bugger, said Pooh.

The more I
BLOWS-tiddely-pom,
The more it
FLOWs-tiddely-pom,
The more I
GOES-tiddely-pom
On
Blowing.

And nobody
KNOWS-tiddely-pom,
How red my
NOSE-tiddely-pom
How sore my
NOSE-tiddely-pom
Is
Growing.

And other Songs Of A Plaintive Nature, meant to be Hummed While Suffering. This damned thing is getting worse by the day, not better. Memo to self: don't try to be coherent about postmodernism when incoherent from 'flu. No-one wins.