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David Harcourt
Administrator
| Joined: | 12 Jul 2006 |
| Location: | |
| Posts: | 1074 |
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Posted: 13 Jul 2006 02:22 am |
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At lunch time today I say a man standing talking to his phone (all right: he was "texting").
He was in his shirt sleeves.
The sun was shining, certainly, but this is Wellington in winter. A stiffish breeze (what in other parts of New Zealand is called "a gale", I believe) was blowing, and it was freezing.
It occurred to me that this was a man who will need my solar topee in Spring. See:
http://www.trademe.co.nz/Browse/Listing.aspx?id=63612598&ed=true
If his head is too big for it, I'm fairly confident that I can arrange for his head to be shrunk.
Anyhoo, I did want an opportunity to try to put a photograph in a message and a pretext (however feeble) to quote the lyrics of Noel Coward's Mad Dogs and Englishmen in full, so here they are:
In tropical climes there are certain times of day
When all the citizens retire,
to tear their clothes off and perspire.
It's one of those rules that the biggest fools obey,
Because the sun is much too sultry and one must avoid
its ultry-violet ray --
Papalaka-papalaka-papalaka-boo.
Papalaka-papalaka-papalaka-boo.
Digariga-digariga-digariga-doo.
Digariga-digariga-digariga-doo.
The natives grieve when the white men leave their huts,
Because they're obviously, absolutely nuts --
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
The Japanese don't care to, the Chinese wouldn't dare to,
Hindus and Argentines sleep firmly from twelve to one,
But Englishmen detest a siesta,
In the Philippines there are lovely screens,
to protect you from the glare,
In the Malay states there are hats like plates,
which the Britishers won't wear,
At twelve noon the natives swoon, and
no further work is done -
But Mad Dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
It's such a surprise for the Eastern eyes to see,
That though the British are effete,
they're quite impervious to heat,
When the white man rides, every native hides in glee,
Because the simple creatures hope he will
impale his solar topee on a tree.
Bolyboly-bolyboly-bolyboly-baa.
Bolyboly-bolyboly-bolyboly-baa.
Habaninny-habaninny-habaninny-haa.
Habaninny-habaninny-habaninny-haa.
It seems such a shame that when the English claim the earth
That they give rise to such hilarity and mirth -
Mad Dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
The toughest Burmese bandit can never understand it.
In Rangoon the heat of noon is just what the natives shun.
They put their scotch or rye down, and lie down.
In the jungle town where the sun beats down,
to the rage of man or beast,
The English garb of the English sahib merely gets a bit more creased.
In Bangkok, at twelve o'clock, they foam at the mouth and run,
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
Mad Dogs and Englishmen, go out in the midday sun.
The smallest Malay rabbit deplores this stupid habit.
In Hong Kong, they strike a gong, and fire off a noonday gun.
To reprimand each inmate, who's in late.
In the mangrove swamps where the python romps
there is peace from twelve till two.
Even caribous lie down and snooze, for there's nothing else to do.
In Bengal, to move at all, is seldom if ever done,
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
Attached Image (viewed 103 times):
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Ruapehu
Member
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Posted: 15 Jul 2006 12:30 am |
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Noel Coward wrote another song taking the piss out of the English ruling classes. It was The Stately Homes of England, which goes like this:
The stately homes of England we proudly represent,
We only keep them up for Americans to rent.
Tho' the pipes that supply the bathroom burst
And the lavat’ry makes you fear the worst
It was used by Charles the First (quite informally),
And later by George the Fourth on a journey north,
The state apartments keep their historical reknown,
It's wiser not to sleep there in case they tumble down;
But still if they ever catch on fire
Which with any luck they might,
We'll fight for the stately homes of England.
Last edited on 15 Jul 2006 12:30 am by Ruapehu
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