Overall it is a dull war
A dreaded bore
Nothing like the war you think of from stories
Gore, glory, posh men ahorse arrayed in pendant-laden grey khaki and sashes, cavalries arranged in lines charging flak cannons under fire, legs exploded by mines, crying oxbridge sorts penning dreadful lines of clumsy-rhymed verse in rat-ridden billets from Lyon to Bethune
Torch war’s kindling conclude torturous waiting, I cannot endure further injurious days of nothing
If war is to be, let us plunge in like dippers Christmas morn Forty Foot
Fierce nippy rock ‘ard nipples
Baileys tipple, Gran grinning before couple-coloured Christmas tree, saw and sees faeries
Sylphs, silver strands of waving hair pulsating through air, wind-inflated sacks undulating.
Alchemisland 
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