The Special Category

Anagrammy Awards > Voting Page - Special Category

An optional explanation about the anagram in green, the subject is in black, the anagram is in red.

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by Henry Scott Holland,
Canon of St Paul's Cathedral

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
that we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference in your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
At the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect,
without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolutely unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am waiting for you, for an interval,
Somewhere very near,
Just around the corner.

All is well.

(A Witty Output of Fatal Utterances!)

Here lies the body of Katy Charlotte,
Born a virgin, died a harlot;
She was aye a virgin at seventeen,
A remarkable feat in Aberdeen.

Here lies my wife,
Let her lie!
Now she's at peace
And so am I.

Solomon Isaac lies under this ground,
Don't rattle your money when you walk around.

Who lies here?
Me, Matty Macuitty
Ah, Matty, is that you?
Ay, man, but a'm dead noo.

That plot is the nicest I've seen all my life,
For it nurtures the flowers and covers my wife.

(To A Wife)
As I am now, so you will be
Madam, get ready to follow me.

(To A Husband)
To follow you I am not content
How would I know which way you went?

(To A Dentist):
Stranger, approach yon plot with gravity!
Jonah MacKue's filling his last cavity.

I would rather be here
Than in Texas.

Here lies my wife,
Here lies she;

Here lies Tony Crafter.

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Healthy eating

Eating healthily is not hard to do and the benefits are well worth the effort.

Why is healthy eating important?

In adults, healthy eating can help you manage your weight and will improve your overall feeling of well-being; it can also reduce your risk of developing illness and serious disease. The right balance of foods will give your child all the nutrients they need for healthy growth and development. It also helps to educate them to eat healthily and can reduce the risk of serious diseases later in life.

What is a healthy diet?

A healthy diet contains:

  • plenty of starchy foods such as bread, rice, pasta, breakfast cereals, potatoes, yams and sweet potatoes - look for higher fibre versions where possible (eg wholemeal bread or pasta) at least five portions of a variety of fruit and vegetables daily
  • moderate amounts of dairy products (or alternatives) - look for low fat versions where possible
  • moderate amount of meat, fish or alternatives such as eggs, beans, peas and lentils - look forlower fat versions where possible
  • the occasional treat (foods that are higher in fat, salt and/or added sugar should only be eaten inmoderation)
  • little salt - always read the label

    Healthy diets for babies and children:

    Eating healthily yourself is one of the best ways to encourage your child to develop healthy eating habits. Healthy eating needn't be expensive. In fact, basing meals on starchy foods and fruit and vegetables, and aiming to eat less fat, salt and added sugar, can actually work out cheaper.

    Babies and children under five have different diet requirements. For more information follow the links below.

    Healthy eating for babies

    Healthy eating for breastfeeding

    Children and young people aged 5-16 can get tailored information on healthy eating from the links below:

    Healthy eating for young people (young people's section)

    Welltown website for ages 5-7 (opens new window)
    Galaxy-H website for ages 7-11 (opens new window)
    Life Bytes website for ages 11-14 (opens new window)
    Mind, Body and Soul website for ages 14-16

How To Wipe Your Arse - An Official Government Health Guide.

Wiping one's arse is easy, not difficult, but nevertheless, should one need any help, please do take the time to follow this essential handy bathroom guide.

First, download a free 'Loo Risk-Assessment' (form no. 11676/1), and send it to your local Town Hall Health and Safety Officer.

Then select a type of toilet roll suitable for one's particular arsehole, and lifestyle. Those made of bio- degradable recycled material are preferable, to avoid global warming. Avoid a newspaper (even the Daily Mail) as ink easily transfers to skin. Wipees suffering from haemorrhoids are highly advised to avoid the ghastly crinkly stuff we used to have at school. Ooh, the agony! A fluffy 'Fiesta Deluxe' quilted sheet type, or a delicate fragrant Feminine 'Wet Wipe' may be more comfortable.

Having completed a risk-assessment/chosen a type of paper one wishes to use, ideally wearing surgical rubber gloves, sit, wee first, heave, groan, then lay a shit. Bowel evacuated, stand with one's feet apart by about 14 to 17 inches (by about 11 to 14 inches for a child). Bend the knees at an angle of 55 degrees. With one hand (right or left) either side (not between the legs), gently wipe one's arsehole in a straight line, ideally front-to-rear. (Allow two sheets, two-ply, folded in half). A rear-to-front wipe is not advised, as this could result in an infection beneath the genital area, particularly in women. Repeat wipe as needed.

Having removed excess faecal matter, check stool for undigestable vegetables, or bloodstains. (If so, see a doctor right away for a diagnosis). Throw used bog-roll into the bowl. Flush it, and the poo, away by turning the handle / by pressing a button on the cistern. Remove any heavy splattering and gooey pebble-dashing on bowl edge. Break any floaters laterally or diagonally apart with a long pole, and re-flush.

Following that, wash and dry one's hands. Finally finished at last, breathe again.

See these additional Health and Hygiene websites, if needed :

- Easy bidet instructions
- What to do if you "follow-through"

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Hope is the thing...

A poem by Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

War is the thing...

War is the sport of statesmen,
That hellish cutthroat game,
They heckled thankless henchmen,
That set the earth aflame.

The thought that deaths may be endorsed,
Is so primitive to me,
There can be no way to pardon it,
This evil that we see.

I've seen it in distinguished realms,
And in apt extremist lands,
But why your blood keeps being spilled,
I cannot understand.


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[About the excesses of Christmas, the anagram's hidden title is the "Holidays, Holidays, Holidays" acrostic.]


Now thrice welcome, Christmas,
Which brings us good cheer,
Minc'd pies and plum-porridge,
Good ale and strong beer;
With pig, goose, and capon,
The best that can be,
So well doth the weather
And our stomachs agree.

Observe how the chimneys
Do smoke all about,
The cooks are providing
For dinner, no doubt;
But those on whose tables
No victuals appear,
O may they keep Lent
All the rest of the year!

With holly and ivy
So green and so gay;
We deck up our houses
As fresh as the day,
With bays and rosemary
And laurel complete,
And every one now
Is a king in conceit.

Have a triple-decker sandwich
Of leftover bacon on rye;
Lots of, ugh, mutton chops
("It's hamburger pie!");
Dessert: Apple pudding
And, wow, mangosteen!
("Yuck! Why only show Mrs.
Santa's corner cuisine?"}

Hear a thrice-told tale
On hangovers, constant pain.
("Let's now bomb the pubs...
I've a mammoth migraine!")
Don't drink the eggnog;
Alcohol shot's a bore.
("Yes! Bring hot, rich cocoa!")
Smashed herds we abhor!

Have a three-day weekend;
Out with all this cheer!
("Let's practice some yoga,
I'd like more silence here.")
Decidedly you're alone now,
Away, past the crowd.
You need a rest, but sigh...
("Soon snow has to be plowed!")

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'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

A Soldier's Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas,
The man lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house
Made of worn plaster and busted stone.

I had come down the unswept chimney
With my sparkling presents to give,
And to see just who it was
That in this shabby house did live.

I searched all about,
What a harsh sight I did see,
No tinsel and no wrapped presents,
Not even a wretched tree.

No stocking by the worn mantle,
Just unwashed boots filled with sand,
And in the hallway hung worthless pictures
Of exiled, offshore lands.

With medals and badges,
Between awards and wreaths of kinds,
Then, an awakening thought
Came into my mind.

For this house was all different,
When I could see in the dark,
I had found the home of a soldier,
It was withdrawn and stark.

The unabashed hero lay sleeping,
He was hushed, he was alone,
Curled up on the floor
In this bleak, one bedroom home.

The face was so gentle,
The room in such disorder,
Not at all how I pictured
A twentieth-century soldier.

Was this the mighty national hero
Of whom I had just read,
Nestled up in a cheap shawl,
With the harsh floor as his bed?

Then I thought of the wealthy families
That I saw this harsh, white night,
Who owed their lives to those fallen soldiers
Who were so willing to fight.

Soon all around the whole world,
The chubby children would awaken and play,
And the grownups would worship in church
On an enchanted, white Christmas day.

They all enjoy the benefits
Each month of the year,
Because of all the majestic soldiers,
Like the exhausted one sleeping here.

I couldn't help but just think
How many lay sleeping alone,
On a hallowed Christmas night
In a hellish Afghan township far from home?

That weighted, painful thought
Brought a tear to my eye,
I fell to my haunches
And ashamed, started to cry.

Then the weathered soldier awakened
And I heard a husky, hushed voice,
Saying "Hush, Santa. Please don't weep,
Herein is my life of choice;

I fight for freedom,
Hell, I won't ask for more,
My life is my god,
and my country is my corps."

The soldier then eased weakly over
And went back to sleep,
I couldn't hold it in
And continued to weep.

I kept watch there for a while,
That lengthy night - bleak and still
And we both shivered weakly
From the hazy winter night's chill.

I didn't want to leave
On that bleak and dark night,
This quietly spoken keeper of honor
Who was so willing to fight.

Then the man awakened and rolled back over,
And with a voice unshaken and pure,
Whispered peacefully, "Keep going now, Santa,
It's Christmas, all is secure."

One look at the watch,
And I knew he was right.
I said, "Happy Christmas, my honest hero,
And to all a good night."