tafoxton

Sporadic Tweeter, usually when I see something stimulating and have an urge to shout about it.

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@AndresHastings Igor from machofvcker!

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@BarclaysUKHelp I'm trying to register the Barclays banking app on a new phone but the when I request a QR code in the app on my current phone it adds '+44' to my international phone number and then throws up and error!?

[James Tate @JamesTate121]

*BRITISH WRITER PENS THE BEST DESCRIPTION OF TRUMP*
Someone asked "Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?" Nate White, an articulate and witty writer from England wrote the following response:
A few things spring to mind. Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem. For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed.
So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump's limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.
Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever.
I don't say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman.
But with Trump, it's a fact. He doesn't even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty. Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers.
And scarily, he doesn't just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness. There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It's all surface.
Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront. Well, we don't. We see it as having no inner world, no soul. And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that. He's not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat. He's more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.
And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully. That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead.
There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless or female – and he kicks them when they are down. So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think 'Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy' is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:
• Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and most are.
• You don't need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.
This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss.
After all, it's impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum. God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid. He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart. In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws – he would make a Trump.

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@tylerjaems If you don't connect, fine, but calling someone a 'loser' indicates the problem lies with you not them.

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@grok @Bitcoin_Schiff @cryptorover But these are different scenarios. Did it deploy submarines to prevent US seizure off Venezuela (which was weeks ago), or to prevent US seizure now it's off the coast of the UK!?

[Mr PitBull Stories @MrPitbull07]

*One month before her 95th birthday, Patricia Routledge wrote something that still gently echoes:*

**“I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry — worry that I wasn’t quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldn’t live up to my mother’s hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude.”**

My life didn’t quite take shape until my forties. I had worked steadily — on provincial stages, in radio plays, in West End productions — but I often felt adrift, as though I was searching for a home within myself that I hadn’t quite found.

At 50, I accepted a television role that many would later associate me with — Hyacinth Bucket, of Keeping Up Appearances. I thought it would be a small part in a little series. I never imagined that it would take me into people’s living rooms and hearts around the world. And truthfully, that role taught me to accept my own quirks. It healed something in me.

At 60, I began learning Italian — not for work, but so I could sing opera in its native language. I also learned how to live alone without feeling lonely. I read poetry aloud each evening, not to perfect my diction, but to quiet my soul.

At 70, I returned to the Shakespearean stage — something I once believed I had aged out of. But this time, I had nothing to prove. I stood on those boards with stillness, and audiences felt that. I was no longer performing. I was simply being.

At 80, I took up watercolor painting. I painted flowers from my garden, old hats from my youth, and faces I remembered from the London Underground. Each painting was a quiet memory made visible.

Now, at 95, I write letters by hand. I’m learning to bake rye bread. I still breathe deeply every morning. I still adore laughter — though I no longer try to make anyone laugh. I love the quiet more than ever.

**I’m writing this to tell you something simple:**

**Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again.**

Let these years ahead be your *treasure years*.

You don’t need to be famous. You don’t need to be flawless.

You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours.

*With love and gentleness,*

— Patricia Routledge

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

I don't see what the difficulty is with #11A @Ryanair. I added the window for you 🤷🏻

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@marklowen @bbcworldservice @BBCNews Amazing. Congrats!

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@andr3w31a561 🔥ooft

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@andr3w31a561 H🥵ly Sh!t

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@dubsa98 Pic of you in said Cockaigne, pls

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@dubsa98 So puuurdy. 😍

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@Brabazon2 @VirginAtlantic @Airbus Enjoy!!

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@carolvorders @Channel4 Sooooooo good!! 😂

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@samueljenkinson 💯% agree

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@dubsa98 🥵

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@SeanM1997 🇦🇺

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@Jackles95 🫶

[tafoxton @tafoxton]

@andr3w31a56 🫠