Yep lovely again, I leave you you to do this kind of stuff.
Don't worry and my neighbours too,probably!
I like the image!
Last edited by Radu Dinu Cordeanu; 9th July 2010 at 05:00 AM.
Thanks gents, I think we ll need to be a little nuts in this game
Ha! What happened to the socialist principles? I see it now - Steve puts aside his glass of gin-fizz, opens the drawing room doors onto a wide Italianate terrace, breathes in deeply the clean upper-Cheshire air, and turning to the Spanish house-boy exclaims "Jose, it's time for a game of croquet on the lawn - get the balls out."
Nice shot. I like the composition.
Nah. He's playing with John Prescott, so that's all right.
* Non-followers of British politics will be very keen to know that our former Deputy Prime Minister was once photographed playing croquet at his government supplied little country mansion when he should have been more concerned with rather important matters of state. What made it all the more interesting was that Mr Prescott (who has now gone against what he previously stated and accepted the award of a peerage, which means he is now a 'Lord') liked to portray himself as the bastion of the left-wing of the Labour Party.
But don't worry - they all sold us out, not just him. Where once there were left-wing principles, now there is a big hole!
As far as I can recollect I have never played with a Spaniards balls on a croquet lawn. This is not Altricham you know. You have rumbled me however. Regardless of my working class background I do like my Charles Tyrwhitt shirts and my Blackberry Mobile Devices. I like to think I am a George Orwell in reverse (Llewro Egroeg...is that Welsh?). Instead of the Road to Wigan Pier its more the A538 to Wilmslow. When I get into my natural Lancastrian surroundings I soon revert to a Liverpool football shirt and a pair of camo cutoffs. Like Old George there are certain things that my backgound will just not permit me to stoop to. For George it was the fly blown black tripe and the labours of the pit. For me it is the patio heater and the Audi.Ha! What happened to the socialist principles? I see it now - Steve puts aside his glass of gin-fizz, opens the drawing room doors onto a wide Italianate terrace, breathes in deeply the clean upper-Cheshire air, and turning to the Spanish house-boy exclaims "Jose, it's time for a game of croquet on the lawn - get the balls out.
Donald, like all good Eton boys our late and grat(ing) labour Prime Minister needed a tubby, northern kid to take the mick out of and periodically shove his head down the lavatory. That was Johns roll in Government; to speak with a northern accent and shove his own head down the lavatory when Tony gave him the nod. Not a gleaming example of Northern Pride but someone has to play jester at Tony and Cherie's cheese and whine parties.
More of a sheepskin gilet really...goes a treat with the blue overalls and Uniroyal wellies or is that the Yorkshire national dress... anyway it keeps you warm when chasing furry animals up hills. Welsh national dress aside, I think you can still buy hair shirts in the Landsend catalog, Page 657 next to the moleskin underpants and the thermal g-stringsI only wear hair shirts.