Open Thread

Lech, so no more morning train ride haiku or generic write-ups anymore?

So it looks like Sarah Palin may be moving to Scottsdale.

I spent half of last week there. A little advance work for my candidate.

Too long, too esoteric. Especially for Monday morning.

I stand corrected. But J-P was clearly channelling D.P.

Meanwhile, speaking of Sartre, do you remember this little bit of Pythonia:

Mrs Premise: It’s a funny thing freedom. I mean how can any of us be really free when we still have personal possessions.

Mrs Conclusion: You can’t. You can’t. I mean, how can I go off and join Frelimo when I’ve got nine more installments to pay on the fridge.

Mrs Premise: No, you can’t. You can’t. Well this is the whole crux of Jean-Paul Sartre’s ‘Roads to Freedom’.

Mrs Conclusion: No, it bloody isn’t. The nub of that is, his characters stand for all of us in their desire to avoid action. Mind you, the man at the off-licence says it’s an everyday story of French country folk.

Mrs Premise: What does he know?

Mrs Conclusion: Nothing.

Mrs Premise: Sixty new pence for a bottle of Maltese Claret. Well I personally think Jean-Paul’s masterwork is an allegory of man’s search for commitment.

Mrs Conclusion: No it isn’t.

Mrs Premise: Yes it is.

Mrs Conclusion: Isn’t.

Mrs Premise: ‘Tis.

Mrs Conclusion: No it isn’t.

Mrs Premise: All right. We can soon settle this. We’ll ask him.

Mrs Conclusion: Do you know him?

Mrs Premise: Yes, we met on holiday last year.

Mrs Conclusion: In Ibiza?

Mrs Premise: Yes. He was staying there with his wife and Mr and Mr Genet. Oh, I did get on well with Madam S. We were like that.

Mrs Conclusion: What was Jean-Paul like?

Mrs Premise: Well, you know, a bit moody. Yes, he didn’t join in the fun much. Just sat there thinking. Still, Mr Rotter caught him a few times with the whoopee cushion. (she demonstrates) Le Capitalisme et La Bourgeoisie ils sont la m~me chose… Oooh we did laugh.

Mrs Conclusion: Well, we’ll give him a tinkle then.

Mrs Premise: Yes, all right. She said they were in the book. (shouts) Where’s the Paris telephone directory?

Mrs Inference: It’s on the drier.

Mrs Premise: No, no, that’s Budapest. Oh here we are Sartre … Sartre.

Mrs Varley: It’s 621036.

Mrs Premise: Oh, thank you, Mrs Varley. (dials) Hallo. Paris 621036 please and make it snappy, buster… (as they wait they sing ‘The Girl from Ipanema) Hallo? Hello Mrs Sartre. It’s Beulagh Premise here. Oh, pardon, c’est Beulagh Premise ici, oui, oui, dons Ibiza. Oui, we met… nous nous recontrons au Hotel Miramar. Oui, a la barbeque, c’est vrai. Madame S. – est-ce que Jean est chez vous? Oh merde. When will he be free? Oh pardon. Quand sera-t-il libre? Oooooh. Ha ha ha ha (to Mrs Conclusion) She says he’s spent the last sixty years trying to work that one out.