How to Reject an Ardent Admirer in the Late 19th Century.

I stumbled upon this charming poem today by Christina Rosetti, a 19th century poet, called No Thank You John. It is amazing, more power to the proto-feminist herself!

I never said I loved you, John: Why will you tease me day by day, And wax a weariness to think upon With always "do" and "pray"?

You Know I never loved you, John; No fault of mine made me your toast: Why will you haunt me with a face as wan As shows an hour-old ghost?

I dare say Meg or Moll would take Pity upon you, if you'd ask: And pray don't remain single for my sake Who can't perform the task.

I have no heart?-Perhaps I have not; But then you're mad to take offence That don't give you what I have not got: Use your common sense.

Let bygones be bygones: Don't call me false, who owed not to be true: I'd rather answer "No" to fifty Johns Than answer "Yes" to you.

Let's mar our pleasant days no more, Song-birds of passage, days of youth: Catch at today, forget the days before: I'll wink at your untruth.

Let us strike hands as hearty friends; No more, no less; and friendship's good: Only don't keep in veiw ulterior ends, And points not understood

In open treaty. Rise above Quibbles and shuffling off and on: Here's friendship for you if you like; but love,- No, thank you, John.

Poor old John, I think she did a beautiful job of telling him to jog on. Before I saw who had written this little beauty I thought it must have been a Carol Ann Duffy affair, but alas! Christina Rosetti, writer of the colossal Goblin's Market. So yes, in literary love with this poem.

My bedroom currently looks as though it has recently been ransacked for valuables. In short, it's a mess. I have a relatively effective system with my bedroom; tidy up, let it get messy until I cannot get from one side to the other without walking into something and shouting vulgarities at a shoe or stray bag (the state in which it currently stands) but I have a dilemma, despite my room being in this stage, it looks like too big a job to do. I have no idea where to start, this could be the beginning of something terrible. You'll see me on How Clean Is Your House? or Hoarders. This is how it begins!

I know you must be sick of talk about my other half, Harry from yesterdays post but here I am again talking about him. Don't judge. He's forever giving me unconventional temporary nicknames, calling me strange names of celebrities (alive and dead,) characters from films, books, and television shows etc. I'll give you the definitive list;

-Ray Mears -Margaret Thatcher -Inspector Gadget -Nelson Mandela -Aladdin -Crazy Monk -Bruce Forsythe -Terry Wogan -PC Plod -Saucy Cow -Mr. Bigglesworth -Sigmund Freud -John Barrowman -Wee Willie Winkle -Keith Chegwin -Audrey Hepburn -Marlon Brando -Pipsqueak -Dobby -Rumplestiltskin -Harrison Ford -Brian Badonde -Colonel Mustard -Professor Plum -Trevor McDonald

I hadn't realised how damn long that list is, we've only been a couple for twelve days now. Jeez Louise. I'll nip this boyfriend talk in the bud, otherwise you'll never hear the end of it.

Mum's boyfriend Pete is in the kitchen, playing house-husband making the dinner. It smells so good! All I want to do is go down there, stuff my face with perfectly cooked potatoes and collapse in a post-dinner euphoria. Unfortunately my Mum is working relatively late tonight so that means a significant delay on dinner. I'm devastated, I need sustenance! Now.