[John Whitworth]

Heavens. Even for The Oldie that's a bit much. I suggest she meant to say 27th August which is the Tuesday after the Bank Holiday. Or you could try posting it. Though I have heard the Italian postal service is a bit dodgy. Perhaps that is just a rumour.

[Ann Drysdale]

I'm suggesting a wee typo-ette.

We do have a bank holiday here, which extends our weekend till Tuesday, 27th AUGUST.

Since the 27th of September is a Friday, I think you should just wait till Wednesday and bung it in with ages to spare.

The Oldie always have a good long submission period, after all.

[Ann Drysdale]

Right, Whitworth - this is war.

This is now the third time in the last few days that a post of yours has changed with no evidence of its having been edited, making my post, that was subsequent to the original, look stupid.

I know it's no big deal in the great scheme of things, but you could at least own up to doing it. I was actually on the verge of tears, wondering whether it's me that's going mad - but you did change it, didn't you?

Didn't you?

John, please own up. Is it moderator privilege that lets you fiddle retrospectively with things on the QT?

No, it isn't really war; I love you too much for that, dammit - but please...

Have pity on an old friend.

[Lois Elaine Heckman]

Thanks John and Ann for checking the calendar for me!!! (Sometimes we need the shop that isn't there for buying a little common sense, too)! I'll wait to hear until next week before resubmitting.
Using the mail is really not an option in Italy during the August holiday season (like at Christmas time), with tons of postcards going back and forth and postal workers on vacation. Otherwise the mails work fairly well here.

...or maybe that's just a rumor...

[John Whitworth]

What was your post, Ann? I didn't see it. I confess, I did change it, the poem that is. Nothing you wrote could ever be stupid. If you were referring to something I have already changed then we are on the same wavelength.

Or was it the advice to Lois?

Tell all.

[Jayne Osborn]

Annie,

We mods have a "Cloak of Invisibility!" Didn't you know?
Not only can we edit our own posts imperceptibly, we can pop in to others' posts and tweak/edit/delete as we see fit.

You won't see us when you look at "Who's on line" either, even if we are online!

Oh, the power...!!!

Jayne

[Ann Drysdale]

Yes, I knew that, Jayne, but it does make one feel a little sick when one responds to a post that's later changed with no evidence of its having been done. It happened twice on the Bookish thread, with one post disappearing altogether, and once on this one.

This is why I introduced the word "zugzwang". It's a situation in chess where one is forced to make a move in a situation where to do so weakens one's position and it seems to me the perfect counter to the customary, polite "nevermind". Which in this case we have not got.

I know I am sounding like a trendy-lefty pseudo-intellectual, envious of privilege, and I'm not for a moment suggesting any malevolent sub-agenda, just saying that retrospective tweaking without acknowledgement is a tad unfair in a forum which is founded on repartee.

That doesn’t mean that I am not now heartily wishing I’d not raised the matter.

And John, dear heart – that bookshop comp is current. At any moment you will be announcing its winners. I was suggesting that its losers could enter this one with the same poems. Thus, I hoped, claiming all those shoes and handbags, which I intended to sell on eBay. Apart, that is, from the pink Crocs…

[Brian Allgar]

There used to be a butcher’s shop, there used to be a baker’s,
There used to be a florist’s right beside the undertaker’s.
The patient shoppers chatted as they queued to fill their baskets,
But no one cared to linger near the mortuary caskets.

There used to be a grocery that sold delicious gammon;
A fishmonger’s with stands of herring, halibut and salmon;
A sweetshop where the little kids would splurge their pocket-money,
And parents bought them once a year a chocolate Easter bunny;

A laundry where the shirts were washed and pressed and folded neatly;
A barber’s shop that also sold “weekenders” most discreetly;
A dairy shop with cream and new-laid eggs and massive cheeses;
A joke-shop selling plastic turds and other jolly wheezes.

Now, every shop is boarded up where customers once flowed;
They’ve all been snaffled by the supermarket down the road.
Only the undertaker’s left to gain his daily bread -
He makes a decent living, though his customers are dead.

[John Whitworth]

Nice one, Brian.