Hello, mother, cried Emile as Mary came through the front door. What’s happened The doctor was not wearing a mask and she says I have to go out and play Bingo That seems odd. Mary made them both pilchard sandwiches topped with vanilla ice cream.And wondere what was wrong with her Suddenly she realised the pain had a curious intensity, like she had felt in her teeth /jaw just before an angina attack Out came the GNT spray which she aimed under her tongue,using Guy’s Hospital method Wow,said Emile.That looks weird.Can I have some? Emile, it is what bombs are made of.It could kill a cat In a few minutes the pain was gone and Mary felt relieved though angry In ran Annie in pink leisure clothes and green Mary Jane shoes I like your shoes,Mary said.Where did you get them? I found then at the back of the wardrobe I think I shall look in my wardrobe, though some shoes I had kept for best disintegrated Where? I was having tea with Dorothy.I looked down and saw lots of black spots on her carpet.It was the soles of my shoes.She was very kind and just got her dust pan and brush I think we should wear the things we love now, not save them for some imaginary future,Annie murmured like a pike that has just seen Ted Hughes in its dreams Guess what I have bought,Mary cried A new mug? No, a coat the colour of dark grey stone wallss I don’t like the sound of that.Shall we call Dave? No, it’s ok,I am pleased I can sit on walls in the winter You are easily pleased,Annie informed her.Most women want new kitchens, Le Creuset pots, clothe s and shoes I have enough,Mary responded. But who defines what is enough? When I went for an interview for Uni it was on a Tuesday.I wore my only blouse on Sunday so I wore it again though the collar was dirty and my cardigan made by Mother was not a success as the button band was not the right length as it twisted I went over the Pennines by train in the worst winter ever and arrived for my interview with no money for a sandwich for my lunch The men interviewing mte asked why I wanted to do maths I said,I want to do research.I had already discovered something myself though later I saw Pascal had discovered it.He had better notation which helps They burst out laughing and slapped their thighs.At least they didn’t sexually abuse me I had never seen men with manicured hands before How did you feel? In those days I didn’t feel,Mary told Annie.I wish I were like that now At least they accepted you,Annie whispered.Let’s not bring up the past It seems to come up by itself And so say all of us
On a personal level, Wittgenstein’s philosophical efforts reflect a struggle to disentangle his identity from the confusing, mystifying language of his original family. He had been brainwashed, so to speak, under the usurping pressure of his father’s self-centered universe. Hermann Wittgenstein was an epistemological tyrant, defining reality for all those who sought to be connected to him. This philosopher’s thinking, therefore, can be viewed as a self-deprogramming enterprise, ultimately directed toward the possibility of liberating himself from the paternal agenda and claiming his own place in this world.
Wittgenstein’s first book, the only one published during his lifetime, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (1921/2001), is an effort to clarify the relationship between the words of our language and what he called the “states of affairs” appearing in the world we perceive. Two specific assertion appear in this book, ones we believe are charged with personal significance:
“There is no such thing as the subject…”
“ The subject does not belong to the world…” (1922, p. 69)
On a philosophical level, this reminds us that we ought not to objectify the first person singular: the ‘I’ is not an item in the world. We are being told that the experiencing subject is not a content of the world we perceive; it is instead what he spoke of as a ‘limit’ of this world, a standpoint from which what we call “world” and all its contents appear.
If we lift the statements out of their ordinary philosophical context, and think about the personal, life-historical meaning they might contain, an epistemological rebellion on Wittgenstein’s part appears, one mounted against the powerful father who tried to be the all-defining director of his son’s existence. The son is saying:
“’I’ am not a thing belonging to your world, not anything anyone can define or control. My being lies outside the insanity of your self-absorption. Above all, know this: ‘I’ am not an item in the inventory of your possessions, to be made use of as you please!”
The pull of the father’s usurping authority, though, must have continued to be very strong, presenting an ever-present danger of falling back under his control and becoming once again the obedient extension of an irresistible will. This is not just a matter of a child fighting back against a parent who is strict and controlling. Wittgenstein’s separating himself from his father was a matter of rescuing his very being as someone independently real. A crisis occurred in his young life in which he saw that continuing to walk on the road laid out for him by his father would be to become permanently itemized on the list of his father’s many possessions. It would be to embrace annihilation.
A sign of the felt danger of returning to the obliterating conformity of his youth appears in a feature of Wittgenstein’s life that his biographers have noted but not fully understood. It was his incapacity to dissimulate, to lie, to conceal the truth because of the claim of whatever circumstance he was in. If he did move toward some concealment, which happened exceedingly rarely, he was thrown into a crisis of wanting to immediately kill himself. Our understanding of this inability to lie is that presenting anything other than what he felt and knew to be true posed the danger of a re-engulfment by the falseness of an identity based on the need to be accepted rather than on his own spontaneous intentionality and authenticity. If the only possibility was that of a false life, then his only option would have been death.
The philosopher enforced his emancipation from enslavement by cutting off relations with his father, and he refused even to accept his very substantial inheritance after the father finally died. Wittgenstein saw taking the money as sacrificing a very precarious sense of personal existence. The heart and soul of this man’s madness lies in the danger of annihilation that haunted him throughout his life. His philosophy we can thus view as a search for an answer to this ontological vulnerability.
His writings, for the most part, consist in aphoristic meditations focusing on language. He gives us trains of thought that attempt to expose various confusions into which we fall, arguing that many – perhaps all – of the classic problems of philosophy arise as secondary manifestations of these linguistic confusions. Wittgenstein engages himself, and his readers, in dialogues subjecting specific examples of how we speak and think to relentless reflection and analysis. In the process of these conversations, a profound critique of the whole Cartesian tradition emerges, a dismantling of metaphysical conceptions and distinctions that otherwise enwrap our thinking and imprison us within structures of unconscious confusion. Central in this transforming inquiry are understandings of human existence in terms of ‘mind,’ seen as a ‘thinking thing,’ an actual entity with an inside that looks out on a world from which it is essentially estranged. Such an idea, once posited, leads inexorably to a dualism: one begins to wonder how the entity ‘mind’ strangely, mysteriously connects to another entity, ‘body.’ He makes compelling arguments that specific linguistic confusions based on the human tendency to turn nouns into substantives lie at the root of such otherwise unfounded ideas. In Wittgenstein’s universe, there are no ‘minds’ that have interiors, no intrapsychic spaces in which ideas and feelings float about in some “queer medium,” no mysteries we need to be fascinated by regarding how the mental entity and its supposed contents relate to the physical object we call the body. Longstanding traditions in metaphysics are accordingly undercut and the terrain of philosophy is opened up to new and clarifying ways of exploring our existence. Well-known arguments against the coherence of solipsism as a philosophical position and also against the possibility of an individual ‘private language’ definitively refute the idea that it makes any sense to think of a human life in terms of an isolated ‘I,’ or ego. He was a post-Cartesian philosopher par excellence.
Wittgenstein sometimes viewed his scrutinizing of our linguistic expressions and associated patterns of thought as a form of ‘therapy,’ performed upon philosophy and society. It is our view that this therapy he offered to our civilization mirrored precisely the personal effort described earlier, in which his life goal was to free himself from the entangling confusions, invalidations, and annihilations pervading the family system of his youth. In this respect he succeeded in connecting uniquely personal issues to important currents and needs of the larger culture. His philosophical journey therefore allowed him to find a meaning for his life beyond the narrow orbit of his father’s deadly narcissism and helped him avoid the tragic fate of his brothers.
Let us turn now to one of Wittgenstein’s (1953) most important specific ideas: that of a so-called language game. It is an elusive term that he never formally defined in his various dialogues, so one has to note how he used it in various contexts and extract a meaning. Of course one of his most well-known formulations is that “the meaning is the use,” and exists nowhere else, which is a distinctively post-Cartesian view of semantics.
We think of a Wittgensteinian language game as a set of words and phrases, along with their customary usages, that form a quasi-organic system, such that when one uses one or two elements in the system one is catapulted into the whole, subject to its implicit rules, in some respects trapped within its horizons of possible discourse. The German word for this is Sprachspiel, and the word obviously derives from spielen: to play. A language game, in whatever sphere of our lives it becomes manifest, encloses us within a finite system of elements and possibilities, and subjects us to rules we knowingly or unknowingly tend to follow. Such a structure literally “plays” with our minds, shaping and directing our experiences according to preformed pathways and constraining them within pre-established boundaries. Wittgenstein wanted us to become aware of these systems in which we are all embedded, and this would be part of his therapy for our whole culture. The goal is one of ushering in a greater clarity about what we think and who and what we are, illuminating what he spoke of as our “complicated form of life.”
The primal language game of this man’s personal history was the communication system in his early family, which designated his existence – and those of his doomed brothers – as playthings, almost like chess pieces belonging to the father’s controlling agendas and properties. A clear perception of the mystifications and usurping invalidations of his early family world would obviously be of assistance in this man’s attempts to find his own way. He tried mightily in his philosophical reflections to release his discipline and the world at large from its “bewitchment” by language, even as he was able to free himself only very tenuously from the spell cast by his father.
Kierkegaard, S. (1834-1842) The Journals of Soren Kierkegaard. Excerpted in Bretall, R. (Ed.) A Kierkegaard Anthology, Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1946.
Wittgenstein, L. (1922) Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. London and New York: Routledge, 1974.
Wittgenstein, L. (1953) Philosophical Investigations. New York: Macmillan
When Mary awoke, she felt the pain in her ear was worse. I think must have an ear infection, she said to Annie while she was beating the doormat on the wall to get the dust out. Maybe you should stop cleaning and housework.You are releasing lots of dirt into the air You are right,Mary replied.It’s just what Mother used to do But did she have a hoover? No, we had a Ewbank. Get a cordless cleaner and it will suck the dust out for you Thanks,Annie.I think I will go to the Urgent Care Centre.I don’t want an abscess in my ear to explode,as it were. I’m sorry I can’t come but they have restrictions about how many visitors go in Mary called a cab.Soon she was in the almost empty hospital.How much she would have liked a companion.Still, there is always God, wherever he has moved to. A young woman with thick frizzy fair hair called her in and said that she was a GP Mary was thinking how much better her pale lips would look with some lipstick As for her clothes, it is best to remain silent.I suppose doctors can’t afford to go to M & S nowadays Mary thought. There is some wax in your ear, the doctor told Mary in a cruel manner That’s good.I need a candle,Mary said inventively Then the maskless doctor stood in front of Mary and peered into her mouth. Shee pushed Mary’s crutch away and announced, there is nothing wrong with you You must go out and make new connections, do things, go to Dances, play Bingo Get up and walk, she advised , Jesus remarked in the Gospel l,though he also asked the cripple to take up his bed yet there were no beds left in the hospital Oh,dear Mary said I am not wired myself as yet.My body is running on sunshine. Do you think I should offer my supine body to the lonely old men living in the big houses near here? I’m afraid I shall have to charge them.Do you have any free room with an elecric socket that I might use? And we’ll need a bed The beds are all full, the doctor replied Good grief, how many people are in these beds? Do they share? Don’t ask me.It’s my coffee break, the young lady cried Mary struggled up and went outside to call a cab At least it’s been a change of scene yet as the cab drove her home, the pain began to get worse. Is Mary going to make it?
To be concluded shortly Funeral arrangements by the Coop. if needed
One evening Mary got earache so bad she was anxious if her brain might be damaged What’s wrong,mother? mewed Emile her small black cat I’ve got earache, she told him.And I am still not your mother! When will you be my mother? If the law was changed we could get married,Mary said wittily I can’t marry you, it would fee like incest,Emile whispered I don’t expect to have a sexual life with you, but you could massage by legs and run up and down my spine Anyone can do that. Well, not a dog I hope,Mary giggled.No I love cats After watching “Princess Di, the true story” on their tablets,were both happy to rest in their beds Mary woke up to find her earache was worse, like a knife running into her head Stan, she cried, where are you? I need you!Come home! Emile ran in, with tears in his eyes You know Dad is heaven,Mother Yes,said Mary, though he could be in Purgatory Is that because he had Annie as his lover,Emile asked No, no, l love is not what I’m thinking of.I bought a very nice bag in Somerset as my workbag When he left our flat to get the train to work, he had taken my bag not to mention six notebooks with unlined paper I was going to use for Art So what did you say. Mother? I said nothing.Wittgenstein wrote Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must remain silent But you could have thrown a bucket of cold water over him,Emil said angrily I doubt Wittgenstein would like that,Mary smiled Sometimes we just have to let things go or go into a bohemian boutique .. I went into one and got a yellow cord skirt of unusual design and some deep red trousers Did you not wear a top,Emile enquired jauntily? No,I went to give a lecture on 3 dimensional calculus nude from the waist upward Did nobody say anything? I was so thin I looked like a boy and they were all enraptured by my words anyway Those days we were civil to others and ignored their errors or that their trousers were ripped and that some shirts looked crumpled.We mathematians don’t care about these things. Then they saw DPD had a van outside. man crossed the road wth several parcels from M&S. Mary pulled put a long green wool coat and a cashmere hat So who doesn’t care,Emile mewed? I thought it would be good when I need to sit on a wall.The moss on walls is green. Well,I can see the sense in that, he replied In ran adulterous Annie their neighbour and Stan’s former mistress Oh,I have bought one of those.I fear they will shut down and it’s hard to buy a tailored wool coat these days.They have merino wool jumpers too Perhaps I’ll buy another, she muttered. Can I have a jumper,Emile asked? May I May I what? Have a jumper I am not human, he mewed.Don’t be rude I will knit you a jumper,Mary told him.Let me know the colours you like Don’t climb a tree in it or it might catch on a thorn Oh, mother, thank you,Emile murmured as he fell asleep
Do I need permission to be sad; Or wish that I could cut out my own heart? Strangled with the tension,feeling mad Usurping God to declare that I am bad Who can give permission to be sad? Unwind the soul by pulling on a thread Where can self destruction make a start Can’t we help each other when we’re sad Refuse to inflict damage on our hearts?
And here are Pandora’s socks, Professor Smith, quipped, as the female student in the front row fell asleep whilst sitting upright in a large armchair covered in chintz And I also have Achilles’ heel here. Now for your project, I want you all to say Three Hail Mary’s. A large bee stung my ass and I awoke and coughed up my soul onto the bed. Get back inside, I cried. Keep me whole, give me oil, keep me churning. Alright, it muttered calmly. Don’t lose your head. I have it well screwed on, I responded. This is a surprise to see you. Well, since Pandora lost her socks all the souls have been getting loose from their bodies.Women…why do they lose their socks so much? After that, the doctor called. Hi, he screamed. For God’s sake, don’t do that, I murmured I’m not dead you know..even though my blood pressure is zero. He smiled and handed me a blood sugar monitor. Here you are, this will cure your pneumonia. What about my new mania? What is that? I am interested in spirals… Keep it under control. The whole point of mania is to be out of control Try for a sort of controlled uncontrol,then.my dear, he murmured. What a clever idea, I told him. Goodbye I swallowed the test kit and it cured my pneumonia immediately
Mary was going out for a meal with some former colleagues who had taught under functioning analysis and triquacking theory.She stood in her bedroom, surrounded by piles of clothes, wondering how hot the restaurant might be and how cold and frosty the air in the road by the bus stop. I think I’ll phone Pete she told herself. Pete answered on the first ring.After so many years, she still recognised his semi- South African accent and pleasing voice Hello,it’s Mary Dirac-Brown hers, she said shyly. Hello Mary Dirac-Brown, he responded instantly Why, he sounds like the Amazon website, she thought to herself.That figures! Hello Pete, I was wondering if you could give me a lift to the restaurant tonight You don’t need a lift, it’s on the ground floor, he informed her quietly and sensitively I mean in your car.I can’t drive now. Why not? Actually, I never took the Test because I always drove very fast Why didn’t you use the brakes? he teased her.I reckon you might have passed. I stopped the car and vowed never to drive again but now it is a problem with Stan dead etc Well, what time do you suggest? Shall I come earlier? Why does he say that ,she pondered No, it will take ages to put all my clothes away.I can’t make up my mind what to wear. Why not just copy Hilary Clinton? I must not buy any more clothes.Shall I dress smartly? Or smart casual or unsmart? I know, said Pete.Shut your eyes and pick up 3 things off the bed and then wear those. Mary closed her eyes.When she opened them she had a pair of Arran legwarmers, a green silk shirt and a black pleated silk skirt. I suppose if I wear my new long camel coat, the leg warmers will be hidden, she whispered.She took a bottle of dandruff shampoo and washed her light gold locks and then waxed her bikini line by mistake. My goodness, why and how did I ever think of doing that, she pondered ruefully?And in the winter who wears a bikini? Dressed in her pure silk outfit, the legwarmers hidden under thigh high red leather boots, she created a buzz in the restaurant as she climbed in through the window followed by Pete in his yellow wool suit and green tie. Why did you come in via the window, asked Tom McDonne, the former head of her maths department. We didn’t see any doors, she cried gaily.And Mossad wants more women agents so I thought MI5 might like to see me. Who is this Mossad, Tom asked? It’s the Israeli intelligence service.You must have heard of them. But they don’t want old people! Tom told her ignorantly That’s why we came through the window, so if any spies are here they will see how agile I am still.And I still know what uncountable infinity is.Aleph, aleph. Tom led them to a long table. Wow, it’s a log table Mary screamed.I’ve not seen one for years. Well, with computers and such like we don’t really need them anymore, Tom revealed. Are they real logs, she queried. No, they are vinyl, the waiter admitted furtively.Easier to wash Mother never washed my log tables, Mary told the men impudently. Let’s order some food, Tom said, as they all sat down I fancy the Polish Hussar Roast, he admitted. What has a Polish Hussar ever done to you, Mary asked? Nothing yet but I live in hope And so do all of u
Why did you not speak before you died? I need words,I can’t interpret smiles When you said you loved me, did you lie? When you could have heard me, you would sigh Why did you not speak before you died? Where is Reason when it’s not applied Why do lovers not respond to cries? Why do we beget yet not beguile? Why did you not speak before you died? I need your words,I can’t interpret smiles
I missed the flowering of the maple tree Where red leaves swell like baby’s growing fists i fear to struggle there, what shall I see, Just the doves and sparrows flying free? Missed the flowering of the maple tree But watched less subtle human comedy Saw politicians flounder, saw ships list Missed the burning of some red leaved tree I wonder when they’ll break the baby’s wrists?
No need to do assertiveness training No need to become charismatic, thin,stylish, eat what you hate, You can pretend you can’t see someone and they will asume you are blind not rude Similarly, pretend to be deaf as and when Be polite to the poor and rude to the rich, who will assume it is dementia not rage Give away all but one pair your shoes… my husband did this, how I never discovered Ditto with clothes No need to use antiperspirent any more, if you ever have done Pretend you are not English.Maybe you aren’t Stop watching the News and look at the night sky instead Doze all day and sleep all night every few weeks Do take up Art as even if it’s awful, people will still be amazed that you are learning it Ditto with writing Poetry However do not buy a violin or your neighbours will kill you
We’re solitary,sad, confined by fear Of death, of intubation, loss of breath The Virus is the ruler bringing tears
No escape to the Garden for the beer Instead we’re mulling over our own death We’re solitary, sad, confined by fear
The lack of freedom is now far more than clear We live in groups,we’re all subject to wrath The Virus is the ruler, makes us weird
We cannot kiss the ones we feel most dear Especially if we have a hard,dry cough We’re solitary, down. confined by fear
The heart may burn, the heat will kill or sear Few folks now are seen to smile or laugh The Virus is a Terror bringing tears
Tell the Terror firmly to be off Suck a sweet and that will clear your cough We’re solitary,low, confined by fear But still we love the ones that are so dear
Emotions can be difficult to bear But maybe they bring something we should hear A message or a wound we have ignored Action’s needed or we are destroyed
Being happy always is unreal Living in compartments now concealed If you cannot bear your pain alone Seek for conversations that will warm
Loving neighbours comes extremely hard If from our own suffering we are barred Imprisoned feelings make us tense as boards Stiff like wooden puppets,s frozen hearts
As they say, the way out sends us through The feelings that we did not know we knew
The trees are weeping tears of loss and grief The storm attacked them while they were in leaf Birds fly by my window, very close I have not cut the shrubs so near the house
So this garden is my private wood Shared by birds and beatles and by God For I find God in silence, long and green And in the little places in between
Yet I am sad my man has had to die After several years my heart still cries The house, the pictures, stoneware seem to speak I cry for him when sound is absent,bleak
Now the grief is less I miss him most He seems so far away, in tears he floats
My food’s no longer bagged when it arrives So I buy plastic bags myself instead Then I have to stand close by the man Helping him use my bags to put it in So now I buy black bags and other types I use more plastic than I did, can this be right? I also have to stand near my front door I can’t stay safe distant any more
I see some shops deliver in brown sacks Made of paper,easy to unpack I wonder if I can get mine there When I find out who the people are Now I get more angry by the day I think if I could kneel down,I would pray
By the green path, sheep were being sheared The shepherd composed in his mastery The sheep were not as frightened as I feared Down the green road, sheep were being sheared The world was never gentle, why my tears The force of Nature, fearless, has endured Whether there is Good is mystery Down the green path, sheep were swiftly sheared The shepherd humble shows his mastery
Words are not the object they describe Maybe they are pointers,are a guide Warm, the word. does not make many hot Warmth refers to quality or not
In between the word and what it names There is a space where others might seek change Then we have the nameless we may see Outside any box or category
Now there is no subject, just the text Where are those ancient scrolls that once were blessed? For books are not just many written words They’re touched by all the people who have read
Am I nothing but an aching gene Watching Princess Di now on my screen?
They gave me a small watch on Xmas Day But with a watch an eightyear old can’t play I envied both my sisters theirnew dolls As on the old settee the dolls were lulled I stood there uncomprehending and alone Had I reached unknown a real milestone? Then my sister lent me one of hers I broke that little head upon my chair I was holding her with all my tenderness Scarcely breathing in my velvet dress I sat down slow to rock my babe awhile The horror of her cracking head was vile Now I play with numbers and with words Xmas is a problem to be shared
The reason was my Dad was dying.He wanted to give my older brothers and me watches as he would not be here when we were 21.The watch was a traditional gift then.
Think of this, a weed still has its flowers They may be small, like ivy they may spread We must display ourselves, not cower Until the moment comes when we are dead
Does it matter that you hate my guts? That you dislike my face so pink and white? I am happy to deflect your bombs so hot The nuclear option seems so very trite
I am me and I may be a weed The definition falters as we talk Let us be judged by all our deeds The sparrow must be careless of the hawk
I no longer want your letters vile Be gone from me and you will make me smile
When I was about 3 years old,my parents took us to a park in another town
It was very pretty.Then we went to the bus stop to go home.
.I sat in the front seat and I think my brothers were further back along with my parents
The bus drew up at the bottom of our street, and my dad was busy helping Mum
with the push chair and my sister
.I just sat where I was.I saw them all sstanding on the pavement
Suddenly just as the bus set off, they realised I was missing.I can remember seeing
Dad running after the bus .I felt no emotion.
At the next bus stop,Dad got on and took me back to the family
I can’t understand.Why did I not feel anxious? Did I want to get away
from them? Did they slap me in the park? It was very common then to beat little
children but I didn’t feel distressed
I will never know why I did this.And Mum and Dad have died.
I can’t remember much from that time.We had no car so we often went to Parks on Sundays
Mary came home to find Stan crying in his old chair What’s the matter,baby, she asked gently? I feel so stupid, he told her.I was in the kitchen getting a drink but the running water made my bladder want to empty Well, we do have a loo in the hall I forgot that so I picked up an old pan and used that That’s ok,dearest, she whispered Then I realised, it was a colander! I am sorry,Mary, Well, it’s nothing.Women are used to things like this. Hi said Annie as she ran in with her pink cheeks glowing I have got a steam mop today and I’ve just cleaned your kitchen floor.I’d done mine earlier That is very kind of you.We had a bit of a problem in there Yes, the tomcat up the road seemed to have left his mark but it’s ok now She smiled at Stan. who still looked nervous. I’ll buy you a steam mop for Xmas.I think of it as a toy and I am killing Roman soldiers with the steam or I have other little fantasies So do I,Stan muttered Why don’t we have a cup of tea? Mary carried the tea in on a wooden tray Mary, that’s my desk drawer. Don’t tell me you were going to wee into this No, I brought it down to shake the dust out before I put my pens and paper back Well, remember, chamber pots are never made of wood. Wow. how amazing Why not ? Because it is porous so stuff soaks into the very wood itself Annie said, why do you need one when you have an ensuite plus a loo in the hall Maybe it is my second childhood,Stan joked merrily Emile strolled in Smokey and I have been in the woods.The kitchen seems very clean I’ve been trying my steam mop on it,Annie reported Very nice, said Emile,I’d like a small one Cats don’t mop floors, mewed Smokey Maybe we will be the first Just to make sure Dad is well I’d better ring 999 Stan is not your Dad and he does not want to see anyone Why not? He wet the floor Humans suffer so.We mate with all and sundry, wet the ground and eat the meat when you forget to freeze it Well, never mind.We do have a bit of fun Have more,Emile mewed And so say all of us
