Mea Maxima Culpa… it’s work (ed)

Darlings, I fear that unless you collectively glance at the pages without my sending you a reminder. you will miss both the opportunities our tips regularly present. The first alternative world is one where you recuperate from a busy lunchtime cocktail of Brasso and Red Rull, under the arches at Charing Cross, having invested in The Tissue’s Tips.

The second, as we discovered this weekend, is to follow, semi-religiously, the advice of Peter O’Tool, the Pharoah of Galway. Winners galore including a 16/1 advised at 33s, all leading to a seat at the High Table where the Lotus Leaves and Honey take the edge off the Y’quem. The Pharoah has sent more today and some of you may have already have benefitted – but there is still one more runner to come this evening, from his trio today.

Elsewhere in our pages, I have expressed my empathy with all those who have “…sadly lost…”, “…suffered a terrible tragedy…”, “had my life ruined….”; none of whom have mentioned the poor sods who no longer work at TC. Not only mindless of their fellows’ plight, they also appear to thoughtlessly take to the skies with gay polluting abandon, demanding cheapness over reliability. This irritates rude, self-centred, self-righteous young people, who have never heard of Dale Carnegie. I have almost stopped ticking from the appearance of The Girl from the Addams Family, who was the most sinister thing I have seen on a screen since the Daleks.

Well, perhaps not quite….

The sun on the meadow is summery warm.
The stag in the forest runs free.
But gather together to greet the storm.
Tomorrow belongs to me.
The branch of the linden is leafy and Green,
The Rhine gives its gold to the sea.
But somewhere a glory awaits unseen.
Tomorrow belongs to me.