• About

Candia Comes Clean

~ Candid cultural comments from the Isles of Wonder

Tag Archives: Jeremy Corbyn

Dog Toys

06 Wednesday Mar 2019

Posted by Candia in Celebrities, Humour, News, Photography, Politics, Satire

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Boris Johnson, dog toys, Donald Trump, Jeremy Corbyn, political satire, Theresa May

IMG_0011
IMG_0012
IMG_0013
IMG_0014

as seen in an Oxford shop window today!

Photos by Candia

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Print
  • Tumblr
  • Pinterest

Like this:

Like Loading...

Collage with Lipstick Background

22 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by Candia in art, Crime, Humour, Media

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

dalmations, Deco jewellery, Edwardian society, Jeremy Corbyn, Stalin

IMG_0027

I painted the background in Lipstick, or Bordello Red.  It gave the

whole thing a decadent, seedy look and I managed to add Jeremy Corbyn,

Stalin and some Dalmations to the original.  Don’t ask me why!

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Print
  • Tumblr
  • Pinterest

Like this:

Like Loading...

Young Voters

12 Monday Jun 2017

Posted by Candia in Animals, art, Humour, News, Poetry, Politics, Satire, Social Comment, Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Jeremy Corbyn, young voters

Rabbit 1

 

Young voters

save Jeremy from

a thrashing.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Print
  • Tumblr
  • Pinterest

Like this:

Like Loading...

Catweazle

11 Thursday May 2017

Posted by Candia in Celebrities, Humour, Media, Poetry, Politics, Satire, television, Writing

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Catweazle, Jeremy Corbyn, teazle

Jeremy Corbyn,

you could have knocked me down with a teazle

when in today’s press I mistook you for Catweazle.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Print
  • Tumblr
  • Pinterest

Like this:

Like Loading...

Que Gigantes??

14 Wednesday Oct 2015

Posted by Candia in Celebrities, Literature, News, Politics, Satire, Suttonford

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Andalusia, Balm of Fierarbras, caballeros, castanet, Castilian, Cave of Montesinos, Cervantes, Coyote, duende, Dulcinea, Falstaff, flamenco, Golden Age, hidalgo, Jack Horner, Jeremy Corbyn, John McDonnell, Kindle, La Mancha, parador, paramour, Pele Tower, picaresque, Quixote, Sancho Panza, Serrano, Simon Russell Beale, Tony Benn

Johnmcdonnellmp.jpg

John McDonnell as Sancho Panza?

(Photo: Kolrobbie at Wikipaedia)

(Zaqarbal, Wikipaedia)

Augustus Snodbury, Senior Master of St Birinus Middle,

grimaced at the Junior Master’s pronunciation.

Nigel had just informed his elder and better that he was taking

his paramour, Drusilla to a Ciudad Real Parador for the October

half term break.  They would not be joining Gus and Virginia at

the Pele Tower in the Borders.

On enquiring what Nigel’s- he refused to call him ‘Nige’- holiday

reading might be, he was given to understand that Cervantes was

on the agenda-or at least, on the Kindle, abridged, naturally.

Nigel, more or less, had identified the novel as Don Coyote.

Quixote?

Whatever.

Another instance of that annoying expression.

Nigel put his hand in his tweed jacket, to draw out a handkerchief

and, to his surprise, pulled out-not a plum, like Jack Horner, but a pair

of castanets.  He flushed and raised them above his head, attempting a

confident Ole!

What’s going on? muttered Snod.

Oh, Dru and I have been preparing for our forthcoming trip by attending

a Flamenco Club in Suttonford, on a Wednesday night.

Cervantes and the duende. Hmmm, you are studying the chivalric form of

The Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha, I take it?

Snod patted his paunch sagely, as if he were Simon Russell Beale playing

Falstaff.

Privately, Nigel thought Gus could do with some exercise himself.  He could

lose some of that grandote.

Flapping his hand in a hidalgoesque manner, Snod indicated that he was

terminating the conversation.  He picked up a newspaper and gave the

impression that all discussion on the picaresque was at an end.

But Nigel, noticing a front page photo of Jeremy Corbyn, could not help

commenting that the politician was another example, like Tony Benn, who

was given to renunciation of the caballeros class.

Snod lowered his paper and pronounced:

I think he feels Fortune has arranged thirty or more monstrous giants, all

of whom he means to engage in battle and slay in righteous warfare.

What giants?

No, Mr Milford-Haven.  The quotation is ‘Que gigantes?’  But, yes, Corbyn has

something of The Knight of the Rueful Countenance about him.  You see, he

wants you to believe what he claims to have seen in the Cave of Montesinos.

And that is all he has to say.  His words are like manure spread on barren

ground. He might as well be speaking Castilian.

(Photo: Garry Knight)

You think he is just telling some groups of goatherds about a Golden Age?

ventured Nigel.

He believes he can heal society with an equivalent of the Balm of Fierarbras, 

Snod nodded.

But at least he seems to be for the poor, Nigel qualified.

Fools think there is bacon when there is not even a hook to hang a haunch of

Serrano on, persisted Snod, beginning to enjoy the exchange.  I suppose in

office he might wake to sanity.

The bell rang, concluding the exploration of the romantic forthcoming trip

with Drusilla, or Dulcinea, as Snod was beginning to think of her.

Back to the galleys, Snod announced.  His identification with Cervantes

was complete.

La Mancha's windmills were immortalized in the novel Don Quixote

(Photo by Lourdes Cardenal, Wikipaedia)

This particular collocation of Don Quixote and Jeremy Corbyn is copyright

to Candia Dixon Stuart.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Print
  • Tumblr
  • Pinterest

Like this:

Like Loading...

Jezza Style

02 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by Candia in Celebrities, Education, Fashion, Humour, Politics, television

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Beckham baker's boy cap, beyond the pale, Birkenstocks, Biro, Channel 4, Clothing Bank, Diane Abbott, Islington North, ITV, Jeremy Corbyn, Jezza, Jon Snow, Paisley pattern, Pele Tower, personal style signifier, Robert Peston, snowclones, Whiter Shade of Pale, Wurzel Gummidge

(Photo-stopwar.org.uk)

Virginia Fisher-Gyles had to admit to a certain frustration over her

relationship with Augustus Snodbury, Senior Master at St Birinus

Middle School.

They had enjoyed each other’s company over the school holidays

and were planning a half term break to visit Gus’ ex-squeeze, who

had been reconciled to her ex-husband, Murgatroyd Syylk, the erstwhile

picture dealer.  Now Diana, for that was the name of the lady so lucky

in love, was adapting to her new role as chatelaine of a renovated

pele tower.  To boot, her spouse was the epitome of good grooming.

Virginia felt no pangs of jealousy, architectural, or otherwise, but

what really niggled at her lately-enjoyed sense of being a deux was a

certain slight embarrassment at her partner’s wardrobe.

Gus seemed to have shadowed Jeremy Corbyn on one of his sartorial

shopping treks round Islington North market stalls.  The schoolmaster

wasn’t guilty of the white vest solecism, but he did have a very similar

beige jacket, albeit with unco-ordinated elbow patches.

Like Jezza, Snod had a habit of keeping a spare Biro in his shirt pocket.

One hot summer day, before term had ended, Peabrayne Minor had

practically freaked out, as he had noticed a crimson seepage from his

teacher’s breast.  He had run out of the classroom to fetch the San Sister,

thinking the old boy was haemmorhaging.  Some of the other boys on the

front row had noticed the phenomenon too, but had realised that it was

a leaky marking pen that was gradually creating a map that the more

geographically-aware members of the class were already identifying as

Africa.

Snod had been sporting cords since the Seventies- possibly the same pair-

because he appreciated their comfort, which only increased, the baggier

they became round his increasing backside.

For more formal occasions, such as a Parents’ Evening, he added a rakish

personal style signifier in the form of a Paisley patterned silk mouchoir,

which protruded from the aforementioned jacket pocket.

Virginia had been relieved that her had stuck to his old cricket flannels on

their European cruise.  At least he had not worn shorts with his Birkenstocks.

That would have been beyond the pale, as far as she was concerned. She

privately made a bet with herself that his legs had not seen the light of day

since A Whiter Shade of Pale had topped the charts in 1967.  Anyway, she

wasn’t going to go there.

So, for her beau, beige was the new black.  She had read that such

expressions were termed snowclones.  How she wished that he would take

a leaf out of Jon Snow’s book and, at least, display a hint of hosiery style.

However, since Gus was not a Channel 4 type, she would just have to accept

that he was happier to converge with the likes of Robert Peston.  But if the

economist was to defect to ITV, there might be a hope of persuading her man

that Wurzel Gummidge was an unsuitable role model, or fashion template.

So, boho-Corbynesque seemed to prevail.  What was she supposed to do

about it?  Threaten to dress like Diane Abbott?

No, she would start her campaign early and ensure that he wasn’t just

getting socks and Boxers for Christmas.  This was going to tax her

organisational skills as a PA to the limit, as well as her personal shopper

aspirations.  It was heartening, however, to know that Snod’s daughter,

Drusilla, was on board and had offered to hijack his laundry and take it to

the Clothing Bank at the re-cycling centre.  They would probably charge

her ten quid to incinerate it.

Virginia thought that might be a risky strategy, although a tempting one.

However, since Nigel, Drusilla’s boyfriend was adopting the same

magisterial uniform, in the Latin sense, perhaps the two women could

form a twin-pronged attack on both males and achieve successful

makeovers.  Perhaps.

At least neither of them owned a Beckham baker’s boy cap.  So, there

might be some hope after all.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Print
  • Tumblr
  • Pinterest

Like this:

Like Loading...

My name is Candia. Its initial consonant alliterates with “cow” and there are connotations with the adjective “candid.” I started writing this blog in the summer of 2012 and focused on satire at the start.

Interspersed was ironic news comment, reviews and poetry.

Over the years I have won some international poetry competitions and have published in reputable small presses, as well as reviewing and reading alongside well- established poets. I wrote under my own name then, but Candia has taken me over as an online persona. Having brought out a serious anthology last year called 'Its Own Place' which features poetry of an epiphanal nature, I was able to take part in an Arts and Spirituality series of lectures in Winchester in 2016.

Lately I have been experimenting with boussekusekeika, sestinas, rhyme royale, villanelles and other forms. I am exploring Japanese themes at the moment, my interest having been re-ignited by the recent re-evaluations of Hokusai.

Thank you to all my committed followers whose loyalty has encouraged me to keep writing. It has been exciting to meet some of you in the flesh- in venues as far flung as Melbourne and Sydney!

Copyright Notice

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Candia Dixon Stuart and candiacomesclean.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Recent Posts

  • Male Catkins
  • Pretty in Pink
  • Pussy Willows
  • ‘A Mad, Unreasoning Octopus – what Proust felt about Asthma’
  • The Lamb

Archives

  • March 2021
  • February 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • May 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013
  • October 2013
  • September 2013
  • August 2013
  • July 2013
  • June 2013
  • May 2013
  • April 2013
  • March 2013
  • February 2013
  • January 2013
  • December 2012
  • November 2012
  • October 2012
  • September 2012
  • August 2012

Categories

  • Animals
  • Architecture
  • art
  • Arts
  • Autumn
  • Bible
  • Celebrities
  • Community
  • Crime
  • Education
  • Environment
  • Family
  • Fashion
  • Film
  • gardens
  • History
  • Home
  • Horticulture
  • Hot Wings
  • Humour
  • Industries
  • James Bond films
  • Jane Austen
  • Language
  • Literature
  • Media
  • Music
  • mythology
  • Nature
  • News
  • Nostalgia
  • Olympic Games
  • Parenting
  • Personal
  • Philosophy
  • Photography
  • Poetry
  • Politics
  • Psychology
  • Relationships
  • Religion
  • Romance
  • Satire
  • Sculpture
  • short story
  • short story
  • Social Comment
  • Sociology
  • Sport
  • Spring
  • St Swithun's Day
  • Summer
  • Summer 2012
  • Supernatural
  • Suttonford
  • television
  • Tennis
  • Theatre
  • Travel
  • urban farm
  • winter
  • Writing

Meta

  • Register
  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.com

acrylic acrylic painting acrylics Alex Salmond Andy Murray Ashmolean Australia Autumn Blenheim blossom Border Terrier Boris Johnson Bourbon biscuit boussokusekika Bradford on Avon Brassica British Library Buscot Park charcoal Charente choka clerihew Cotswolds David Cameron dawn epiphany France FT funghi Genji George Osborne Glasgow Gloucestershire Golden Hour gold leaf Hampshire herbaceous borders Hokusai husband hydrangeas Jane Austen Kelmscott Kirstie Allsopp Lechlade London 2012 Murasaki Shikibu mushrooms National Trust Nick Clegg NSW Olympics Oxford Oxfordshire Pele Tower Pillow Book Pippa Middleton Prisma Roger Federer Sculpture sestina Shakespeare Spring Spring flowers St Birinus still life Suttonford Tale of Genji Thames Theresa May Victoria watercolour William Morris Wiltshire Winchester Cathedral winter

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 1,564 other followers

Blog at WordPress.com.

Cancel

 
Loading Comments...
Comment
    ×
    loading Cancel
    Post was not sent - check your email addresses!
    Email check failed, please try again
    Sorry, your blog cannot share posts by email.
    Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
    To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
    %d bloggers like this: