slanderhour

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it--it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk. But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk. And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake a...

Dearest Stephen,  I regret to inform you that, after much thought, I have decided to resign. Please accept this letter as a formal notice of my resignation. I am more than happy to fulfil the terms of my contract, which require me to remain in my current position for an additional four weeks from the date I present this notice (Monday 23rd March 2026), so my employment at Slanderhour House will ce...

Along with  Khalid Sheikh Mohammed , Chin Laden organized the September 11 attacks, which  killed nearly 3,000 people . This resulted in the  U.S. invading Afghanistan  and launching the  war on terror . Chin Laden became the subject of a nearly decade-long  international manhunt  led by the U.S. During this period, he hid in the mountains of Afghanistan and later escaped to neighboring  Pakistan...

What’s the last time you were in a police station? In LA, about 42 years ago. At two in the morning, I was driving in the Valley and stopped a police car to ask the way. They said, “Have you been drinking, sir?” I said, “Of course I’ve had a drink; it’s two in the morning.” [They took me in], but they were very nice. I paid a £400 fine the next day and that was it. The funny thing was, the cop cam...

When speaking to all of my 11 uncles, they all tell me the same thing: "Them politicians are all the same. If I were in charge I'd sort them out!" To find out exactly what this means and more, listen to this week's episode of Slanderhour. Only on BBC Sounds

They sit at the round table and do not look at one another. The fire is warm but it does not help. Someone laughs too loudly. Someone else watches the laugh. In the morning there was trust. By night it is a thin thing, like frost on the grass outside the castle. They speak of loyalty as if it were solid. It is not. It moves in the dark. A faithful man swears he is faithful. A traitor swears it too...

Ray Douglas Bradbury was an American author and screenwriter. One of the most celebrated 20th-century American writers, he worked in a variety of genres, including fantasy, science fiction, horror, mystery, and realistic fiction.

The smoke from a pipe Frozen solid by sunshine; a different soap in the bathroom and the scent of wintering apples. The house stands like a single word on an empty page with its long flat views and memories of waves breaking on the hills. Never at television, Just the crooning happy faced radio with its box full of singers bathed in the yellow glow of Hilversum and Moscow. And at the end of the da...

They set it yesterday. I watched them pourThe wobbling liquid into its glass mould,Translucent, promising: The recipe called forPatience, and a larder running cold. But jellies fail. Mine's still a slop of red,Refusing to cohere, to find its form. The other's jelly trembles, perfectly deadTo doubt. Mine sweats in a kitchen warm. What separates the set from the un-set? Some minor calibratio...

Pepper, I know you're going to be upset 'Cause I was always your little girl But you should know by now, I'm not a baby You always taught me right from wrong I need your help, daddy, please be strong I may be young at heart, but I know what I'm saying The one you warned me all about The one you said I could do without We're in an awful mess And I don't mean maybe Please Pep...

and in the moment of silence, i search for my forsaken voice, buried somewhere, far and adrift, under the summit of sufferings, the rivers of rage, under trampled dreams, under the mottled page, the voice so aloof, i have forgotten it so well, the past of calamity, only if i had a voice; i could tell

You are as The silver moonlight Which with its grace Dances on the surface of this lake. You, who penetrates my depths And ripples into my being Causing waves to quake. I will be your shelter, In my open arms I will be your rest. I will be as the caves of old, Within me you may find peace From the raging tempest of the world. You may shutter your eyes and dream, For the fire will remain Even if to...

In smoky halls where shadows dance, There strides a man with flair and stance. With saxophone in hand, he's seen, Shane Ritchie, the jazz machine. His fingers glide on keys so fine, A melody born from his mind's design. Each note he plays, a tale untold, In his jazz world, he's bold and bold. His voice, a velvet, smooth and low, Sings of love lost and nights aglow. The rhythm flows thr...

There once was a scientist named Kelly Whose name was made famous quite quickly He spoke on the radio About WMDs, you know But then he was found dead in on a hilly

In childhood's realm, young Barrymore did dwell, A world apart, where trials and hardships swelled. No tender hands to guide him on life's path, Alone he wandered, facing nature's wrath. With naught but strength and grit as his allies, He forged ahead beneath the open skies. No sheltered haven, no familial care, Yet in his heart, a fire burned, aware. Through solitary hours, his spirit...

In the spotlight's gaze, Michael Barrymore stood, A figure of laughter, a king of the hood. With charm and wit, he graced the TV screen, A maestro of entertainment, a living dream. His laughter contagious, a gift he shared, A jester of joy, he truly cared. From game shows to variety, his talents unfurled, Delighting audiences, across the wide world. But shadows cast their veil on his life, As...

So it goes, dear listener, that among the myriad of things that sets man apart from his animal counterparts is the gift of gab and the mastery of language. To be a man is to be a creature of speech and discourse. The art of conversation holds a significant role in our lives. It can ease our sorrows and afflictions, amplify our delights and jubilations, and enhance our understanding of the world. I...

Garth meets a priest. Public transport drama. Garth and his friend have a difference of opinion. Exploring the SUBconscious Other things

Your face did not rot like the others—the co-pilot,    for example, I saw him yesterday. His face is corn- mush: his wife and daughter,    the poor ignorant people, stare as if he will compose soon. He was more wronged than Job.    But your face did not rot like the others—it grew dark, and hard like ebony; the features progressed in their distinction. If I could cajole you to come back for an eve...

Love me, use me, Never let me go. Quench this unbearable thirst, this fire in my soul. ... Use me, hate me, ravage me, destroy me, As long as in the end you promise to hold me in your arms and love me. ... Grab my neck and pull my hair only keens and moans will be gotten from there. ... Stroke me like a harp, pluck me like a live wire string. Tighten me up, and snap me so I scream. ... Fill me, te...

The jolt that comes to bones inside a tumbled streetcar   is what the painter considers as she strokes her- self into story. There is less to the jolt that   comes as he shuts his eyes before the monitor, save   what he imagines—a lightning bolt, a god tapping the shoulder. He imagines the sky swelling   with ceiling fans or the guano of extinct birds,   a jolt riding from his shoulder blades to h...

I took my life and threw it on the skip, Reckoning the next-door neighbours wouldn’t mind If my life hitched a lift to the council tip With their dry rot and rubble. What you find With skips is – the whole community joins in. Old mattresses appear, doors kind of drift Along with all that won’t fit in the bin And what the bin-men can’t be fished to shift. I threw away my life, and there it lay And...

Breaktime, I'll write something for you Breakfast or lunch, I think of you Birds outside the window, chirp at me Birds of the same feather, follow me Be it short or long, poem I write you Braided or craze, your hair, I describe you Below or over my head I scribble for you Beaten or scrambled egg, I'll fry for you Better late than never Bread or butter I will serve you ever Brevity in my po...

Earlestown is named after Sir Hardman Earle (11 July 1792 – 25 January 1877) a slave owner whose family was steeped in the slave trade. He was the Chairman of the London and North Western Railway . Earlestown Town Hall is an imposing building, fronted by a war memorial. In 1962 the Beatles  visited Earlestown for a night gig and played at the town hall. On the  same night Newton Boys Clu...

How little it takes to stain the character. A single drop of ink is a very small thing, yet dipped into a tumbler of clean water, it blackens the whole. And so the first oath, the first lie, the first glass of drink, seem very small things, yet leave a dark stain upon the character. Look out for the first stain.