Some people in recent days have alleged a ‘cover-up’ over the grooming & rape of hundreds of young girls in predominantly northern UK towns, leading to calls for a ‘national’ public inquiry into child sexual exploitation

FWIW here’s a non-exhaustive list of inquiries into #CSE in last 12 yrs…

This was the year that was not the year   This was the year that was not the year  I repaired the bathroom tap  and emptied out the kitchen drawer  of a lifetime’s worth of crap.    This was the year that was not the year in which I launched a new career.  A West End hit eluded me  and so did Time Person of the Year.    This was the year that was not the year  I became a household name.  Action figures were not sold of me.  I wasn’t made a dame.    This was the year that was not the year I spent less time on my phone.  Nights of passion did not happen  in boutique hotels in Rome.    This was the year that was the year  I didn't get that much done – much the same as the year before,  much like the one to come.  Brian Bilston

Here’s a poem called ‘This was the year that was not the year’.

The Englishman Who Went Up a Mountain But Came Down Ill   My great-uncle Jack, hypochondriac and mountain-lover, was forever coming down with summit or other.   Going up was no better. He was constantly under the weather, right under it, and as he climbed so did his temperature.   Sometimes he’d get crampon the way. Then, with a craggy smile, he might ask if we could stop and everest for a while.   But it was near the top when he always felt most peaky. He had an altitude problem, according to his G.P.,   who wrote him a prescription for a bottle of pills, saying if they didn’t work, then he should stick to molehills.   Brian Bilston

It’s International Mountain Day, so today’s poem celebrates that. It’s called ‘The Englishman Who Went Up a Mountain and Came Down Ill’.

Word of the day is ‘quafftide’ (16th century): the season for drinking. Also a pithy way of declaring that it’s time to relax.

Works for hydropots (water drinkers) just as well.

For anyone in the UK, If you text ‘SHOUT’ to 85258 when you are in a dark place or suicidal, a trained crisis volunteer will text you back. This is great If you find talking on the phone challenging. It’s completely free 24/7. Please Repost, you never know who might need this support

Massive away win for the little fella.

Lines Written While Waiting for a Train at a Provincial Railway Station   If I could have my time over, I would do it all differently and not treat each precious moment with such disregard and flippancy.   I would use my time effectively, I would think ahead and plan. I would reserve my stores of energy, and take charge when I can.   But it’s too late in the journey for regret, too late to repent – because there’s not a plug socket in sight, and my battery’s on one per ce

Today’s poem is called ‘Lines Written While Waiting for a Train at a Provincial Railway Station’.

SHARK!

Word of the day is ‘librocubicularist’: one who loves nothing better than reading in bed.

(Not easy to say, but I’m glad to know it exists).

If you bring central London to a halt in order to campaign against catastrophic climate change then you're a "barmy" eco "fanatic" who deserves to be locked up.

If you do the same to hang on to your multimillion pound inheritance tax exemption then you're a brave freedom fighter defying the odds

Word of this morning is ‘procaffeinate’: to put everything on hold until you’ve had sufficient amounts of coffee.

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You can start here

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I bought a bag today, looking forward to trying them.