POSTSCRIPTS

Evening Post, Volume CXIV, Issue 125, 23 November 1932, Page 6

POSTSCRIPTS

Chronicle and Comment

BY PERCY FLACE

The tied have turned: give an ear to our clamouring farmers.

It is now apparent that the Ottawa Conference made provision for everything appertaining to Imperial trade except a further slide in prices.

FACE UP, MB. FOBBES!

The Prime Minister insists that iaterest rates are too high, and will hare ito come down. Good. What about an issue of Government bonds at 3 per cent., say?

DISCLAIMER

This feature is unauthorised to stat« that Sir. Coatcs was woefully misreported some weeks ago -when, he foretold confidently that economic recovery would begin in nine months' time. What he meant to say was nine years.

POST-MOKTEM,

"The high rate of exchange reflects the surprised admiration of the world for our .former politicians," says Mr. Bowyangs. That may "be true, but th« epitaph has proved costly, and we cannot afford another death in the family. Politicians please note.

TWISTED PKOVEEBS.

Dear Mr. Flage,—Another twisted proverb won't do?us any harm.

BETTA KNOTT. Uneasy lies the tooth that wears a

crown. As you sew so shall you rip. Absinthe makes the jag last longer. Still daughters run cheap. Many are cold but few are frozen. A stitch in time saves embarrassment. Every girl that wears a sailor hat does not own a yacht. Where there's a swill there's a sway. All that glitters is not gold in Cuba street. • '■ * ♦ ♦

A SAVING SENSE OF HUMOUS. . Those.lrish annuities are a more serious matter with de Valera than with! his colleague, Scan o'Kelly, leader of the Irish delegation to Ottawa. Scan has a dash, of Erin's proverbial sense of humour, as will be gathered from tha following story. It concerns Mr. J. H. Thomas's addiction to briflge. The Dominions Secretary is an inveterate and expert bridge player, with all the various systems at his finger-tips. Mr. o'Kelly is not so well equipped, or else is less lucky. On' one occasion, in the course of, a discussion as to the fate of the moneys collected, from, the farmers in respect.of the Land Annuities, Mr. O"Kelly is reported to have said: "I have already paid the outstanding arrears of Land Annuities in full over the bridge table to Mr. Thomas." So now the secret is out.

FELINE. MIDNIGHT PARADE. Oh! Tell me have you ever heard a local

feline wake, ■ ' . And"the howling and the yowling that these slumber-wreckers make? When you're blissfully reclining ia your chamber of repose, Have you heard their latest rendering of the "Bad Cat Woes"?

Last evening I Jay sleeping, in a sweet recumbent poise. And dreaming gentle dreams,' when, 10, a most ungodly noise. Blood and thunder!* Bangs! and murdert and the yells those tabbies madeWhy the racket was quite up to the last Communist parade.

Now, if you should not believe me, drop . around some quiet night When the air is calm and peaceful, and you see no one in sight, Then you'll hear them—and the curses that the neighbouring sleepers call 1 And don'tblame me, if. some water oa your nice bald pate should fall

J.H.G.

NOCTUBNE,

An almost "deserted city streetall save a few souls being at the mov-' les—and 'tis on the hour when. Ihetrichs, Ga'rbos, Shearers, and other generators of seductive appeal are putting out, via the medium of the screen unreal, picture-aireetors' ideas of what Me should be, but isn't. A Tired-Business-Man, en route from office to home, deep in a monetary problem, set by a bowelless banker,* suddenly becomes aware that Portia was not en-j tirely Tight about rain dropping gently, ifrom Heaven upon the place beneath';' for Jupiter Pluvius at the moment is ! giving ample evidence to the contrary., To escape this _humid attention, tha Tired-Business-Man shelters in the yes-; tibule of .a picture theatre, where Msi roving glance rests on a bill of fare. which announces that "Salome's1 Seventh Sin is now. showing." Iti might have been better stated: as, Salbme 's Skin," judging by the evefnll exhibited. A further statement . is' made that the star is Pansy- Potafeu,; who decided on her career at the age of two years, and now, at eighteen, is the screen's Exhibit A of flawless gentility, and other things. The • Tired-Business-Man being a devotee of thegood, the beautiful, and the true, passes into the theatre, to be met by an atmosphere suggesting managerial-dysos-' mia—a. veritable sudatorium, -with tale' perfume and various aromas of the. farm-yaTd superimposed. A lantern in her hand, a well buttoned usher progressively illumines patches of faded; carpet, also her own exiguous hips. TheT.B.M. is found a seat, and by the' screen's reflection, -with olfactory evi-. dence, he locates two of the malodorous atmospheric ingredients, for on his left is the modern substitute for patchouli,1 with a very attractive damsel, and on. his right an ovine odour with a not attractive man; in fact a singularly uu-' lovely specimen of bucolic. The- Very-Attractive-Damsel ogles blatantly, and during an osculatory screen episode, when the hero after a close examination, of the heroine's dental equipment endeavours to devour the lady, the V.A.D. emotionally clutches the "arm of tha T.B.M. and then apologies prettily: but continues to snuggle incentivelyl -The : farmer-man sighing deeply, says confidingly: "I been married three times, but by gum, I ain't never been kissed like that." The T.B.M. suggests that it is not too late to enjoy a similar marathon; but the farmer replies, "No. I ain't got enough breath now.'' As the ..devouring screen lover secures a final collar-and-elbow hold on Pansy Potafeu, and again starts on her replenished kissproof lipstick, the picture, to slow music, gradually fades out to '' The End.»' The T.B.M. whispers to the farmer-man "Stick close to me," which the V.A.D. is uninvitedly doing. The trio reach the curb. A cruiser-taxi pulls up sharply, the V.A.D. enters eagerly, the T.B.M. with a quick twist pushes into the taxi the adhesive farmer-man,' the door is slammed, the taxi shoots off, and the Tired: Business resumes his interruped walk home. A mac-intoshed policeman, with a technical breach of privilege, says "Good night. Sir; there'll be a rstorm. I think." to which the T.B.M. replies: "Yes. indeed. Sergeant. I'm afraid so.. G'night." . .

DON GIOYAXX£