My foot-boy shall eat pheasants, calvered salmons, / Knots, godwits, lampreys: I myself will have / The beards of barbels, served instead of salads […]
To-night, at Herne's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one.
When a station voice-tracks or employs a jukebox format like Jack or Bob or John or any of the dozen or so jockless formats now popular in the industry, it strips the one thing that radio has over the alternative digital formats... it strips away the personality.
The solid, reliable Monsieur Pompidou was there, as safe a pair of hands as the most timorous bourgeois could wish for
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