“Funeral Blues”
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
- W.H. Auden
At the risk of having to change my name, or lose my job, I am going ahead with revealing the INSIDE and OUT of the Aussie Battler mansion! 
I am not sure if anyone other than Guru Nudie is enjoying these video podcasts, but here is another one anyway… 
Today was a rainy day in London, so I decided to see 2 shows in the West End: The 39 Steps, and Les Miserables. 
