We have reached 200! That’s 200 episodes of Something Rhymes with Purple consisting of topics such as Drinking, Theatre, Death, Hair, Biscuits, School, Sex, Board Games, Fish, Cricket, Water Vessels.. The list is 200 items long!
To celebrate our 200th birthday, Susie and Gyles will dedicate it to the Purple People and spend the episode riffling through the dictionary as they seek to find the perfect word for those moments in life when the Purple People exclaim ‘there must be a word for that!?’.
We’ll be finding the perfect word to describe the frustration of a sneeze that doesn’t come to fruition, the experience of music moving you to tears, that pre-departure anxiety that renders you incapable of doing anything in the interim period and that disconcerting feeling when you occupy a seat on public transport that is still warm from its previous occupant…
Thank you so much to all the Purple People who sent in their brilliant suggestions - we try to answer as many of them as possible in this episode, but we will be doing a part 2 shortly as there were too many brilliant suggestions to get through in one episode..
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Gyles' poem this week was 'As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII [All the world's a stage]' by 'William Shakespeare'
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
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