listen Richard! You've got to have a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock to let a Sheila keep you from the grog - fancy a durry?

REJ:- er...Sioned says -

DR.F:- Pig's arse! I'll open a window. How about that? Cunning as a dunny rat, me. FIGJAM! mate, FIGJAM!

REJ:- er yes fig - er yes indeed. Now Dr. Fraser -

DR.F:- Call me Laurie mate! cssssssssstch! skull that, catch this ya two pot screamer! Cab sav next...Catch!

REJ:- Howzat!

DR.F:- OUT! You little ripper!

REJ:- Now Dr. Fraser Laurie, there was something you were here to talk about -

DR.F:- There was? Strewth Richard, you've got me stonkered there -

REJ:- I'm sure there was.....was it linguistics?

DR.F:- Fair suck of the sav! You duxed it mate! It was the Catholic Church!

REJ:- The Cath -

DR.F:- Richard, *-pop!-* I'm glad you reminded me - gluglugluglug - the Catholic bastard Church! As useful as tits on a bull! Worse! That Ratzi's as mean as cat's piss! grinning like a shot fox while his priests are buggering choirboys flat out like a lizard drinking -

REJ:- er I'm not sure exactly what you mean -

DR.F:- Don't come the raw prawn with me Richard! That Church should be cactus!

REJ:- Prickly? adapted to arid conditions? -

DR.F:- *-pop-* Catch! -

REJ:- The finger's raised!.....he walks!...

DR.F:- The Gabba's gone wild! -

REJ:- Ooooh let's do Geoffrey Boycott! -

DR.F:- Good line and length...pooer footwork, pooer! -

REJ:- Pressure?! That's not pressure! Having a Messerschmitt up your backside, now that's pressure! - these boys have a job to do and they're not doing it - as I once said to Curtley Ambrose -

DR.F:- And then Goochie gave his wicket away cheaply for 333...

REJ:- Eee wouldn't get in the starting line at Yorkshire -

DR.F:- That Botham never did what I told him...

REJ:- gluglugluglug - aaaaaaaah! - where were we?

DR.F:- That bastard Ratzi! Acting like he hasn't got a brass razoo while half the world starves and he's got his finger in the pokies!

Sioned:- Richard! RICHARD EMMANUEL JONES! Are you drinking?! You'd better not be drinking in there! -

REJ:- Shit! We're sunk! Do some linguistics! Quick! hide!

DR.F:- Ok - you behind the sofa, me behind the curtains -

REJ:- Strewth Fraser! You stand out like a shag on a rock mate! The Sheila'll be spewin'like a Taswegian on turps! If she finds out I've got a gutful of piss I won't see her white pointers for a month! - etc etc

Poem for the day

Well it's later than it earlier was and I still haven't managed a poemical writing. I have tried, honest to God, but it's harder than it looks. I think four lines is the maximum extent of my stanzitational field. In addition as well to this I am emburdened in extra with the added weight of a request indeed from Sir Allan of W, a noted econosportsman, decbankthlete and shouting-sideline proxyhooligan. It reads like thus:- Dear Richard Emmanuel Jones.....something about Idris.....blablabla........god he waffles doesn't he?........can you do us a poem about economics......er....something about water.....is he drunk?.....saltwater/freshwater economics.....he's on something this boy......preferably one about imperialist exploitation of leeward French Polynesian islands containing one profundity about the relative nature of wealth, and ending with a pun on the original Tahitian pronounciation of the aforementioned. In four lines. Please, Thankyou. Sir Allan of W.

Well Sir Allan of W! As I said I couldn't earlier, indeed I can, for counter-intuitively perhaps, the greater the specified rules, the lesser the work for the hand of the creator.....

In search of wealth, he went in stealth
By sea to Bora Bora.
He lacked the itch, to make him rich
So made the poorer poorer.

There you are Sir Allan of W. £12.50. Tenner for cash. Dilys the tax - only joking!

Poem for the day

Nom d'un pipe! Nous nearly Oublied the poem encore! That would have been a domage n'est-ce pas? Perhaps you can guess from some subtle encryptions pre-sentencing this that today's poem will be in English. The trouble is the villagers are so busy with their anti-nazi-eugenics inbreeding programme - (there's no such thing! - not officially - that was a little joke from Richard!) - that the number of poems submitted has fallen to an all-week low. The quality's the same though - more's the pity. Idris Jenkins the television has sent in today's doorstep mouse corpse offering and I publish with a heavy heart and sagging soul if this be the best the town that won the 1923 county eisteddfod is reduced to. And they say global warming is a tragedy....

A Slave Rejoices.

I'm free! said the slave
Now what can I do?
'You can stand over there
In the jobcentre queue

You can beg for your work
On the free market stage
And can peddle your soul
For the minimum wage

You can live in a house
Paying rent to the hilt
'Pay for the house?
Why it's already built!'

You can keep all your money
For now you are free -
Just minus outgoings -
Twice earnings you see!

Whereas once you had nothing
You now have your debts
And this my free friend
Is as good as it gets.


Hmmm....Well again, it rhymed Idris, so that shows a commendable lack of imagination, but I don't think the London School of Economics will be calling any time soon. Perhaps you would do better to watch 'It's a wonderful life' to get a proper grasp of how economics works in the harsh reality of the real world.

I think I might write tomorrow's poem myself. If you have to ask why then you'll never know.

Bonfire night in Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun

Good evening my dear camp followers. Many people ask me 'Richard, what is bonfire night like in Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun?' I then answer. Unless I'm too busy or need to concentrate on something else that is. Perhaps I might be driving along a particularly bendy bit of the A4170, say that bit passing the rock that bepainted enseeches:- 'Cofiwch Dryweryn', and I am distracted by a frantic effort to cofio what happened in Dryweryn. Perhaps a goose has strayed into my garden and I must rush to defend my slugs. There could be all sorts of reasons not to answer. But if I were indeed to answer I would say something like this:- It's the same as bonfire night everywhere else, but a bit wetter.

For the benefit of any foreign transponders, bonfire night encelebrates the failed exploding of London's parliament in 1605. Owain Glyndwr's Welsh parliament in Machynlleth of 1404 was largely unaffected. The incompetent Guy Fawkes - who couldn't torch a Snowdonia holiday home off-season to save his life - was hanged, drawn and quartered and given a severe telling off he wouldn't forget in a hurry. Four centuries later and we reenact this punishment by setting fire to him. Not literally, no! - he's suffered enough. Instead a life-like cereal packet with a pen-drawn face atop some pallets from behind the back of E.T.James & Sons Ltd.

It could be said, with little to no danger of a successful charge of deceitfulness being brought to provition, that bonfire night's biggest fan - of it's Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun fanners - is Hywel Edwards the taxi. And he's here with me now, or yesterday if you are receiving tomorrow's repeat seedcast:-

REJ:- Hywel! How are you? Nice of you to drop in! Would you like a cwpaned o te?

HEthetaxi:- Lovely! Have one yourself!

REJ:- Thanks, I'll put one behind the bar. Now then Hywel, sense now! How is it that a big grown-up and muscular man like yourself is happening to be manifestualised as Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun's biggest bonfire night fan and enthusiastic isn't it?

HEthetaxi:- Wel Duw Richard! It's the taxi isn't it? Arian in the sky-rocket!

REJ:- I'm sorry?

HEthetaxi:- The plant bach! They go up like torches the little ones - and someone has to take them to the hospital. The ambulance parks in the layby at Rhayader isn't it?

REJ:- I believe so

HEthetaxi:- Now you can either be extinguished in Aberystwyth or Hereford. But that's a long walk when you're on fire -

REJ:- 40 miles.....either way.

HEthetaxi:- And Jim the gutter will be in the ambulance having his stomach pumped -

REJ:- If it's after nine, yes -

HEthetaxi:- 8:30 on bonfire night, Richard, 8:30 tops.

REJ:- He's a one isn't he?! Remember that time with the monks and the mead -

HEthetaxi:- Broke a few -

REJ:- vows that night! hahaha!

HEthetaxi:- hahaha! yes so the littluns has to go to the quacks in the old taxi isn't it? Fifty quid a pop! Makes it all worthwhile. I calls myself 'The Fourth emergency service'.

REJ:- That's the coastguard -

HEthetaxi:- Well you go with the bloody coastguard then you dull -

REJ:- I could go with the coastguard -

HEthetaxi:- How the fuck could you go with the coastguard you -

REJ:- I could. I could get my dinghy out of the garage, go down the park - not the one with the slide - river's a bit choppy there -

HEthetaxi:- Ok. Never mind. Here's some sparklers for the boy. And some rockets. And a box of lighter fluid. And -

REJ:- Well that's a nice note to end on! You're always so generous to the kids Hywel -

HEthetaxi:- Well they's the future aren't they Richard? I loves kids I do. £40 more if they're sick in the car isn't it?

Poem for the day

Dear Richard. - that's all it says - no surname or nothing - Please could we have a poem about anatomy. Perhaps a silly one. Yours Faithcerely, S. Milligan ItoldyouIwasill.

Why certainly S.Milligan ItoldyouIwasill. Glad to oblige. Noblesse oblige indeed. The versed man's burden etc

Skin, Skin, lovely skin -
It keeps your outsides out and your insides in
A sack of snot makes lovely lube -
The toilet tells you you're a tube.

Is it worth going on? I suppose it can't get worse....

A stretchy hole for stools to pass
The other end eats dead cow's arse

Oh - I think that is enough really - a bit crude don't I think? - the image of God etc? Come on now -

The dangler's purpose not quite clear -
But not for bottoms! God's not queer!

No - I'm sorry - I'm going to have to stop me there - this is getting offensive now -

The furry -

Right! That's it! Go to my room Richard Emmanuel Jones! And no supper until evensong.

Llanwrtyd wells:- a town less ordinance-ary

Llanwrtyd Wells is host to many world famous events noone outside of Powys has heard of:- the world bog snorkelling championships, the man versus horse marathon hill race, and for the first time this year, the Llanwrtyd Wells pro/celebrity mine clearance televisual special, or LLWPCMCTS for short. Town criersmith Matthew 'the voice' Jones is very excited to have secured the talents of Rolf Harris, Bruce Forsyth and thatguyoutofeastenders for the event and next week they will be lining up against the Royal Engineers elite explosive ordinance disposal unit. I can't wait.

REJ:- Now Matthew Jones, excuse me - hello -

MJ:- Hello! -

REJ:- Yes, what do you want?

MJ:- I want to do my OYYYEAAEAAAY thing, but you haven't got big enough letters.

REJ:- Well Matthew can you tell me - and I'm sure you can - just how excited you are to have secured the aforementioned A-list celebrities for your event?

MJ:- Moderately, I think Richard

REJ:- Indeed. Best not to go overboard now isn't it?

MJ:- Yes - that way disappointment lies

REJ:- Well that's a sensible attitude to take -

MJ:- Thanks Richard

REJ:- Now Matthew, we must be getting on. Sioned will need a servicing later or she will be out 'running with the bull' as we say in these parts -

MJ:- er - noone said anything about that - Mair from the Post Office just said to come and talk about -

REJ:- Can you explain to us the format of the televisual special?

MJ:- Well yes I can indeed. Fifty mines have been buried in cae mawr - Dai Edwards' setaside - and Rolf, Bruce and thatguyoutofeastenders have ten minutes to defuse as many as they can. Each safely defused mine is worth 10 points to their team. And points mean prizes. What do points mean? -

REJ:- PRIZES! hahaha.

MJ:- Good game!

REJ:- Good game!

MJ:- Didn't they do well?

REJ:- Let's have a look at the old scoreboard!

MJ:- Here they are they're so amusing, ok Royal Engineer explosive ordinance disposal elite unit and A-list celebrities - do your defusing!

REJ:- Ooooh good one! I bet that catches on. Ok what happens next?

MJ:- Well it's the pilot show. If it goes well the BBC -

REJ:- No I meant what happens next in the game?

MJ:- Oh but you'll have to tune in and see Richard! It's on S4C Saturday 6:15pm for the dinner time audience

REJ:- Well indeed we all will. And Matthew I wish you every success and hope the show goes with a -

MJ:- bang. Yes. I saw that coming Richard -

REJ:- Did you now? Well did you see this coming - ooof! - you did. How abou- aaaargh - Iesu mawr! that's enough now! - Sioned! SIONED!

Poem for the day

Indeed to goodness yes well mind you isn't it? This by electric text-phone from beyond the border yesterday:-

Dear Richard Emmanuel Jones, How come all your featured poems are rubbish? How about a Haiku? Mr A.C. Omputerprogrammer, Bracknell.

Well, well, Mr Omputerprogrammer. I'm sorry to hear of your predicamentistress. I believe I can most immediately help you by revealing that roads are often bi-directional and there may in fact be a way out of Bracknell as well as in. As for the suggestion for a change in poetic form I can only agree! But the sophisticated form that is the haiku has not yet blessed even Cnwch-y-Craig with a manifestation. Perhaps if you could pick words at random from your 'C ++ for dummies' then that would suffice. Instead we can only manage a limerick from Dr. Williams who today we find in much uplifted spirits and intravenous methadonic enspangledment:-

There once was a nutter from Merthyr
A 9-11 truth 'bama birther
Now her kids are all dead
From the vaccines she said
And not at all because they didn't present until the social worker brought them in unconscious in comas due to her preference for alternative medicine treatments from a homeopathic retarded flat-earther.

Very good Emrys! I suppose you're not paying for the syllables so you might as well inject some extra ones. Inject! Geddit! Are you alright Doctor? You're drooling...

Poem for the day

Well, well! I just had the funniest dream! I'm going to see my financial adviser later today - but that's not a poetical ride on the iambic tetrametricycle is it? But here tinkling his versi-bell and kicking down his odular-leg-stand is Llanfihangel-y-creuddun's very own but not really one of us Walford Jenkins, who has a moustache. Walford is a resting lunatic on loan from Aberwristwatch-on-sea. The Lead and Silver mines at Nant-yr-arian have long leeched lunacy into the lives of the Aberwristwatchians. And Walford was well irrigated indeed if you get my meaning. The famous Gwent ward of the North Road hospital is the traditional holding bay for these kind of moon-barkers and I think this may be what Walford's poem is going to be about. But I'm not getting too close.

The sun went out, the sky went dark
The world collapsed around me
The stars they fell, and me as well
By soulfelt gravity

Some time to rest, it would be best
For all concerned and me
They made it clear, I'd volunteer
Or go on Section III

I climbed the steps, took one last breath
Of air so fresh and free
The satellite, throughout the night
Transmitting E.C.T.

They took my things, I signed the form
They took my blood from me
Before I'd rest they'd do the test
For drugs and HIV

And all about the ward I saw
Bodies parted from their souls
Some nightmare force that ripped through arms
Through cigarette shaped holes

It was the will that climbed the hill
And leapt unto the sea
It held the knife that took the life
Of Gavin in room three

Some wept remembering the pain
The terror that suppresses
But some no longer felt at all
And these - I came to know - were the successes.


er - yes. Da iawn Walford. Haven't you got to be getting somewhere? Shame you messed up the last line there - doesn't quite scan does it? Not that I'm being critical! You write what you like all good therapy for a moon-barker! er - I'll be having to go now......let yourself out....I fancy a bit of a jog actually.....I'll just start sprinting.....