It's just after 9.30 in the morning over here. Coffee and Earl Grey freshly brewed, wth a full English breakfast and of course cigarettes. Why not come over and join me?

Have a lovely day!

340 am here, almost bedtime...

Good morning in there and late afternoon from here (4:49 pm). Have a nice Sunday

I am in. Got some excellent gourmet coffee soothing me and a good hand rolled smoke.

Making my dogs thier breakfast (bowl o milk, sausage and cream gravy on toast and eggs)

Gonna be a gorgeous day.

The tea sounds lovely but ugh the cigarettes. Just smelling smoke on someone's clothes makes me sick to my stomach.

he's not talking tobacco

Hey Benji

You should make this your thread. Instead of starting a new thread everyday you could say good morning on this same thread and watch people follow along. Minglites love Chit Chat Clubs and Coffee House type threads and yours would be great!

wonderful to have you here

michael

Thank you for your kind words and I shall do as you suggest, starting right now.

Regards from England.

Good morning from England. It's almost 8.00 a.m. over here on a cold and rainy day. This is Smokey the Puss writing this post, by the way, and yes - I am a kitty! Would you believe that my human, Benji, is still in bed at this time? Well, he is so this means I have to write this morning post AND make breakfast! I think my human is taking liberties and, if he does not get his act together, I shall be obliged to replace him.

A trip to the vets for the snip might be a good idea, methinks. Might do him good!

There's a pot of fresh coffee here, some lovely fresh Earl Grey and lashings of toast and olde English marmalade for you to enjoy - and of course the usual cigarettes, so come on over: you'll be most welcome.

Have to go now! There's a pretty little girl cat lives next door and I have some unfinished business to attend to .......!

Have a really lovely day.

Good morning sir.

You strike me as a very fine gentleman.



Ahhhhh ....when I think of England.....


the moors in "Wuthering Heights"

and the poetry of Keats and Shelley,

and fog

and afternoon tea

comes to mind......


Do say hello to England for me ,most kind sir !!!


And have a most wonderful day now, Benji.

Thank you for your very kind words - very considerate of you and very much appreciated. I must confess that you strike me as being a wonderful lady indeed. I absolutely love all the things you mention about England. The moors you mention are picturesque in their autumnal beauty, and here in the Lake District our poets are quite famous.

I shall certainly say "hello" to England for you, dear lady: a pleasure and an honour. And you have an absolutely wonderful day, too.

What is a kitty to do? My human, Benji, is STILL in bed, would you believe!

I have just booked an appointment for him at the vets: that should teach him!

Now back to that pretty little girl cat next door ......

Good Morning to you kind sir.

Although it's 12:40 am here in California, and I have to go get some sleep.

You are such a nice gentleman. Always so pleasant and polite. I wish I could sit down for a cup of tea (or coffee) with you. But, I shall just have to clink my cup towards you and say cheers.

Hope you have a great day.

That would be such a pleasure - and a great honour - and who knows - one day it could just happen, for nothing is impossible. At this point in time, my cup is raised in the direction of California and I toast your good health.

Have a lovely sleep, dear lady, and some very sweet dreams.

One of the most beautifully written poems ever...

May you enjoy, Benji ...





John Keats. 1795–1821

.............Ode to a Nightingale..............




MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thine happiness,

That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease.



O for a draught of vintage! that hath been

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country-green,

Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South!

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stainèd mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

And with thee fade away into the forest dim:



Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs;

Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.



Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays

But here there is no light,

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.



I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;

And mid-May's eldest child,

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.



Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—

To thy high requiem become a sod.



Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that ofttimes hath

Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.



Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?

Those words are so poignant, so emotive and so very beautiful. I can honestly say that they bring tears of happiness to my eyes. Yes, I am a sentimentalist and can really appreciate the hidden depth and inner meaning of those words. Absolutely beautiful!

Glad you enjoyed, Benji!!!


(((((((((Benji))))))))

I did. I really did. Thank you so much. Those words have made my day.

Is a lashing, a slice?

Good morning, Soufie. Yes, you are quite right, it is.