Disconnected Jottings

 The late Peter Jennings said he was there, somewhere else, but I was there at the royal stuff. And so was someone else.    

 

 

  Normally concealed under their chasubles, the bishes posed for the camera with the weapons exposed. Extra magazines are kept in their miters. The hidden lesson, here, is: Never mess with a bish. And I'm thinking 'cadre' would be a better collective noun than 'assortment' for a bunch of bishops.  

 

 The photo is actually of a group of men in an alleyway in London in the late 1890s. I added me in the golfing outfit.     

 The Grim Reaper was not having a good day, rushed off his feet and feeling fed up. He had just been kicked off the number 41 bus at Stoke Newington High Street because he didn't have the right fare to go to Urswick Road in Hackney. He was supposed to be at the home of James Fripp at 2 p.m. and it was now 1.56 p.m. It was a two-mile walk  and he knew he wouldn't get there at the right time. Besides that, he felt a bit silly in his long robe and carrying a scythe past Clapton Pond, especially as it was a hot day. He knew he dare not strip down to his shorts, though, because that would be most undignified for someone of his status. Ah, well, Jim was going to be allowed to live a bit longer than planned. You can't win 'em all.