Mint and Tea Tea Shower Gel: Counting the leaves in the bottle

I've always liked Mint and Tea Tree Shower Gel. Come to think of it – I can remember the first time I used it. It was that exciting. The amazing thing about this shower gel, for those who haven’t tried it before, is the feeling you get as it foams copiously in your hands, hair and on your skin. Some people describe it as a cool, tingly sensation. Others liken it to being stung very gently by nettles. While others, namely me, will recommend you don’t place it too generously on delicate areas! Surely I can't be the only one who finds its tingle mildly erotic (which may be the reason I shower fifteen times a day). 

As you can see on the front of the bottle, they say there are 7,927 mint leaves in every bottle which, if you think about it, is a lot! I did think about it and, taking the note on the bottle label at face value, I contacted the manufacturers' Customer Relations office to find out how they know that it's 7,927.  The e-mail thread goes:

I use your Mint and Tea Tree Shower gel regularly.
I've been intrigued to read on your label that 'you've crammed 7,927 real mint leaves' into each bottle. What is the basis of your calculation? I'm curious.
Derrick Parsons

Hi, thanks for your email
It takes 7,927 mint leaves to produce the quantity of mint essential oil used in each bottle of shower gel.  That's how we arrive at that figure.
Regards
Nina 

Dear Nina,

Many thanks for your reply. A supplementary question from me: does that mean that someone actually counted the number of leaves?  I'm intrigued at the process.
Derrick Parsons

Hi, thanks for your email

In answer to your question, it's a formula calculation.
Regards
Nina

Thank you, Nina.
Formula based on....?

Derrick

Hi, thanks for your email
Based on an estimation of the number of leaves used at the start of the process.
Regards
Nina

Thank you, Nina.
So, no-one actually counts the number of leaves?
Derrick

Hi, thanks for your email.
Correct. But we believe that the optical scanning equipment used for quality control gives an acceptable estimate of the number of leaves passing into this process.
Regards
Nina

Thank you, Nina.
Given the way the number is derived, don't you think that citing a figure like 7,927 implies a misleading accuracy in the calculation? Wouldn't it be better to quote something like 7,927 +/- SD where n = the number of determinations? Or 'approximately 8000'?
Derrick

Hi, thanks for your email.
I have consulted with my scientific colleagues and they are of the opinion that, as the Advertising Standards Bureau have not filed any complaints, we have taken reasonable steps to answer your query. There is nothing more they would want to add.
Regards
Nina

Thank you, Nina.
Not an entirely satisfactory set of answers, I'm afraid. What about your claims of 157 lavender flowers in every bottle of Lavender and Tea Tree Shower Gel and 8,899 real mint leaves in Extra Strong Black Mint Shower Gel? Not to mention 40 real zingy limes in your Lime Shower Gel?
Derrick

Hi, thanks for your email.
I would refer you to our previous correspondence on Mint and Tea Tree Shower Gel.
Regards
Nina

Thank you, Nina.
I appreciate your patience and time.  I admit defeat and I'm off for a shower.
Derrick

Hi, thanks for your email.
No comment.
Regards
Nina

 

 

 

 

In praise of: Tennessee Ernie Ford

Not a name we come across that often nowadays but, in his time, Tennessee Ernie Ford was big, big, big. Everyone of a certain vintage will be able to sing along to his classic '16 Tons' but how many in the UK will remember his rabbit-friendly 'Shotgun Boogie'? They certainly don't write lyrics like that nowadays! Listen and enjoy the simplicity of the former and the catchiness of the latter. And what about the piano and guitar playing?

Sadly Tennessee Ernie, and his wife, developed a fondness for the bottle and this had a deleterious effect on his career and his body. This is evident in the short cut-a-ways to him in the YouTube clip of '16 Tons'. He died in 1991 of alcohol-related liver disease. I think his musical legacy deserves to be remembered.

Pigs' 'Ere Blog Part 2: The choice is made......

Tangible progress has been made on the Pig Project in the past few days and here's a quick summary.

1.  We have an 'official' name necessary for managing our finances. We progress under the banner of Pigs' 'Ere - hence the change to the title of the blog.

2.  We have selected the breed we are going for.  Because of the taste of the finished product, their robust and docile nature and the fact that we'd be helping with the sustainability of a rare breed, we'll be buying in some British Lop weaners.

3.  We have a local supplier: Giles Eustice of Trevaskis Farm near Hayle, further west in Cornwall. Giles' family has been farming in that area for several hundred years and it's great to feel that we are tapping into that provenance.

The seven weaners we'll be buying will be arriving in the middle of April so over the next few weeks we'll be finishing the preparations for their arrival. We've got arks, feeding troughs, drinking points, bedding material and food to get. Looks like we'll be busy but it is exciting to be this close to realising a dream. And off I trot to do some research on pork recipes in anticipation of our Autumnal feasting. Yum.



If it has to a choice between Celine Dion or a Tibetan sky burial.............

Life is full of strange coincidences, isn't it? No sooner had I posted yesterday's blog on funeral songs than a poem called Sky Burial pinged into my in-box as my Poem of the Day. It's in free verse and comes from US poet, Ron Koertge. I've never heard of him either. Should I? I ought to look him up on Google sometime, but not right now. Anyway, here's his poem:


Q: You're such a disciplined writer. Were you always that way?
A:  When I was in graduate school, I worked part-time in a local library.
I ran the used bookstore in the basement. The money came in handy. There was plenty of time to study.
I learned to know the regulars who talked about living with pain and waiting for bland meals to be delivered.
One sweltering afternoon I read about Tibetan body breakers who dismember corpses with their hatchets and flaying knives so the vultures will have an easier time.
I imagined my own body and the monks asking, "What did this one do?". And the answer would be, "Not much." As the hand I could have written with flew away from the wrist.

The poem came with this quote from the author: "It is absolutely autobiographical. It just took me thirty-five years to write it." Not a rush job, then but it does one of the things I like poems to do for me: it made me think. Think about Tibetan body breakers as I'd never heard of them before. And think about the response if the question "what did this one do?" were directed to my remains. But I'm not going to dwell on the latter as the former piqued my interest enough for me to find out more. Read on but be warned that what comes is rather close to the bone, in more ways than one.

A rather gruesome photograph showing
a bone-breaker at his grizzly task. Searching via
Google under 'Tibetan Sky Burials' pulls up
some very graphic images - not for the
squeamish or faint-hearted.

There are two forms of sky burial (jhator) practised in Tibet. The first, and the one that immediately crossed my mind, is where the deceased is simply placed on a high rock where the body decomposes or is eaten by birds and animals. This is the method adopted by remote villagers, nomads and those who cannot afford the more elaborate, ritualised form of sky burial.

In this, the second of the two types of sky burial, family members make offerings at a monastery and prayers are said for the dead. The body is blessed, cleaned and wrapped in white cloth. Then the corpse's spine is broken (ouch!). This allows the body to be folded into a smaller bundle, as it will be carried to the sacred burial site, or dürtro, on the back of a close friend or family member. The journey to the dürtro begins at dawn and can be quite a trek as they're usually situated at high altitudes far from residential areas. Family members may follow along on this journey, chanting and playing double-sided hand drums, but they keep their distance during the physical breaking of the body.

The work of disassembling the body may be done by a monk but, more commonly, by rogyapas ("body-breakers"). With the body positioned face down on stones, the rogyapa burns juniper incense to attract the vultures and sets to work with an axe or ritual flaying knife. He cuts off the hair first and then begins slicing up the body, eviscerating it and chopping off the limbs. As he flays meat from bone, he tosses it to the swarm of vultures gathered for the feast (I'm never going to look at our bird table in quite the same way from now on). The rogyapa then pulverizes the remaining bones with a hammer, mixing them with tsampa, or barley flour, for easier consumption by the birds. Eyewitness accounts have remarked on the fact that the rogyapas did not perform their task with any gravity or ceremony, but rather talked and laughed as during any other type of physical labour. According to Buddhist teaching, this makes it easier for the soul of the deceased to move on from the uncertain plane between life and death onto the next life. 

For Tibetan Buddhists, the sky burial is part of the teaching of the impermanence of life. Jhator is considered an act of generosity on the part of the deceased, since they are providing food to sustain other living beings. Such generosity and compassion for all beings are important virtues in Buddhism.

So, there you have it: the Tibetan sky burial. Is this the ultimate in eco-friendly body disposal? What could be more carbon friendly than this? However, I don't think it's for me, it's not the British way, is it?  And we don't have vultures in the UK. Just think how long a flock of house sparrows would take to get through 85 kg of me!

On this day, 19th March 2014, I do solemnly vow...............

.........That no person present at my funeral service will be forced to listen to any of the top 20 songs cited as being currently requested at funerals:

1. Frank Sinatra – 'My Way'
2. Sarah Brightman/Andrea Bocelli – 'Time To Say Goodbye'
3. Bette Midler – 'Wind Beneath My Wings'
4. Eva Cassidy – 'Over the Rainbow'
5. Robbie Williams – 'Angels'
6. Westlife – 'You Raise Me Up'
7. Gerry and the Pacemakers – 'You'll Never Walk Alone'
8. Vera Lynn – 'We'll Meet Again'
9. Celine Dion – 'My Heart Will Go On'
10. Nat King Cole – 'Unforgettable'
11. Tina Turner – 'The Best'
12. Whitney Houston/Dolly Parton – 'I Will Always Love You'
13. Monty Python – 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life'
14. Luther Vandross – 'Dance With My Father'
15. Louis Armstrong – 'Wonderful World'
16. Daniel O'Donnell – 'Danny Boy'
17. Eva Cassidy – 'Fields of Gold'
18. Righteous Brothers  – 'Unchained Melody'
19. Westlife – 'Flying Without Wings'
20. Eva Cassidy – 'Songbird'

I'd rather be dead than let my friends and family sit through any of these. The data come from a recent poll of UK funeral directors reported on a news feed I get. News? They think it's news? Notwithstanding that, the poll also showed a decline in hymns in favour of pop music at two-thirds of British services. Apparently, and surprisingly, only 4% of services feature classical music in one form or another.

So, what music would I want played at my funeral? It's not something that I've yet given any serious thought to but, when I do, I know one hymn that will take pride of place: 'For those in peril of the sea'. An odd choice, perhaps, but it's my choice. And if I can't have what I want at my own funeral, when can I? Why do I want it? Because I like it and, as my dear old nan Florrie B, used to say "worse things happen at sea". I wonder how she'd rationalise this one.

And here's a rather endearingly ragged version of the said hymn - with words if you want to sing along. I did but kept lapsing into a rather sepulchral pitch - as if singing from inside a box.......

Bluebelliferous times ahead....

Ours is definitely a Spring garden and, although we are lamenting the disappearance of the snowdrops, our hearts are lifted by our daffodils, primroses and hellebores really getting into their stride.

With such a visual joy outside the window, it seems a little perverse to be looking forward a couple of months to when bluebells will be with us. To explain, this leap to late April was prompted by a Facebook link to a #lovecornwall ad posted by a friend (thank you, JP, the Sage of Bray Shop). I was intrigued by the title 'If you hear a bluebell ring' and really enjoyed the accompanying video clip. If a bluebell rang, I wonder what it would sound like? Whatever the sound, I think 'tintabulation' would be an apt word to use for it. Enjoy the video and imagine the scent of a thousand bluebells wafting over you.


I might not have known that almost half of the global population of our Common bluebell (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) is found in the British Isles but I did know that hybridisation with the Spanish Bluebell (Hyacinthoides hispanica) is a big problem in some areas, although quite how and when these aliens got into the British countryside remains a bit of a mystery (no doubt some UKIP supporters will be saying "These damn EU migrants coming over here pinching our woodlands etcr).

Something else I didn't know about bluebells is where the non-scripta term came from. It's Latin, of course, and means 'not marked or not written'. It refers to a Greek myth in which, when Hyacinthus died, a flower sprang up from his grave. The tears of his lover, the god Apollo, falling on the plant, left markings on the petals which read “Alas!” There are no markings on Hyacinthoides non-scripta and their absence distinguishes bluebells from the flower of the mythological Hyacinth.

And here are some bluebell facts that we all really need to know:
*  In the Bronze Age, people used bluebell glue to attach feathers to their arrows
*  The Victorians used the starch from crushed bluebells to stiffen the ruffs of their collars and sleeves
*  Bluebell sap was used to bind pages to the spines of books
*  According to folklore, hearing a bluebell ring is a sign of impending death. Fairies appear to be spared this fate.
*  Bees can 'steal' nectar from bluebells by biting a hole in the bottom of the bell, reaching the nectar without pollinating the flower.
*  The ability to turn a bluebell flower inside out is the sign of a great lover. Guess what I can do?

No doubt we'll be visiting some of our local bluebell woods at the appropriate time. Here are just two we have walked through in the past couple of years.

Alongside the old Plym Valley railway line, now a rather nice walking trail.

Burrator Woods on the western fringes of Dartmoor, possibly one of the best places to see bluebells?

A little daft science..............

Actually it's flatter - or so this article in the Journal of Improbable Research would have us believe. I like this sort of science: it's daft, I can understand it and it makes me laugh. Here's the article almost in its entirety. Perhaps it will amuse you as well. Perhaps it will inspire someone to replicate the study to find out how flat Norfolk is? Perhaps I should take some pills and lie down.
PS: Like the Jumbo saga, this one has a while to run yet. You have been warned.

PPS: For my more insular readers, Kansas is a state in the USA somewhere near the top. It sounds a bit like Holland but with less water, fewer tulips and more crops.
******************************************************

Kansas Is Flatter Than a Pancake (Mark Fonstad, William Pugatch, and Brandon Vogt). 

In this report, we apply basic scientific techniques to answer the question “Is Kansas as flat as a pancake?” While driving across the American Midwest, it is common to hear travellers remark, “This state is as flat as a pancake.” To the authors, this adage seems to qualitatively capture some characteristic of a topographic geodetic survey ². This obvious question “how flat is a pancake” spurned our analytical interest, and we set out to find the ‘flatness’ of both a pancake and one particular state: Kansas.  

A Technical Approach to Pancakes and Kansas

Barring the acquisition of either a Kansas-sized pancake or a pancake-sized Kansas, mathematical techniques are needed to do a proper comparison. Some readers may find the comparing of a pancake and Kansas to be analogous to the comparing of apples and oranges; we refer those readers to a 1995 publication by NASA’s Scott Sandford ³, who used spectrographic techniques to do a comparison of apples and oranges. 

Figure 1. (a) A well-cooked pancake
and (b) Kansas.

One common method of quantifying ‘flatness’ in geodesy is the ‘flattening’ ratio. The length of an ellipse’s (or arc’s) semi-major axis a is compared with its measured semi-minor axis b using the formula for flattening, f = (a – b) / a. A perfectly flat surface will have a flattening f of one, whereas an ellipsoid with equal axis lengths will have no flattening, and f will equal zero. For example, the earth is slightly flattened at the poles due to the earth’s rotation, making its semi-major axis slightly longer than its semi-minor axis, giving a global f of 0.00335. For both Kansas and the pancake, we approximated the local ellipsoid with a second-order polynomial line fit to the cross-sections. These polynomial equations allowed us to estimate the local ellipsoid’s semi-major and semi-minor axes and thus we can calculate the flattening measure f.

Materials and Methods

Figure 2. Pancake cross-sectional surface being digitized.

We purchased a well-cooked pancake from a local restaurant, the International House of Pancakes, and prepared it for analysis by separating a 2-cm wide sample strip that had not had time to desiccate. We collected macro-pancake topography through digital image processing of a pancake image and ruler for scale calibration (see Figure 2). We made another topographic profile from the sample, using a confocal laser microscope. The importance of this research dictated that we not be daunted by the “No Food or Drink” sign posted in the microscopy room. The microscope collects one elevation point every 10 mm and has a maximum surface diameter of 2 cm (see Figure 3).

Figure 3. When viewed at a scale of 50 mm,
a pancake appears more rugged than the Grand Canyon

We measured a west-east profile across Kansas taken from merged 1:250,000 scale digital elevation model (DEM) data from the United States Geological Survey. In general, the spacing between adjacent elevation points on the landscape transects was approximately 90 meters. We extracted surface transects and flatness estimates from the Kansas and pancake DEM data using a geographic information system. 

Results
The topographic transects of both Kansas and a pancake at millimeter scale are both quite flat, but this first analysis showed that Kansas is clearly flatter (see Figure 4).

Figure 4. Surface topography of Kansas and of a pancake.

 

Mathematically, a value of 1.000 would indicate perfect, platonic flatness. The calculated flatness of the pancake transect from the digital image is approximately 0.957, which is pretty flat, but far from perfectly flat. The confocal laser scan showed the pancake surface to be slightly rougher, still. Measuring the flatness of Kansas presented us with a greater challenge than measuring the flatness of the pancake. The state is so flat that the off-the-shelf software produced a flatness value for it of 1. This value was, as they say, too good to be true, so we did a more complex analysis, and after many hours of programming work, we were able to estimate that Kansas’s flatness is approximately 0.9997. That degree of flatness might be described, mathematically, as “damn flat.”

Conclusion
Simply put, our results show that Kansas is considerably flatter than a pancake.

Notes
1. The photograph of Kansas is of an area near Wichita, Kansas. It may be of significance that the town of Liberal, Kansas hosts the annual ‘International Pancake Day’ festival.
2. To pump up our cross-disciplinary name-dropping, we should also mention that recently some quick-thinking cosmologists also described the universe as being “flatter than a pancake” after making detailed measurements of the cosmic background radiation.
3. “Comparing Apples and Oranges,” S.A. Sandford, Annals of Improbable Research, vol. 1, no. 3, May/June 1995.

 

Short break at Boscundle Manor near St Austell

We've just enjoyed a short break at Boscundle Manor, just outside of St Austell. St Austell? Why St Austell of all places? Because we got a good deal and the place came highly recommended by some discerning friends (yes, we do have some). In the event they were spot on and we'd recommend the place as well.

Just two nights but we managed to wander around the old china clay port at Charlestown, walked a 6.5 mile stretch of the Coastal Footpath from Fowey west to Porthmear and spend a morning at the Lost Gardens of Heligan and Mevagissey. All-in-all, an extremely pleasurable way of spending 48 hours. Can't wait for the next time.

Sailing ships in the harbour at Charlestown. No longer a working port but making a good living as an attraction for tourists and film makers.

A turreted toilet at Readymoney Cove near Fowey. Note that the public convenience is boarded up as a cost saving measure by Cornwall Council. If you come to Cornwall, keep your fingers crossed for the weather and your legs crossed until you come to a toilet that's open.

Looking east back up the estuary to whence we started our walk. Fowey to the left and Polruan to the right.

Looking west to where we are heading. In the far distance is the outline of Dodman's Point.

Odd things by the wayside Part 1: a surfing doggy thing, carefully placed by the side of the path.

My recent fence building exploits have added a new, and pleasurable, dimension to my walks. I can now view other fencers' efforts with the eye of a professional. Not a bad job of work here although a few points are lost because the joints have been machined. Only a mallet and chisel are good enough for we purists.

Here the boardwalk had been shifted several feet inland by the recent storms.

Despite any signs of a source of illumination, many people think that this structure on Gribbin Head is a lighthouse. It's not: it's a navigational daymark. Sail towards it and bear right for Fowey and left for Charlestown.

I spy a tea shop over there!

Looking back - and down - on Polkerris. Quite a small place but with a decent pub and café on the beach.

Odd things by the wayside Part 2: a small hairbrush stuck into a gatepost.

A nice specimen of the Scarlet elf cup (Sarcoscypha coccinea). Not uncommon and tends to occur in isolated groups. It grows on rotting wood and is a member of the Discomycetes, having a disc shaped fruiting body.

The Giant's Head sculpture at the Lost Gardens of Heligan. Not at its best this time of year but you do get a good idea of its shape before the growth really takes over.

Heligan looking, mmm, green.

Just one of the many batches of chestnut mushrooms growing in the mushroom shed. All destined for the on-site restaurant.

Piggy Blog Part 1: To begin at the beginning

I've always wanted to keep pigs but have never got around to it. However, conversations between various friends showed that a few of us had thought along the same lines so we decided to do something about it. Scroll forward a couple of months and today the group of us (we haven't got a name yet but I quite like The Brotherhood of Pork) finally did something tangible to start our pig keeping adventure. With the aim of buying in some weaners in April (young pigs which are no longer suckling) and fattening them up for slaughter in the late Autumn, we spent the day fencing off an area on DC's small holding.

Do we know a lot about pig rearing?: no. Have any of us kept pigs before?: no. Are we willing to learn?: yes. Can we built a fence?: yes (as the photographs below show).

The next question to be answered is: which pig to pick? We haven't decided that yet but I think we are leaning towards a traditional breed as the meat is reputed to taste better.  Cornish Blacks are definitely a possibility as we can buy them in from a breeder not too far from us. But democracy dictates that this needs to be decided by the group.  More of that later as I detail our journey from today to sitting down to our own pork/ham/gammon/sausages later in the year. And, before I forget, I must say that we have a name for 'our' pig already: it's going to be called Diesel. Named by Grandson #1 after a type of train in Thomas the Tank Engine. And why not?


Fence posts and ready for bracing and wiring.

How many men does it take to put a nail in? Four apparently.

A rather splendid example of a triple-braced post. Modesty prevents me from saying who was one half of the bracing team responsible for this.

They may be off somewhere exotic but I didn't envy them. There's nowhere quite like Cornwall when the weather's this good.

Lunch - bacon bap and leek and potato soup. Thank you Lyn, Hannah, Kathryn and Debs.

The pigs will have a fine view across to Devon and Dartmoor. Do pigs appreciate such things?

The other half of the bracing team having fun with a brace and bit, getting ready to fix a hanging bracket for a gate.

A finished stretch of fence - guaranteed pig proof. But just to be on the safe side, there will be a strand of electric wire to discourage any porcine pushing.

And another stretch. It's looking good. Mmmm, looks like I'm developing an unhealthy fascination with fences.

The Brotherhood of Pork looking pleased with ourselves after completing the job. Next step: getting the weaners in.

Ch..ch..ch......changes

Today we lead the walk we reconnoitred last week (see here) for our U3A Walking Group. Apart from the company, I think the theme for the day was 'changes'. Even though the route was the same, it was interesting to see the differences the passage of a mere week made. Possibly the most notable was the weather, as some of the photographs below show. Nonetheless, another excellent walk and one that we shall do again, ideally when the bluebells are out.

The view today..........

...and last week.

Today...................

.......and last week (but not quite the same spot for the shot).

Daffodils and snowdrops last week..................

......and slightly more daffodils and fewer snowdrops this week. I was surprised that the daffodils had not come out more since last week.

The tide was out last week but was coming in as we walked passed the quay today.

 

More primroses out this week.

Lots of navelwort covering the banks and walls. It is also known as Penny-pies, Wall Pennywort and, more locally, Pig's Bum. It's a perennial and its fleshy leaves are quite edible (and tasty). Later on it will be covered by upright, rod-shaped flowers. It's Latin name - Umbilicus rupestris - derives from its umbilicate (navel-like) leaves. Rupestris means 'living near rocks'. I'll always know it as Pig's Bum!

 

Lesser celandines (Ranunculus ficaria) are starting to show their bright flowers. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, celandine comes from the Latin chelidonia, meaning swallow: it was said that the flowers bloomed when the swallows returned and faded when they left. The name Ranunculus means "little frog or tadpole," from rana "frog" and a diminutive ending. This perhaps refers to many species being found near water, like frogs, or to the fact that the unopened flowers resemble tadpoles. Who knows but, whatever is correct, it's a nice story.

And when talking about changes, I simply can't ignore the David Bowie song of that name from his Hunky Dory album. It may be 40+ years old but it's still great. Enjoy!

 

A crappy tail or une queue de merde

Is there any city, town, village or hamlet in the UK that is not subject to the scourge of dog poo? It's certainly a continual problem around these parts and every now and again I'm asked to mention it in the newsletter I edit. Another issue and another request cometh. As usual I went looking for an illustration for the piece and pulled up the fairly standard street signs, of which there are many variants. Boring, boring, boring!

But, amongst all this canine dross, was an unexpected gem in the form of a series of posters commissioned from the artist Ronald Searle by the City of Paris to help keep their pavements clean. Apparently they wanted dogs to use the gutters as depositories for their excrement. Searle lived in Paris for the best part of the sixties (why and who with is another story!) and produced the following, which put our rather pedestrian signs firmly in the shadows. I don't know whether Searle's designs were any more effective than our red circles but I pity the poor Parisian Pooping Pooches if the City Elders had to resort to a remedy much favoured by their forebears - Madame La Guillotine. The next time I go to Paris, I'll be looking out for headless dogs or, more correctly, les chiens sans tête or, even more precisely, les chiens décapités.

 

Translations of the text of the posters are from neighbour LB, to whom 'merci beaucoup'. And the line at the bottom of all three reads: "The ecology is not only for the countryside."

If it will not think of the gutter,
think about picking it up

Rather than pay 600F, pick up.
Or teach it about using the gutter

You will surely find a way
to teach it to use the gutter

The next one is not in Searle's Parisian series but I like it! Can anyone else see where Gerald Scarfe might have got inspiration for his style from? 

Particularly revolting dog glowing
under the impression that it is man's best friend.

 

Coming across Searle reminded me of a book of his I once owned and regret losing as it is sadly now out-of-print. It was called 'The Dog's Ear Book' and came "with four lugubrious verses" written by Geoffrey Willan (the creator of Nigel Molesworth, the "goriller of 3b and curse of St. Custard's"). I remember it as being very, very funny and, it goes without saying, Searle's drawing were amazing. I want a copy!

 

And if you had any doubts on how to pronounce 'lugubrious', here's a YouTube clip that will help.