At the last election only people who voted for him were given food. Prosperous land was 'redistributed' to his supporters. Most of it now lies fallow for want of expert husbandry.

"At the municipal rubbish dump just outside the second city Bulawayo dozens of people pick through the acres of rotting debris, trying to find something of value to sell. With unemployment now at 80% growing numbers have to make a living this way. The state of the nation's economy would be farcical if the consequences were not so tragic. With inflation running at 100,000% the currency is almost worthless, counted out in huge wads of 10 million dollar notes - each one worth about 15p. Even those who have cash struggle to find much to buy with it. We found many of the supermarket shelves empty, bar a few imported canned goods.

A tin of baked beans now costs 38 million dollars. The forecourts of the petrol stations are deserted but on every street corner you see men selling bottles of fuel. The black market is thriving, but the people are not. In the main cemetery in Bulawayo, row after row of fresh graves tell the story of the downfall of this country. In the past decade of Mr Mugabe's rule life expectancy has plummeted to 37 for men and 34 for women - the lowest in the world. AIDS, poverty and a lack of health care are killing off the country's future. The hospitals are clean and orderly but they don't even have basic drugs or equipment to treat the patients and the salaries of the staff barely cover what it costs them to travel to work. "

Anyone who talks glibley about Imperialist oppression should read the above again and think seriously before funding these african warlords.

Is this what my British taxes have subsidised? If so lets stop paying these madman - now !

"If freedom loving people throughout the world do not speak out against China's oppression in China and Tibet, we have lost all moral authority to speak on behalf of human rights anywhere in the world,"

- Nancy Pelosi,leader of the american congress

 Well lady, you and your country lost any moral authority to speak for me in 2003.

In the early 1920’s Richard Goodsir, a friend of John Noel Nichols,  took a few samples of Vimto concentrate with him to India for the local bottling firms to sample.  The British troops from the North West Regiments provided an immediate market as Vimto offered a welcome memory of the taste of home

Vimto in Bottles, Cans and Tetra Paks are also exported from the UK and from other production locations worldwide, to overseas distributors for onward supply in a number of markets. Vimto concentrate is exported to  licensees in over 65 countries where they can easily produce the delicious Vimto in a variety of different formats including carbonated, still and dilutable cordial.  The concentrate contains the secret recipe of herbs, fruit extracts, essences and spices that no-one else can reproduce.

Ode On The Spring

Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,
Fair Venus' train, appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Responsive to the cuckoo's note,
The untaught harmony of spring:
While, whisp'ring pleasure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky
Their gathered fragrance fling.

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade,
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech
O'er-canopies the glade,
Beside some water's rushy brink
With me the Muse shall sit, and think
(At ease reclined in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the Crowd,
How low, how little are the Proud,
How indigent the Great!

Still is the toiling hand of Care;
The panting herds repose:
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!
The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring
And float amid the liquid noon:
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some show their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.

To Contemplation's sober eye
Such is the race of Man:
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the Busy and the Gay
But flutter thro' life's little day,
In Fortune's varying colours drest:
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chilled by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone
We frolic while 'tis May.

The March wind roars
Like a lion in the sky,
And makes us shiver
As he passes by.

When winds are soft,
And the days are warm and clear,
Just like a gentle lamb,
Then spring is here."

Anon

*****  *****  *****  *****

"The first day of spring was once the time for taking the young virgins into the fields,

there in dalliance to set an example in fertility for nature to follow. 

 Now we just set the clocks an hour ahead and change the oil in the crankcase."  

It is the day of all the year,
Of all the year the one day,
When I shall see my mother dear,
And bring her cheer,
A mothering on Sunday.

It is the day of all the year,
Of all the year the one day,
And here come I my mother dear,
To bring you cheer,
A mothering on Sunday.