Christmas Is At Our Throats Again.

The Stately Homes Of England, How Beautiful They Stand, To Prove The Upper Classes, Have Still The Upper Hand.

It's No Use To Go And Take Courses In Playwriting Any More Than It's Much Use Taking Courses In Acting. Better Play To A Bad Matinée In Hull, It Will Teach You Much More Than A Year Of Careful Instruction.

An Infant Prodigy Of Nine Is Shoved Upon The Stage In White. She Starts Off In A Dismal Whine About A Dark And Stormy Night, A Burglar, Whose Heart Is True, Despite His Wicked-looking Face, Who Puts The Little Child In Doom, To Save Her Mamma's Jewel Case. This May Bring Tears To Every Eye; It Does Not Set My Heart On Fire. I'd Like To Stand Serenely By And Watch That Horrid Child Expire.

Everybody Was Up To Something, Especially, Of Course, Those Who Were Up To Nothing.

If You Must Have Motivation, Think Of Your Paycheck On Friday.