Quote: john lucas 101 @ 14th January 2014, 2:04 PM GMTNo, it's all the murdering what makes you a bad person.
Excuse me. I speak very clearly!
Quote: john lucas 101 @ 14th January 2014, 2:10 PM GMTWe had no choice!
Word.
Only Fools And Horses Twitter campaign 26 million Page 4
As a QPR fan I adored Gerry Francis, Stan Bowles, Dave Clement and other Loftus Road greats from the 70s. I wouldn't like to watch them play now though, I'll just cherish the memories thanks.
And Trigger pulls a face!
Marleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeene.
It was great at its peak but dragged on too long.
Quote: Will Cam @ 14th January 2014, 11:17 PM GMTAs a QPR fan I adored Gerry Francis, Stan Bowles, Dave Clement and other Loftus Road greats from the 70's. I wouldn't like to watch them play now though, I'll just cherish the memories thanks.
They'd probably be better than the lot you've got now.
Joey Barton? 
Quote: Dave @ 14th January 2014, 12:11 PM GMTStephen Fry once wrote that the reader enjoys Wodehouse all the more because there is an interaction at play between writer and reader: the reader puts on the voices to the characters etc.
Fry, who ought not be worshipped as an infallible demigod, said the laughter was mutually created twixt writer and reader. Wrought is a rum word to be using when describing the pleasure that audiences derive from watching a telly show. You may think the Pearson guy unusually harsh for censuring your misuse of the word wrought but we should be grateful when others stoop to correct our errors that aren't mere typos.
Here's how Wodehouse uses wrought:
"Yes. The authorities wrought well when they shaped this helmet for Constable Oates. They aimed to finish him off impressively, not to give him something which would balance on top of his head like a peanut, and they succeeded."
Wodehouse is more inclined to use overwrought than wrought. For example:
She ran upstairs, fearing she knew not what. She found Nutty sitting on the bed, looking like an overwrought giraffe.
And here's what Fry actually wrote about the pleasure derived from reading:
When Hugh Laurie and I had the extreme honour and terrifying responsibility of being asked to play Bertie Wooster and Jeeves in a series of television adaptations, we were aware of one huge problem. Wodehouse's three great achievements are plot, character and language, and the greatest of these, by far, is language. If we were reasonably competent, then all of us concerned in the television version could go some way towards conveying a fair sense of the narrative of the stories and revealing, too, a good deal of the nature of their characters. The language, however, lives and breathes in its written, printed form. Let me use an example, taken at random. I flip open a book of stories and happen on Bertie and Jeeves discussing a young man called Cyril Bassington-Bassington.
"I've never heard of him. Have you ever heard of him, Jeeves?"
"I am familiar with the name Bassington-Bassington, sir. There are three branches of the Bassington-Bassington family - the Shropshire Bassington-Bassingtons, the Hampshire Bassington-Bassingtons, and the Kent Bassington-Bassingtons."
"England seems pretty well stocked up with Bassington-Bassingtons."
"Tolerably so, sir."
"No chance of a sudden shortage, I mean, what?"
Well, try as hard as actors might, such an exchange will always work best on the page. It may still be amusing when delivered as dramatic dialogue, but no actors are as good as the actors we each of us carry in our head. And that is the point, really: one of the gorgeous privileges of reading PG Wodehouse is that he makes us feel better about ourselves because we derive a sense of personal satisfaction from the laughter mutually created. Every comma, every "sir", every "what?" is something we make work in the act of reading.
"The greatest living writer of prose", "the Master", "the head of my profession", "akin to Shakespeare", "a master of the language"... If you had never read Wodehouse and only knew about the world his books inhabit, you might be forgiven for blinking in bewilderment at the praise that has been lavished on a "mere" comic author by writers such as Compton Mackenzie, Evelyn Waugh, Hilaire Belloc, Bernard Levin and Susan Hill. But once you dive into the soufflé, once you engage with all those miraculous verbal felicities, such adulation begins to make sense.
Example serves better than description. Let me throw up some more random nuggets. Particular to Wodehouse are the transferred epithets: "I lit a rather pleased cigarette", or, "I pronged a moody forkful of eggs and b". Characteristic, too, are the sublimely hyperbolic similes: "Roderick Spode. Big chap with a small moustache and the sort of eye that can open an oyster at sixty paces", or, "The stationmaster's whiskers are of a Victorian bushiness and give the impression of having been grown under glass". Here is an example that certainly vindicates my point about his prose working best on the page. Reading this aloud is not much use:
"Sir Jasper Finch-Farrowmere?" said Wilfred.
"ffinch-ffarrowmere," corrected the visitor, his sensitive ear detecting the capitals.
Then there is a passage such as this, Lord Emsworth musing on his feckless younger son, Freddie Threepwood.
Unlike the male codfish, which, suddenly finding itself the parent of three million five hundred thousand little codfish, cheerfully resolves to love them all, the British aristocracy is apt to look with a somewhat jaundiced eye on its younger sons.
If you are immune to such writing, you are fit, to use one of Wodehouse's favourite Shakespearean quotations, only for treasons, stratagems and spoils. You don't analyse such sunlit perfection, you just bask in its warmth and splendour. Like Jeeves, Wodehouse stands alone, and analysis is useless.
Quote: Marc P @ 15th January 2014, 11:54 AM GMTWas he a cricketer?
Yes, the conman I used to share squalid digs with was a cricketer. A tall, lean fellow. From Lancashire. Claimed to have played for Lancashire in his youth. He did introduce me to a short-arse New Zealand cricketer named Danny Morrison, a bowler, who, like him, was an amateur magician. Entertaining fellows.
And ting.
Word.
Quote: Will Cam @ 14th January 2014, 11:17 PM GMTAs a QPR fan I adored Gerry Francis, Stan Bowles, Dave Clement and other Loftus Road greats from the 70's. I wouldn't like to watch them play now though, I'll just cherish the memories thanks.
This.
Not a QPR fan but right there is some real players. Gimme the football of the 70s and 80s any day.