The previous post was one that took me some time to write, so you can imagine my chagrin when I discovered it had not posted correctly.
Never fear, the matter has been corrected.
Which is good, because I thought I had lost it, in which case I would not have had the energy to write further -- for two reasons, both related to the sort of stiffish White Russian by my keyboard.
I will let the first Modern Turk do my talking.
"I've got to drink: my mind keeps on working hard and fast to the point of suffering. I have to slow it down to rest it at times. "
and
"What a lovely drink this is, it makes one want to be a poet."
Both courtesy of Mostafa Kamal "Ataturk."
(Good Turk! Good Turk! Here's a treat, Turk! Atta-Turk!)
((that's such a crap joke!))
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3 comments:
Yeah, ever since I first heard of Ataturk in high school, that's all I picture: someone saying "atta Turk" like they'd say "atta boy".
Darling, you shouldn't drink when you don't have me there to check your spelling.
By golly, what did I misspell?
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