the beauty of thread drift

Discussion in 'UK Wine Forum' started by Tom Cannavan, May 31, 2020.

  1. Lack of blue tablets?
     
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  2. Sorry, I was confusing them with the garlics, or would that be an alliumnation?
     
    Tom Cannavan likes this.
  3. The allium nation would be the Welsh
     
  4. Batter my heart, three-corner'd Leek, for you
    As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
    That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
    Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
    I, like an usurp'd town to another due,
    Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
    Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
    But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
    Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
    But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
    Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
    Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
    Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
    Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
     
  5. Fie, Eric, that's Donne it, unruly Sunne!
    Are physicians grown gardeners by love
    or per fretum febris?
    Must we to azure Isle of Manne take thee
    That thy bark, beaten off,
    May salve the leek's tricorn infirmity?
     
    Last edited: Jun 1, 2020
  6. Tom Cannavan

    Tom Cannavan Administrator

    I had no idea the forum had this unusual level of talent.
     
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  7. Sorry to interupt the vegetable verbiage but I was wondering if you could help me with a survey I'm carrying out....
     
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  8. Why are alliums from China called Welsh onions?
     
  9. Eric ripped off but one Donne. I ripped off three.

    One Donne, undone,
    overdone.
     
    Tom Cannavan likes this.
  10. Exceedingly metaphysikal, Jeremy. I was raised on country pleasures, and will sit out tonight in the garden with my glass of Pilon Hermitage 2018 (a large touch more of apricot richness than last time, Jon & Mark), asking how such sweet and pleasant hours should be counted, save with herbs and flowers, yet Donne is often too deep for me. I prefer Captain Marvel.
     
  11. A bit of pathetic fallacy never hurt a flea. May the luscious clusters of Pilon purple they nail.
     
  12. Tom Cannavan

    Tom Cannavan Administrator

    When it comes to poetry, it has to be Hindemith, Kandinsky or wee Jimmy 'Jinky' Johnstone for me.
     
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  13. Orstralia – Orstralia
    We think of you each day
    Orstralia – Orstralia
    At work or at play.
    We think of yew in the morning
    And in the evening too
    We even wake up at mid-night
    So that we can think of you.
    Orstralia – Orstralia
    We love you from the heart
    The kidney, the Liver and the giblets,
    And every other part.

    Spike Milligan.
     
  14. What? And ignore Scotland's most remarkable poet, William Topaz McGonagall?

    "It must have been an awful sight,
    To witness in the dusky moonlight,
    While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
    Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
    Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
    I must now conclude my lay
    By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
    That your central girders would not have given way,
    At least many sensible men do say,
    Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
    At least many sensible men confesses,
    For the stronger we our houses do build,
    The less chance we have of being killed."
     
  15.  
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  16. Tom Cannavan

    Tom Cannavan Administrator

    I can still recite all of "Scorflufus" by heart - absolutely brilliant. Do google it if you haven't seen it before - "it came from the east packed in bladders of yeast, so the Chinese must take half the blame." "Aye!Scorflufus had struck! At man, beast, and duck." Still cracks me up.
     
  17. Tom Cannavan

    Tom Cannavan Administrator

    I do genuinely like all three mentioned in my post. Used to listen to a lot of Hindemith, Bartok, Schoenberg, Kodaly in my more avant garde days
     
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  18. Ode to Wine

    Day-colored wine,
    night-colored wine,
    wine with purple feet
    or wine with topaz blood,
    wine,
    starry child
    of earth,
    wine, smooth
    as a golden sword,
    soft
    as lascivious velvet,
    wine, spiral-seashelled
    and full of wonder,
    amorous,
    marine;
    never has one goblet contained you,
    one song, one man,
    you are choral, gregarious,
    at the least, you must be shared.
    At times
    you feed on mortal
    memories;
    your wave carries us
    from tomb to tomb,
    stonecutter of icy sepulchers,
    and we weep
    transitory tears;
    your
    glorious
    spring dress
    is different,
    blood rises through the shoots,
    wind incites the day,
    nothing is left
    of your immutable soul.
    Wine
    stirs the spring, happiness
    bursts through the earth like a plant,
    walls crumble,
    and rocky cliffs,
    chasms close,
    as song is born.
    A jug of wine, and thou beside me
    in the wilderness,
    sang the ancient poet.
    Let the wine pitcher
    add to the kiss of love its own.

    My darling, suddenly
    the line of your hip
    becomes the brimming curve
    of the wine goblet,
    your breast is the grape cluster,
    your nipples are the grapes,
    the gleam of spirits lights your hair,
    and your navel is a chaste seal
    stamped on the vessel of your belly,
    your love an inexhaustible
    cascade of wine,
    light that illuminates my senses,
    the earthly splendor of life.

    But you are more than love,
    the fiery kiss,
    the heat of fire,
    more than the wine of life;
    you are
    the community of man,
    translucency,
    chorus of discipline,
    abundance of flowers.
    I like on the table,
    when we're speaking,
    the light of a bottle
    of intelligent wine.
    Drink it,
    and remember in every
    drop of gold,
    in every topaz glass,
    in every purple ladle,
    that autumn labored
    to fill the vessel with wine;
    and in the ritual of his office,
    let the simple man remember
    to think of the soil and of his duty,
    to propagate the canticle of the wine.

    Pablo Neruda
     
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  19. Mark, no room in your heart for the rather more Orstralian Les Murray?
     
  20. Apologies in advance for going back on topic...

    Thread drift is usually benign and harmless but can be employed in subtle ways to derogate the initiator of the thread by casting doubt on the legitimacy of his subject material, or by going off topic as much as possible, in a similar way to how speakers in the House of Commons can get drowned out by the opposition benches. I witnessed - but did not instigate - a funny example recently when the initiator of the thread, who is notoriously thin-skinned, posted on his VE Day 1945 claret tasting, and the discussion quickly became dominated by a series of diatribes about fake wines, much to his chagrin, then about Parker points before and descending into a farcical discussion comparing notes about the disgraceful antics of some parents at kids’ soccer matches.

    Bordeaux Wine Enthusiasts • View topic - Extraordinary tasting in Copenhagen - Bx 1945 vintage
     
  21. Cor!
     
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  22. Cor a vin?
     
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  23. Dulce et de Coravin
    Pro Liber Pater mori
     
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  24. I’m surprised no one has suggested Alsace Pinot Gris yet
     

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