Here is a story I probably wouldn’t have touched with a barge pole, so fraught is it with hysteria, fear and loathing: Child porn swoop nets seven suspects.
Marcel doesn’t just touch it; he vivisects it.
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Some may have noticed that my blogs include variations — tasteful I hope — in fonts and styles, tables, and other features that might make you think I have some degree of Cascading Style Sheets skill. I don’t. Even if I did, accepting free WordPress rather than downloading the other version does limit what you can do, unless you pay a small fee for the right to edit your CSS, but even then there are limits imposed by the shared nature of WordPress templates.
I first heard this poem at an English Teachers Association Conference, I think it was, and it was read by one of the great UK pioneers of the “New English” of the 1970s, John Dixon, whose Growth Through English was one or the two great books to emerge from the international conference on the teaching of English in 1967 at Dartmouth College, James Moffett’s Teaching the Universe of Discourse being the other. See Right-wing education critique is historically inaccurate and perpetuates myths on this blog.
My point today though is that this poem has stayed with me long after I have forgotten what else John Dixon might have said. Robert Graves was an atheist but fascinated by religion. Probably forgotten by most is his novel King Jesus.