First off . . . I was
finally able to publish a post yesterday and then, late last night, I
uploaded the missing foto. So, scroll down to yesterday's offering if
you felt deprived.
I'm travelling
northwards this morning – from Winchester – so it's a quick and
dirty post . . .
I'm at risk of getting
boring about the wonderful Spanish now but I was talking to someone
at lunch yesterday about how a man just could no longer say in the UK
the innocent things he still can say here in Spain. And then, waiting
for the boat, I read the article that I'll post later. God forbid
that the same thing will happen here in Spain before I pop my clogs.
I'd be bereft! If not imprisoned. Fortunately, Spanish women don't
just indulge it; they demand it.
Here's the latest of
The Local's lists, plus one from The Telegraph:
A bit of madness . . .
I was researching
yesterday the words of a 1920 ditty I learned off by heart when I was
a kid listening to my grandparents old 78rpm vinyl records. You can
hear it here and enjoy an accompanying cartoon which was considered
innocuous back then – and also during my own childhood and youth –
but which is now considered a crime second only to murder in the UK.
Take stock of the Warning note.
Here are the words . .
.
The Ballad Of Abdul
Abulbul Amir
Here are said words to
Frank's first hit, though I have to confess to having to look them up
so as to be able to cite them here:-
Now, the sons of the
Prophet were brave men and bold
And quite unaccustomed
to fear,
But the bravest by far
in the ranks of the Shah,
Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.
If you wanted a man to
encourage the van,
Or harass the foe from
the rear,
Storm fort or redoubt,
you had only to shout
For Abdul Abulbul Amir.
Now the heroes were
plenty and well known to fame
In the troops that were
led by the Czar,
And the bravest of
these was a man by the name
Of Ivan Skavinsky
Skavar.
He could imitate
Irving, tell fortunes with cards,
He could play on the
Spanish guitar.
In fact, quite the
cream of the Muscovite team
Was Ivan Petrovsky
Skavar.
One day this bold
Russian, he shouldered his gun
And donned his most
truculent sneer,
Downtown he did go
where he trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
Young man, quoth Abdul,
has life grown so dull
That you wish to end
your career?
Vile infidel, know, you
have trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
Said Ivan, My friend,
your remarks in the end
Will avail you but
little, I fear.
For you ne'er will
survive to repeat them alive,
Mr Abdul Abulbul Amir
So take your last look
at sunshine and brook
And send your regrets
to the Czar
For by this I imply,
you are going to die,
Count Ivan Skavinsky
Skavar.
Then this bold Mameluke
drew his trusty skibouk,
Singing, "Allah!
El Allah! Akbah!"
And with murderous
intent he ferociously went
For Ivan Skavinsky
Skavar.
They fought all that
night neath the pale yellow moon;
The din, it was heard
from afar,
And huge multitudes
came, so great was the fame,
Of Abdul and Ivan
Skavar.
As Abdul's long knife
was extracting the life,
In fact he was
shouting, "Huzzah!"
He felt himself struck
by that wily Calmuck,
Count Ivan Skavinsky
Skavar.
The Sultan drove by in
his red-breasted fly,
Expecting the victor to
cheer,
But he only drew nigh
to hear the last sigh,
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
Tsar Petrovich too, in
his spectacles blue,
Drove up in his
new-crested car.
He arrived just in time
to exchange a last line
With Ivan Skavinsky
Skavar.
There's a tomb rises up
where the Blue Danube rolls,
Engraved there in
characters clear,
Is, "Stranger,
when passing, oh pray for the soul
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir."
A splash in the Black
Sea one dark moonless night
Caused ripples to
spread wide and far,
It was made by a sack
fitting close to the back,
Of Ivan Skavinsky
Skavar.
A Muscovite maiden her
lone vigil keeps,
'Neath the light of the
cold northern star,
And the name that she
murmurs in vain as she weeps,
Is Ivan Skavinsky
Skavar.
Finally . . . Instead of a a cartoon, a nice sign off:
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