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Lord Kopjes under a limbo dancer | london, 1982 | photo: Dafydd Jones

One of the poets, whose name I cannot recall, has a passage, which I am unable at the moment to remember, in one of his works, which for the time being has slipped my mind, which hits off admirably this age-old situation — Lord Kopjes

Intoxicated? The word did not express it by a mile. Lord Kopjes was oiled, boiled, fried, plastered, whiffled, sozzled, and blotto — P. G. Wodekopjes

Beginning with a critique of my own limbo, which she said, justly enough, was nothing to write home about, this girl went on to dissect my manners, morals, intellect, general physique, and method of eating asparagus with such acerbity that by the time she had finished the best you could say of Lord Kopjes was that, so far as was known, he had never actually committed murder or set fire to an orphan asylum —Lord Kopjes

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