The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power,
To tell just when the hands will stop,
At late, or early hour.
Now is the only time you own,
Live, love, toil with a will,
Place no faith in time,
For the clock may soon be still.
Trinder is out with a broken jaw now, so maybe Johnny May will slip into the 13 shirt.
We've got to keep him on a short Matt Smith shaped leash as he can be deadly as he proved against us two or three years ago.
I thought Rupert Harden was from the North East rahter than Australia but I've just checked and he was born in Australia but raised in Cumbria via Rugby School. No surprise that the midlands forward factory is in fact the home of yet another hard working unpretentious young thruster.
I'm personally looking forward to seeing Sharples and May. For myself I'm confused as to where England could fit May into things despite his evident gifts but how Sharples has not been selected ahead of either of the two incumbent wingers is a mystery beyond my ken.
Also looking forward to seeing another well regarded Tight Head pitch himself against Marcos after he has sent two experienced, quality International opponents away, tails between their legs, in successive weeks!
who’s slobbering love affair with him endures and will doubtless endure as long as he continues to use them as a quasi selection committee.
Well said! Well said! Well said!
Although when Flood came on his attacking inclination saw the England back line briefly spark into action I remain convinced that the Tigers’ half backs would be better served by returning to their club and working their way back to form instead of remaining to be the Aunt Sallies for the media and others.
as he carries the ball in both hands, his opponents are left pondering the options as the twenty-three time capped international straightens or feeds a colleague running either on the angle or against the grain.
Indeed! How did we arrive at a place where this is the exception and not the norm?
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through
Turn and face the strange
Don't tell them to grow up and out of it
Turn and face the strange
Where's your shame
You've left us up to our necks in it
Time may change me
But you can't trace time
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