These are the Prime Ministers of the UK since 1916
David Lloyd George 1916-1922,
Bonar Law 1922-1923,
Ramsay Macdonald 1931 - 1935,
Stanley Baldwin 1935 -1937,
Neville Chamberlain 1937- 1940,
Winston Churchill 1940 -1945,
Clement Attlee 1945-1951,
Winston Churchill 1951 - 1955,
Anthony Eden 1955 - 1957,
Harold Macmillan 1957-1963,
Alec Douglas-Home 1963-1964,
Harold Wilson 1964 - 1970,
Edward Heath 1970-1974,
Harold Wilson 1974 - 1976,
James Callaghan 1976 - 1979,
Margaret Thatcher 1979-1990,
John Major 1990 - 1997,
Tony Blair 1997 - 2007,
Gordon Brown 2007 - 2010,
David Cameron 2010 - 2016,
Theresa May 2016.
Take a look at that lot and pick who you think were the best and worst PMs.

Robert Frost The Road not Taken

The Road Not Taken TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveller, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;          Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,          And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.          I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less travelled by, And that has made all the difference.

ROBERT FROST

Be gay for a day
and see what it's like
In some places in the world its pure murder.

God made me do it

Or did he?
I have done it now
and what a mess
the decision was mine
or was it?

My life was religious
but I fired the shot
and there he lies
without a single word
dead

But why did I kill this man
It was the voice in my head
that said
pull the trigger
Fire the gun

The voice must have been God's
as I am a good man,
I am a good man
am I a good man?
Yes I must be

I go to Church
I sing the hymns
I follow Gospel
I live the Gospel
But

I did the deed
and I would never have done the deed
without God telling me to do this
Yes I would never have done the deed
Without God telling me to

Yes without doubt
my actions are demanded
by my deity
my God
told me to kill him

God made me do it


GRAHAM C LINDSAY

Glen Gould

Glen Gould was an extraordinary character who had a very individual approach to Bach sometimes amazingly fast and also extremely slow. I adore his interpretations. There are recordings of him playing the organ or the piano  and they are sublime. I never tire of his performances as they speak like a poet exploring Bach as if wandering through newly discovered land with each placing of a note like stepping into a wonderful paradise. If music expresses a poetic dimension beyond words then his playing inhabits this otherworldliness; his playing stops me concentrating on other things and makes me focus on that very moment of sound creation surely that is the reason, that is the purpose of genius in performance to hold you and lift you into being totally at one with the performance.

One day the end of war and senseless destruction will happen and all the people can embrace a new dawn of peace. Until that day happens, shocking pictures and journals shall continue to trace the horror that war betrays. I hope that the new dawn comes quickly and reconciliation brings new friendships bonded in an eternal hope that war is discarded completely.

EE Cummings somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers
you open always petal by petal myself as spring opens
(touching skilfully, misteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending,

nothing we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility; whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

EE CUMMINGS