Remembrance day

[Foggy]

Bollocks. Completely self-inflicted.

What a well constructed reply, can no one have an opinion other than you then Paul?

[pauld]

What a well constructed reply, can no one have an opinion other than you then Paul?

Oh get a grip. The opinion I was expressing was that any heat he took was entirely self-inflicted. There, I've written it out a bit longer, is that better?

[Foggy]

It was the bollocks bit that i found dismissive, He is young and very misguided about the ways of the world so what i was trying to say was that it would have been better if the mods had removed the post before it fanned the fires and he should have repsected that the topic was about remembering the fallen and not a few fuckwit extremists. 

[pauld]

It was the bollocks bit that i found dismissive

Fair point. I apologise and withdraw my bollocks. As it were

[Foggy]

Thanks Paul, i guess that you might need your bollocks so please accept them back as a token.   

[Arriba]

to be fair to crispy,although the link was maybe not needed,it was linked to the topic.

[Ardiles]

There's one war poem that stands out for me...and it's the one we all probably learned at school.  It choked me then, and still does so today.  Written by a man who was sick of the trenches, sick of the war and sick of wartime propaganda.  He was shot in the head the following year, one week before the end of the war.  His mother, apparently, received the news of his death on Armistice Day.


DULCE ET DECORUM EST by WILFRED OWEN

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!---An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,---
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

[Ginginho]

OK i'm confused, who currently has pauld's bollocks?

[Bewster]

Now here's an article we can all enjoy reading today.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1328703/Pink-Jumper-burning-Muslim-protesters-mar-Armistice-Day.html


 

Makes you want to construct a poppy out of pork

[pauld]

OK i'm confused, who currently has pauld's bollocks?

My missus does, same as every other bloke on here. She lets me take them out on special occasions, just to look at mind, not to play with

[ghanimah]

My missus does, same as every other bloke on here. She lets me take them out on special occasions, just to look at mind, not to play with

Your missus has other blokes' bollocks as well?

[pauld]

Your missus has other blokes' bollocks as well?

In a glass case behind a curtain in the lounge. It's quite an impressive display, in a way, if a little unnerving.

[Sippo]

Sort of Linked. Saw this on the news last night. Scum of the lowest order.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-bristol-11734814