Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Labels: Glasgow And Glaswegians
A Distinct Lack Of Charity
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
The New Bosses, All Neocons To The Core, Make Another Huge Blunder
Good grief, these boys really are accustomed to getting what they want, aren't they?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
When you obediently said "yes" in the house of Nazareth, you allowed God's eternal Son to take flesh in your virginal womb and thus to begin in history the work of our redemption. You willingly and generously co-operated in that work, allowing the sword of pain to pierce your soul,until the supreme hour of the Cross, when you kept watch on Calvary, standing beside your Son, Who died that we might live.
From that moment, you became, in a new way, the Mother of all those who receive your Son Jesus in faith and choose to follow in His footsteps by taking up His Cross. Mother of hope, in the darkness of Holy Saturday you journeyed with unfailing trust towards the dawn of Easter. Grant that your children may discern at all times, even those that are darkest, the signs of God's loving presence.
Our Lady of Sheshan, sustain all those in China, who, amid their daily trials, continue to believe, to hope, to love. May they never be afraid to speak of Jesus to the world, and of the world to Jesus. In the statue overlooking the Shrine you lift your Son on high, offering him to the world with open arms in a gesture of love. Help Catholics always to be credible witnesses to this love, ever clinging to the rock of Peter on which the Church is built. Mother of China and all Asia, pray for us, now and for ever. Amen!'
His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI.
Hat tip Scott Richert.
'When working blackguards come to blows,
And give or take a bloody nose,
Shall juries try such dogs as those,
Now Nap lies at Saint Helena?
No — let the Great Unpaid decide,
Without appeal, on tame bull's hide,
Ash-planted well, or fistified,
Since Nap died at Saint Helena.
When Sabbath stills the dizzy mill,
Shall Cutler Tom, or Grinder Bill,
On footpaths wander where they will,
Now Nap lies at Saint Helena ?
No — let them curse, but feel our power;
Dogs! let them spend their idle hour
Where burns the highway's dusty shower;
For Nap died at Saiut Helena.
Huzza ! the rascal Whiglings work
For better men than Hare and Burke,
And envy Algerine and Turk,
Since Nap died at Saint Helena.
Then close each path that sweetly climbs
Suburban hills, where village chimes
Remind the rogues of other times,
Ere Nap died at Saint Helena.
We tax their bread, restrict their trade;
To toil for us, then- hands were made ;
Their doom is seal'd, their prayer is pray'd;
Nap perish'd at Saint Helena.
Dogs! would they toil and fatten too?
They grumble still, as dogs will do;
We conquer'd them at Waterloo;
And Nap lies at Saint Helena.
But shall the villains meet and prate,
In crowds, about affairs of State?
Ride, yeoman, ride! act, magistrate!
Nap perish'd at Saint Helena' -
Ebenezer Elliott, 'Song'.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Labels: Shopsoiled Messiahs
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Labels: Cabbages And Kings
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
An open letter from Blackadders, Dundas & Wilson, Harper MacLeod, HBJ Gateley Wareing, Maclay Murray & Spens, McGrigors, Semple Fraser and Shepherd and Wedderburn claims that the real debate regarding ABS has been lost in the "noise" of recent months.
The firms argue that the profession cannot unilaterally resist change and that the way forward is to come together to agree what the level of regulation should be."
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
"O Bread of Heaven, beneath this veil
Thou dost my very God conceal:
My Jesus, dearest treasure, hail!
I love Thee and, adoring, kneel;
Each loving soul by Thee is fed
With Thine own Self
in form of Bread.
O food of life,
Thou Who dost give
The pledge of immortality;
I live, no ‘tis not I that live;
God gives me life, God lives in me:
He feeds my soul, He guides my ways,
And every grief with joy repays.
O Bond of love that dost unite
The servant to his living Lord ;
Could I dare live and not requite
Such love - then death were meet reward:
I cannot live unless to prove
Some love for such unmeasured love.
My dearest God! Who dost so bind
My heart with countless claims to Thee!
O Sweetest love, my soul shall find
In Thy dear bonds true liberty.
Thyself Thou hast bestowed on me;
Thine, Thine for ever I will be.
O Mighty Fire, Thou that dost burn
To kindle every mind and heart!
For Thee my frozen soul doth yearn;
Come, Lord of love, Thy warmth impart;
If thus to speak too bold appear,‘
Tis love like Thine has banished fear.
O Sweetest dart of love Divine!
If I have sinned, then vengeance take;
Come pierce this guilty heart of mine,
And let it die for His dear sake
Who once expired on Calvary,
His heart pierced through for love of me.
Beloved Lord, in Heaven above
There, Jesus, Thou awaitest me,
To gaze on Thee with endless love;
Yes, thus I hope, thus shall it be:
For how can He deny me Heaven,
Who here on earth Himself hath given?"
St. Alphonsus Liguori. For what my opinion's worth, this is the very zenith of Catholic mysticism.
St. Alphonsus Liguori, pray for us.
St. Gerard Majella, pray for us.
St. Therese of Lisieux, pray for us.
St. Bernadette Soubirous, pray for us.
St. Maria Goretti, pray for us.
St. Thomas Aquinas, pray for us.
St. John The Baptist, pray for us.
St. John The Evangelist, pray for us.
St. Martin of Tours, pray for us.
St. Martin de Porres, pray for us.
St. Edward the Confessor, pray for us.
St. Catherine of Siena, pray for us.
St. Thomas More, pray for us.
St. Francis de Sales, pray for us.
St. Ignatius Loyola, pray for us.
St. Aloysius Gonzaga, pray for us.
St. Francis Xavier, pray for us.
St. John Bosco, pray for us.
St. Dominic Savio, pray for us.
St. Maximilian Kolbe, pray for us.
St. Francis of Assisi, pray for us.
St. Josemaria Escriva, pray for us.
St. John Ogilvie, pray for us.
St. Columbkille, pray for us.
St. Andrew, pray for us.
St. Kentigern, pray for us.
St. Patrick, pray for us.
St. Joseph, pray for us.
St. Peter and St. Paul, pray for us.
Our Lady of Lourdes, pray for us.
Our Lady of Perpetual Succour, pray for us.
(Update, 17th May 2010 - thanks be to God, His angels and His saints for prayers answered)
"YOU may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out here,
And you're sent to penny-fights and Aldershot it,
But when it comes to slaughter,
You will do your work on water,
And you'll lick the bloomin' boots o' them that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time,
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew,
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You limpin' lump of brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! Slippery hitherao,
Water, get it! Panee lao,
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"
The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
And rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
And a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
When the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped him 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it
Or I'll marrow you this minute
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"
'E would dot and carry one
Till the longest day was done,
And 'e didn't seem to know the use of fear;
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
'E would skip to our attack,
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
And watch us till the bugles made "Retire",
And for all 'is dirty hide,
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullet kickin' dust spots on the green;
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front lines shout,
"Hi! Ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"
I shan't forget the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should have been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
And the man that spied me first
Was our good ol' grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my head,
And 'e plugged me where I bled,
And 'e gave me 'arf a pint o' water green;
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through his spleen--
'E's chawin up the ground,
And 'e's kickin' all around,
For Gawd's sake get the water, Gunga Din!"
'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
And a bullet came and drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
And just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.
So I'll see 'im later on,
In the place where 'e is gone,
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals,
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
And I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
And it's "Din! Din! Din!"
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' God that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!" -
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
We had to paint Saltires onto used Elastoplasts.
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Labels: The Tartanissimo
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Labels: Civil Liberties
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Labels: Captain Clegg