Well I for one am getting aroused about the prospect of saturdays game and Hope that Macca will be rousing the England boys with a Churchhillian speech of Medley-esque proportions!

Lets smite those barbaric antipodeans. We shall fight them on the beaches from the wastes of Bondi to the paradise of Blackpool.

Our Saxon champion the mighty Eorl of Rohan, son of Big Daddy, will be there to take to the battlefield when the final trump sounds!

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
March the seventeen of Smith!

Those words [icould [/i prove to be very apt . . . .



That was a bloody massacre, orchestrated by loopy "generals", too wasn't it?




For England. For St George! C'Mon England!
[size=75(My hearts leading my head at the moment though!)[/size

Any country that's thinks it's ok to go to a nightclub in flipflops (whilst calling it a thong at the same time!?!?!) deserves a right good shoeing in my book!

Please, no. Not the face.

My father tends to sing this version when he's has a few Old Rosies:

Rule Brittania
Three monkeys on a stick
One fell off and paralised his
Dick was a sailor
His Christian-name was Jim
His mother took kim to the pool
To see if he could swim
He sank to the bottom
He rose to the top
His mother got excited
And pulled him by the
Cock-tail shandy
7p a glass
If you don't like it
Shove it up your
Ask no questions
Tell no lies
I saw a policeman
Pulling up his
Flies are a nuisance
Bees are worse
I saw a doctor
Getting on a
Nurse my baby
Nurse it well
This is the end of my story
And all I have to tell.