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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365891" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Blueshell Bar</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From Monday through to Friday and, <br>For some, on the weekends too, <br>There’s a constant round of students here<br>Attacking the Chinglish stew, <br>They sweat on the riddle of English tense, <br>Of gender, of verb and noun, <br>But Friday nights and their teachers here<br>Are ready to hit the town.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In old Wenzhou, Canadians, <br>The Poms and the Aussies rule, <br>New Zealanders with their flattened vowels, <br>And Yanks with their godamm drawl, <br>The Scots are there with the Sassenachs<br>Their vowels like treacle glue, <br>‘If ye’ dinna gae doun tae the Blueshell, man, <br>I’ll nae hae a drink wi’ you! ’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For after a week of adjectives, <br>Blank faces and wo bu dongs, <br>They’re ready to slip their traces, and<br>Retreat to the restaurants, <br>Their prepositions are shelved at last <br>With a proposition or two, <br>Then they all go down to the Blueshell Bar<br>Where it huddles off Wendi Lu.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From ten o’clock to the early hours<br>They scramble for space at the bar, <br>The music’s played at a surly scream<br>Or drops to a sullen roar, <br>There’s Chinese faces as well in there, <br>And girls with a shapely rear, <br>All perched on stools with the foreign fools<br>While swilling the local beer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And down the back there’s another room<br>Where the groups philosophise, <br>Over a ‘Jack’ or a Vodka, man, <br>They talk of their loves and lives, <br>And over the mumble of bleary talk<br>A voice rings out at the brink: <br>‘The world is screwed, it’s over man...<br>It’s time for another drink! ’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘It’s time for another drink, ’ he says, <br>And slams a Tequila down, <br>A ‘Jack’, a Bacardi One-Five-One, <br>A bottle of old Tsing Dao, <br>‘I loved her, man, but I let her go...’<br>I hear as I hit the street, <br>And stagger home in the early hours...<br>‘Are you coming back? ’<br>‘Next week! ’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">1 April 2006</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Lewis+Paget">David Lewis Paget</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365891" data-title="The Blueshell Bar de David Lewis Paget" data-description="From Monday through to Friday and, 
For some, on the weekends too, 
There’s a constant round of students here
Attacking the Chinglish stew, 
They sweat on the riddle of English tense, 
Of gender, of verb and noun, 
But Friday nights and their te..."></div>
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