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THE LEEDS LEEK

COMMENT IS FREE
But facts are sacret
Denying but not forever rumours of a possible merger with The Leeds Leek, The Guardian has issued a statement: “If the Leek is spiritually in Leeds, and The Guardian in Manchester, perhaps we could meet somewhere in the middle, like Huddersfield. Eventually.”


Polish plumbers have not yet made inroads into this West Yorkshire market town

There were reactions to the rumour, some more mixed than others. Guardian soulmates were as an aggregate noncommittal, whilst the readers’ editor was reporting strong currents of opinion that the news department would suffer but in a good way.


Students were divided on the issue of whilst

It is thought that a representative of the loss leading national newspaper division within the Guardian Media Group observed the publisher of The Leeds Leek in a first class carriage on the train one day and assumed Leek coffers to be flush with cash and therefore ideal partners. It later transpired the Leek was just passing through.


Nightlife in Huddersfield is scheduled during daylight hours for health and safety reasons

This has been a special educational reprint of an earlier Leek story.

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Rerun

Charles & Camilla’s card apparently got lost in the post, but we have received our traditional Christmas Message from Capita:


click if the music doesn’t automatically load in your head

I couldn’t find a picture of J Hales, so BBC Director-General T Hall will have to do as representative of The Dark Side.

Since I can’t legally watch the queen this afternoon, as law abiding subjects have been doing for generations,

if I need a fix of Liz I’ll either catch her on The Crown, or splice something together in my head.
Lilibet, Leia, and Winnie in happy times
Alas the corgi bounded straight into a sarlacc, Winnie’s “silly game” with the chains was already turning deadly serious, and the young queen was advised to flee by her trusted advisor and Twi’lek Tommy, just out of shot, to avoid a diplomatic incident on Tatooine. Needless to say all quite noncanonical and not a little confusing, but it was a long time ago.…

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Leporidae domesticus

Over the course of the past two years I’ve become somewhat knowledgeable on the subject of the house rabbit.

If there’s one thing you can’t say to them, it’s “No running in the house please.”

Taking a keen interest in a hair straightener. No, you don’t need that for your ears.

The back of that shelf has a plexiglass barrier bolted to it in what turned out to be a vain attempt at denying access to a place where appliances and various chargers are frequently plugged in. A minute or so after this picture was taken, he made the leap. It may not look too difficult, but note that it’s going from one slippery surface to another, at an awkward angle. We now keep these curtains closed if he’s in a scampy mood and we can’t directly supervise him.

Rabbits like to chew. They need to chew. Chewing is their specialist subject. Naturally, we provide objects specifically made to meet this need, such as this wood panel, which he occasionally deigns to nibble.

The bag his litter comes in is also on the approved list.

Then there’s his collection of cardboard tubes.

Furniture is on the unapproved list (as are cords to Venetian blinds),

though the slats holding the mattress are OK, as long as they maintain structural integrity.

Moulding was a big worry before he arrived. To our relief, he’s satisfied himself with just a few nibbles here and there.

And he’s left the coffee table alone!

Likewise the wing chair he’s grooming underneath in the first picture.

Probably his very favourite targets, aside from my wife’s slippers, are drapes.

Those hung unmolested for a dozen years. Oh well.

Who knows what he makes of my CD collection.

“My chosen subject is the music of Shania Twain”

Rabbit, rest.

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A visit to the Tate Modern


Tower of babble


Rotten Tomatoes rates it 90% didactic


Either struck by an epiphany or lost her contact lens


The blur adds a sense of urgency the photographer wished to convey as he hurried through this room


Release the cats


Tl;dr: Nixon was warped, and you can yell at the screen if you want to


Finally, a place to eat my crisps in peace


Looks cozy enough


Please pray no one walks in on me eating my crisps


Whoa there, can’t you read, buddy?
In the interests of maintaining interfaith harmony, let me state for the record that I did not walk into the room with my shoes on. In fact I did not go in at all. Nor did I have crisps, a device used for illustrative purposes only.


Once more into the art


This piece by Susan Rothenberg is called ‘United States’. “The evocative title may refer to the two sides of the composition. The way in which the canvas – and the horse itself – are divided is reminiscent of abstract painting, and emphasises the interrelationship of representation and abstraction in Rothenberg’s work.” I would’ve just called it Horsey #1, assuming it was my first go at the thing. That’s why I’m not hung in the Tate.


Accidentally wandered into the staff exercise room


I don’t even have to read the placard label. This is the cross section of a very big safe, probably holding gold


Funnily enough this is also how Liberty sells their wallpaper


I call this one ‘Guarding the Potato Patch’



If you’re going to be placing rules on my interaction, I’m going to have to rethink this thing

Why Dali always regretted never having met van Gogh

and I’ll leave you with this:

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A day that will live in famy

My wife, who was diagnosed with normal-tension glaucoma several years ago and recently informed that she would in all likelihood have to undergo trabeculectomies (a fancy word for cutting a hole in your eye)

because the drops which usually succeed in controlling pressure weren’t, has just learned that her numbers have improved significantly. She’s a 10!

This will have to be double-checked in the spring, along with regular visual fields tests to ensure blind spots aren’t sneaking in

but it’s still news worth buying a round for the house

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Pumped for Trump

OK, I’m going to lay my cards on the table. I voted Trump.


Meme generator in same vicinity as rage generator

No, I didn’t. Let me repeat: I did not vote for Donald Jehoshaphat Trump to be President of the United States of America. That was just an experiment to see how you felt immediately after reading it. Pleasure at finding a kindred spirit? Pity? Disgust or even rage bordering on nausea?


Rage so great it can be seen from space

Did you even get past the first sentence (let alone the headline) in order to read this plot twist, or are the saloon doors still rattling back and forth from the speed of your exit?


There’s a not-quote-apropos YouTube moment for everything

The truth is, I voted none of the above, which in the eyes of some Democrats makes me just as bad as the people who voted Nader in 2000. (I voted Nader in 2000.)


And a butterfly flapped its wings

Not long after abstaining from my civic duty, I then had the audacity to hope that it was too early to call Trumpageddon.

This is a view I still hold.

I can read* (*the question is what one should be reading) and observe exquisitely unpresidential press conferences. I see how it looks. Amateur hour with clowns at the head table.

Check please

And yet, I can’t help but feel that anyone this widely reviled by the forces arrayed against him, including a press corps which made him despite themselves and is itching to unmake him (with the tremendous help of unforced errors), and political opponents more concerned about their stalled career trajectories than the nation’s stability, can’t be all bad.

He also seems inclined to want to act on his campaign promises.*

Sure he’s got his bad points, like clumsily showing concern for America’s borders by wanting to build a wall instead of a fence, or having disturbing tendencies to occasionally speak ugly truths (e.g., “for too many of our citizens, a different reality exists: mothers and children trapped in poverty in our inner cities; rusted out factories scattered like tombstones across the landscape of our nation…”, “You think our country’s so innocent?”) in between ugly tweets. His every syllable isn’t scripted like a Hillary Clinton’s, and a lot of people like a script.

Setting aside the pesky line of succession, I’m sure we can all think of a hundred other qualified applicants for head of state.


He’ll do

If you’re in the IMPEACH HIM NOW crowd

or the coup d’état crowd


When all you have is a guillotine, every problem looks like a neck

or even the please-report-yourself-to-the-Secret-Service crowd

Tainting the grassy knoll brand forevermore

imagine the almighty turmoil the country would go through if there were a transfer of power in the current climate. Remember that 60 million of your fellow Americans voted for him. They had their reasons, just as you did yours for voting Clinton, or third party, or not at all.

Maybe you have imagined it

Worst. Weather. Ever.

and still feel it’s worth it; maybe you’d be right. It’s something thoughtful people should be able to debate in a reasonable way.

Like a helping of irony with that?

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