if she had been an historic battlefield.

I hate travelling on Boxing Day, but one must occasionally do
things that one dislikes.



REGINALD'S RUBAIYAT



The other day (confided Reginald), when I was killing time in
the bathroom and making bad resolutions for the New Year, it
occurred to me that I would like to be a poet. The chief
qualification, I understand, is that you must be born. Well,
I hunted up my birth certificate, and found that I was all
right on that score, and then I got to work on a Hymn to the
New Year, which struck me as having possibilities. It
suggested extremely unusual things to absolutely unlikely
people, which I believe is the art of first-class catering in
any department. Quite the best verse in it went something
like this -


"Have you heard the groan of a gravelled grouse,
Or the snarl of a snaffled snail
(Husband or mother, like me, or spouse),
Have you lain a-creep in the darkened house
Where the wounded wombats wail?"