To make our sturdy humour buckle thereto.

arriving safely, forty minutes later, at the bourne of breakfast, the only breakfast worth the name, the cheminot’s breakfast, the great bowl of coffee laced and gadrooned and filigreed with rum.

Here among shows ranging from Russian mood pictures to nimble and nymphal revues, somewhat too commercialized to be gelogenic, exists a rare opportunity for some zealot to declare what proportion represents popular demand, what freshly creates it, and how much is esoteric.

But it would be very difficult to seXX0r the thing without causing blistering...