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Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1055
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, October 21, 2003 - 12:01 pm: | 
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A lady whose name was Eddowes
Forsook the Kentish meadows
For cruel London City
Where Jack without pity
Gave her a clown's mask and red nose.
This Limerickian style
Won't close the Ripper file.
But when all's said and done
They're jolly good fun,
And writing them takes but a while.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 450
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, October 21, 2003 - 12:55 pm: |
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Slip the Shadows
I slip the shadows the shadows slip by
I slip the shadows and hear them sigh
I slip the shadows the shadows slip by.
Shuttered shattered filter light
Blinding day bloody night.
Day creak and jolt awake
Away the night do take
All the dreams the day do make.
Matchstick dreams in bed red
Little red men in little red dreams bred.
Little red dreams little red men fed.
The shadow slips by in shadow sigh
The shadow slips by, bye and bye.
I bite the dreams and bite screams
I bite the screams and bite dreams.
I wake the night with darkness bright
I take my penny red without a fight
And stick it in my red matchstick book
Where the red matchstick men can look.
Forever.
Together.
They march in and out my head
Marching neatly across my bed.
Little red toy men
With limbs that bend.
And search as hard as you can
Every matchstick doll is a man.
All smart in red
All well bred.
With guns and knives
For battle and strife
They march to tunes
Throughout my rooms.
And as we go out the door
The battle cry is war.
And many will die
In shadow sigh.
|
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 451
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, October 21, 2003 - 1:05 pm: |
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Enjoying all the Limo's!
Robert
I thought 'Evil' excellent again.
This:
'Mouse half eaten on the track
with the dark in her eyes and death in her crack.
While the zigzag slash
of the thunderbolt crash
lights up the world of Jack.'
Is absolutely superb.
I dearly wish I had writ that! |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1056
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, October 21, 2003 - 1:51 pm: |
|
Wonderful poem, AP! Marvellous portrait of our man, doodling mind pictures on his ceiling, totally mixed up about fantasy and reality. Sometimes dreamy, sometimes urgent, it covers his quaint illusions (a military man but he takes his penny red "without a fight"), his childish daydreams, and his topsy-turvy world ("darkness bright"), plus a whole lot more.
Hope you do a follow-up.
Thanks for your comments on "Evil".
Robert |
Petra Zaagman
Unregistered guest
| | Posted on Tuesday, October 21, 2003 - 1:07 pm: |
|
BUSY LIFE.... WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
Dear diary, my life's so-so
oops, I see I've got to go
I've got to slaughter cows and sheep
and cut into them deep deep deep
after that I'll teach my class
as a lawyer I'll kick your ass
picking cotton everywhere
and again, the Time is there
and it tells me: 'hurry you!
Play the doctor, play the Jew!'
I'm late, but it's not me to blame,
I had to play a cricket game.
In my butcher's I'll take the time
to write a funny little rhyme.
Because I'm a poet, didn't you see,
and the vet? Guess what, it's me!
When I come home after a long long day
I've got my Masonic games to play.
And in the time I spend outdoors
I'm killing, ripping all the whores.
My conclusion: we're looking for a suspect with a very tired look in the eyes!
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1059
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, October 21, 2003 - 5:26 pm: |
|
Very funny, Petra. Poor old Jack is rushed off his feet. Well done!
There once was a woman called Cornwell,
Whose book, you could say, hasn't worn well.
The killer she claimed
Was an artist she'd framed,
And her theory was certainly torn well.
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1063
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, October 22, 2003 - 8:02 am: |
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Jacky may not have been mellow,
But he was an artistic fellow.
He should have been grabbed,
For each time that he stabbed,
He walked off playing the cello.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 453
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, October 22, 2003 - 1:55 pm: |
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Little Red Men
They go and come
With puff and blow.
They come and go
In neat little row
They come and go.
They go… march, march, march
Through my little red veins
And blow them little red trumpets
In all my little red brains.
They carry red blood and disease to my liver
And under my skin they go hither and thither.
Here they come
With big red drum
Lined up in my heart
About to march…
Bang Bang Bang
And off they go north and south
Little red men fill up my mouth.
Little red men fill up my ears
And little red men fall with my tears.
Jabbing me with their little sharp blade
And stabbing me in red blood rage
Torturing me with their red bayonet lies
As they march about in my eyes.
They do speak in the language of tongues
And spread the red poison in my lungs.
They quicken my heart then stop it dead
And the little red men eat what I am fed.
When I go out onto the red street
The little red men scatter at my feet
And take over the red city
And bring the red pity
Until the red hunger red dies
And the marching stops in my red eyes.
For the final red rattle
Is the final red battle.
Here they come…
Bang Bang bang.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1066
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, October 22, 2003 - 3:30 pm: |
|
AP, very nice. I like these malevolent tin soldiers.
As it happens, when a child I used to watch the odd medical drama on TV. Seeing how one's body could go wrong, owing to things totally beyond one's control, gave me the creeps. I used to lie in bed wondering if my heart would stop, and whenever I saw the inside of a home doctor book, it looked so funereal that I shut it with a shudder.
For anyone who carries on thinking like this into adolescence and adulthood, it must be truly terrifying.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 454
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, October 22, 2003 - 4:11 pm: |
|
Thanks Robert
I too as a child suffered similarly, and I think you are right, it is the continuation of this into adulthood that brings the little red men forth. Most of us are able to banish them as we mature, but some, like Richard and Thomas are plagued by them forever.
'Are you a good boy?' they ask.
And the drum rolls begin and the little tin men march hither and thither.
So Thomas throws an old man down the stairs and then stares in total bewilderment at the broken old man at the bottom of the stairs and says:
'Poor gentleman has fallen down the stairs.'
The little tin men did it.
And I believe Thomas believed that he was a good boy, just like Richard. |
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 456
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Friday, October 24, 2003 - 5:33 pm: |
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House of Cards
It would be both reasonable and fair to suggest that there is a fundamental brick upon which the entire Jack the Ripper house has been built; and that is the unassailable fact that Jack’s victims were female, and certainly almost all prostitutes.
From this simple brick a mighty house has been built, a truly monstrous and sprawling mansion where accumulated dust flies in a veritable storm from volume to volume of theory, speculation and hearsay; and then just occasionally a great deal of honest and factual truth is revealed beneath the accumulated dust; but each and every volume, regardless of its posture, intent or content takes as its starting block that one simple brick: the fact that Jack killed female prostitutes.
For this basic choice of victim appears to categorise and type-cast Jack as a particular breed of killer, a killer that has as motive and purpose a sexual theme, as his victims - prostitutes - are inherently and overtly sexual by their very nature, purpose and design.
This fact appears to be inescapable, and I firmly believe it would not be unreasonable to suggest that just about every word that has ever been written about Jack the Ripper will have had its origin in that one simple brick.
Is it possible to gently remove that brick and collapse that house of cards?
Let us take as our starting block the salient fact that all the crimes of Jack the Ripper were committed very late at night, for then one is able to say right away that Jack liked to roam the streets of Whitechapel late at night, or better said, it was his habit to roam the streets of Whitechapel late at night. This seemingly innocuous little fact has oft been ignored, when it shouldn’t have been as it does show us that we are dealing with a very peculiar and particular type of person with very peculiar and particular likes and dislikes.
However we will come to the personality and characterisation of Jack presently.
For the moment a close examination of the streets of Whitechapel late at night in the year 1888 will reveal the following elements of the community about their business at this unusual hour:
We have the police, patrolling their various beats.
We have thieves, robbers, touts, pimps and drunken roughs and toughs.
We have slaughter men, dock workers and market porters coming or going from their shift work.
Cart drivers and other delivery men on early or late shifts.
Groups of men returning from pubs and clubs to their lodgings or homes.
All the above elements of the community share the same characteristic, they are men, without exception.
So a man who leaves his Whitechapel home late at night purely with the intention of waylaying a solitary female and murdering her for sexual gratification will be hard pressed to find such a victim. However if he had left his home during the day he would have been overwhelmed by the vast number of solitary females available to him as victims.
But of course there is a particular section of the female community who do indeed ply their trade late at night on the streets of Whitechapel, and to successfully ply their trade they must be alone to ensure the anonymity of their clients, and these are obviously the prostitutes of the area.
So, all in all, we are looking at a fairly bizarre situation where we have a supposed sexual serial killer hunting the streets of Whitechapel late at night in the forlorn hope of satisfying his weird sexual gratification, and then we appear to find it highly relevant that all his victims are without exception prostitutes?
Surely they were the only section of the female community that were available as victims to Jack at that time of night?
But that doesn’t mean to say that Jack targeted these prostitutes, in fact it would be far more rational and sensible to suggest that these victims became victims simply through the dictated circumstances of Jack’s strange desire to roam the streets of Whitechapel late at night.
Our normal and natural assumption is that Jack left his home to wander the streets late at night in search of a victim, but perhaps instead Jack left his house because he was a victim, perhaps Jack had a need to escape from the cloying confinement of a home saturated and dominated by women, and then Jack on the street did his absolute best to avoid any and all contact with the opposite sex - that is probably why he went out late at night, there were only men about, no threat, no danger, no female dominance, just the pleasant bustle of men about their lawful and unlawful business, and maybe Jack slid comfortably into such a late night scene, as long as he was left alone - but it is in the raw nature of a working prostitute to forcefully approach a client and not the other way around, so here we could have Jack running from the demon and suddenly the demon is right in front of him, begging him, employing him for four pence, imploring him for the intimate contact which he loathes, coming closer and closer and then flight equals fight…
Could it be that the victims came to Jack?
Not unreasonable speculation when one considers the entirely fragile ground upon which our present conception of Jack, his crimes and his victims is based; that his victims were prostitutes, therefore his crimes must have been of a sexual nature, but the only victims available to him late at night were prostitutes or able-bodied men more than capable of defending themselves.
And the able-bodied men would not have approached Jack nor would he have approached them, so could it just be that the prostitutes were not victims at all, but merely the flotsam and jetsam of a Whitechapel night who just happened to cross the path of this strange young man; and could it be that a hundred years of intensive research has cast us down on a shore so foreign that we may never find out who Jack was?
Yes of course it is. For part of us inherently wants to see Jack as a sexual serial killer, the male part anyway, for that makes everything simple and easy. He killed and mutilated women for sex.
Case closed.
But life is not like that, Mister Wilson and Mistress Cornwallis and your legions of followers.
Many might view my thinking and logic here as purely simplistic… and they would be dead right.
For it is my contention that we tend to look at Jack’s crimes with a far too complicated and convoluted logic that serves to confound an already confounded situation.
It is very educational in this instance to examine the behaviour of more modern serial killers to see what that might teach us about simplicity.
Richard Chase - the so-called Vampire of Sacramento - chose his victims in the most simplistic fashion that any of us could employ or imagine. Richard tried the front doors of houses set close together and if they were unlocked he then ‘invited’ himself in - he firmly believed that he was welcome to enter by the sign of an unlocked door - and promptly murdered and mutilated anyone unfortunate enough to be on the premises at the time.
Now how would we today type-cast Richard’s victims? Would we say his crimes were of a sexual nature, just because behind that unlocked door there just happened to be a female present in the household?
And does an unlocked door mean that Richard was a sexual serial killer?
No, of course it doesn’t, all his victims were victims of chance and happenstance, their fate determined by a simple Yale security lock, and no matter who Richard found behind that unlocked door he would have killed them.
But Richard today is classified as sexual serial killer.
Elsewhere and at great length I have already shown that the victims of the killer, Colin Pitchfork, actually chose themselves by their unusual and unexpected reaction to Pitchfork exposing himself to them. If they had acted like the hundreds of other girls he had exposed himself to - by totally ignoring him - he would not have selected them as victims.
So we can see that victim choice may not be that at all; many killers may in fact not even have a victim in mind; they might not even have murder in their minds, but then circumstances move on without them and they find themselves in an inexplicable situation - to us anyway - and somehow the unusual behaviour of a specific individual, or the happenstance of something so simple as an unlocked door will super-heat and fuel that ‘something’ locked deep within their brain to strike out and totally destroy that what has crossed their path.
It strikes me that if Richard Chase had walked into the house of total strangers, and then instead of panicking the strangers had offered Richard a cup of tea and a biscuit he probably would have sat down, enjoyed his refreshment and gone on his way. When Richard’s sad and unfortunate childhood is studied it becomes immediately obvious that all this strange and mixed-up boy ever wanted was a real family and some love.
Similarly, but perhaps slightly more complicated, all that Colin Pitchfork ever wanted was recognition, but not for what he was - a cheap little man in a dirty raincoat - but for what he might have been. His proudest moment was when he posed for a photo shoot for the local newspaper with a cake he had baked for charity.
He was finally ‘somebody’, no matter that he had already murdered and mutilated two young girls and the entire law enforcement agencies of three counties were looking for him.
Colin’s cake is indeed food for thought.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1081
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Friday, October 24, 2003 - 7:13 pm: |
|
Hi AP
When I first encountered your provocation theory, some months ago, I thought that if this was what lay behind Jack's crimes, he would have killed just about every night, as he would have been approached just about every night. But of course, we don't know what kind of day he'd had with these female relatives! Maybe the victims had an entire day's resentments heaped on their heads. On his better days, he just shrugged them off.
I think the provocation theory sounds quite plausible, except for Kelly and Chapman. The Kelly problem may have a simple solution, but Chapman is tougher - he would have had to enter the house and pass through it to the yard. This seems at variance with his dislike of women. After all, he could have either run away, or simply punched Chapman to shake her off.
Robert
|
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 457
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, October 25, 2003 - 12:18 pm: |
|
Yes Robert,
Absolutely right - as ever! - and the difficulties you highlight with both Kelly and Chapman have been in my mind right from the start.
I will leave Kelly for now as that is central core to what follows in next piece.
However I personally don’t believe that Chapman presents quite the obstacle that Kelly does to a theory of provocation. This may well be because I am strongly biased in my choice of suspect for the role of a ‘provoked’ Jack - although having said that I do try my utmost to keep that bias out of what I write here - and you know as well as me who that suspect is.
Anyways, regarding Chapman. I am drawn to the fact that she appears to have the entered the house willingly, and as far as we know unaccompanied (my memory is vague on these points so please correct me if wrong). This act on her part is usually interpreted as a desire to find a suitable location to turn a trick. Well, as ever, I see her act that night as being far more mundane and simplistic than that, and do have the feeling that she probably entered the premises with the intention of relieving herself in the back yard.
Basically we don’t know, but I’ll always come down on the side of the simple explanation then rather than the complicated.
If however she were crouched down - all women crouch in such delicate situations as I can attest - with her undergarments awry and then suddenly crash bang over the yard wall tumbled a certain young man well known for his ability to scale walls and fences as well his ability to use the alleyways and back yards of Whitechapel… or even simpler, Jack might have been there in the dark of the yard as Chapman entered, and I do wonder what his reaction would have been to the sight of a woman in a state of some undress attending to a biological need.
And there is still no explanation for this young man’s wanderings through the night of Whitechapel.
Perhaps our Jack was a voyeur?
Many modern serial killers have admitted that their careers started of with something so simple as watching women undress through windows.
Perhaps Jack attacked women when they were at their most vulnerable, crouching down to relieve themselves? Which they would have done in the back yards and alleyways of Whitechapel as I’m sure public toilets were few and far between, if they existed at all.
But that still doesn’t solve the problem of Kelly.
I’m working on it.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1087
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, October 25, 2003 - 2:14 pm: |
|
Hi AP
I don't remember anyone actually seeing Chapman enter the house. I had wondered about a fence - hopping scenario - I had imagined her having just finished with a client, but a call of nature might well be better - however such a scenario seemed to rely on coincidence a bit too much, given my proposed solution for the Kelly problem.
But I'll wait for your next piece.
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1155
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, November 02, 2003 - 3:37 pm: |
|
Hi AP
BLIND ALLEY
Fourpence for bed, and it's bloody cold!
Go get it, Kate. You ain't so old.
Fourpence for bed, did John have his tea?
Don't need him taking it out on me.
Well that was better out than in!
That's what you get for too much gin.
Wish that moon would bloody sod off,
Always up there having a scoff
Whenever I've had a drop too much
There's the moon come out of his hutch.
Fourpence for bed, did John have his tea?
If he did he had more than me.
Fourpence for bed, oh come on!
One quick trick and then I'm gone.
Wait! I can here a fourpence coming.
Hurry up, mate, my fingers are drumming.
Fourpence for bed, did John have -
Now she's got her bed for free,
And she'll never know if John had his tea,
Or the who, or the why, and nor will we.
Robert
|
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 484
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, November 02, 2003 - 4:32 pm: |
|
Topsy-Turvey Land
So I joined the merry misogynist band
All bound for Topsy-Turvey land.
Although not being one of them myself
I thought it probably good for my health.
As we made our jolly pilgrim way
The merry band began to sing and sway
To a most pleasing little song
That helped us all move along.
‘If Jack were Joe and Joe were Jack
Then black would be white and white would be black.
If Joe were Jack and Jack were Joe
Then go would be stop and stop would be go.
But if Jack were Joe and Joe were Jack
Then back would be front and front would be back!’
But before the song could bore us
There came a sudden chorus,
Where the whole pack roared
As their voices soared:
‘Merry Kelley lived 24 hours without a heart!
Catherine Eddowes was a tart!
All whores live in shed but far apart!
Louis Diemschutz fell off his cart!
And that’ll do just for a start!’
Then the mores the blessed pity
They returned to their little ditty.
‘But if Joe were Jack and Jack were Joe
Then toes would be fingers and each finger a toe.
But if Jack were Joe and Joe were Jack
Then tac would be tic and tic would be tac.
But if Joe were Jack and Jack were Joe
Than toe tic tac would be tic tac toe.’
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AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 485
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, November 02, 2003 - 4:39 pm: |
|
Enjoyed that Robert
very atmospheric.
The desire to get done and get her hands on the money was very powerful.
All that gin and quick sin drives me to the glass, but as ever you stick with tea.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1156
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, November 02, 2003 - 5:16 pm: |
|
Thanks AP. Enjoyed your one so much I've done a little epilogue. Hope you don't mind.
So to get myself right way up
I went to the pub and had a good sup,
But under the table did slide
Before I could fully get into my stride,
And while there had a good think,
Then awoke for another drink.
Surely no humble fish porter
Would walk off with Kelly's aorta?
No man would gut a trout
Then turn his loved one inside out?
But then the band returned
To tell me of what they'd learned,
That Jack was Joe and Joe was Jack,
And all because he got the sack.
That Joe was Jack and Jack was Joe,
And all because his speech was slow.
Dazed I sank to my knees
While the barman called "Time gentlemen please".
Robert
|
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 487
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, November 03, 2003 - 1:09 pm: |
|
Thanks Robert
I’ve added to your effort as well.
And as the barman called ‘Time gentlemen please’
From the tap room came an almighty sneeze.
And out strode Jack with Kelly’s heart in hand
‘please, take this gift,’ he told the astonished band.
Then he studied their new volume with a venomous look
And swore to them that it wasn’t him in their first edition book.
‘That’s Joe in there and not Jack
So ‘ere have the bloody thing back!
I don’t know what you serve up here as a dish
For I gutted whores and not foul fish,
And me only speech problem is me foul tongue
And just for that I should be quartered and hung.
And this here tripe sits badly in me old belly
So if Joe is Jack then my first name is Nelly.’
The merry band implored and begged
But old Jack slowly shook his head
‘My name’s not Joe, my name is Jack
That aint no fiction, that is a fact.
And with this trivia you do me now bore
So I’m off to slice up ‘nother whore!’
With that Jack left to slamming of pub door.
The aftermath of such sudden violence
Was an ocean of great silence.
But eventually a little titter broke the air
And a voice cried out: ‘as if we care!’
Then off they went with chapter and verse
Fuelled on whisky and full of curse.
‘Bah! Who give two penny toss what old Jack say,
We’ll just tell the story in our own sweet way.
Who the hell him think he is anyway?’
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1160
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, November 03, 2003 - 2:00 pm: |
|
But Jack grew more and more surprised
To find that he'd been ostracised.
And it began to affect his health
For no one accepted him for himself.
"You won't cut my throat to a stripe -
You don't smell of fish and you don't smoke a pipe."
And every time poor Jack appeared
The women just stood around and jeered
"Let's not pander
To delusions of grandeur."
In vain did he cultivate a stutter,
People just called him a silly old nutter.
Such derision
Drove Jack to perdition.
He cursed the world in every feature
And took his revenge by becoming a preacher.
Robert
|
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 492
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, November 04, 2003 - 2:18 pm: |
|
Robert
My shortest poem yet:
Although he might have been foul and corrupted
Was Jack in his stride rudely interrupted?
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1168
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, November 04, 2003 - 2:25 pm: |
|
And along similar lines :
Diemschutz came and his pony shied
Before Jack could fully get into his Stride. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 1170
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, November 04, 2003 - 4:26 pm: |
|
The stolid police in the midden shoddy
Never expected such mystical find,
For Mary Kelly was out of her body
And Jack had gone out of his mind. |
Petra Zaagman
Unregistered guest
| | Posted on Tuesday, November 04, 2003 - 3:51 am: |
|
Hm.. Jack didn't have a busy life at all I guess..
He seemed to have plenty of time to kill!
The sunny sun shines
reflects on the raindrops
the leafs are coloured
palette of a painter
far up in the sky
and all autumn colours
flying passing by
leafs are dancing
old newspapers too
the wind blows
autumn songs
the clouds are fluffy
grey and white
tonight it rained
I know and didn't know
it would fall down on me
everywhere are splashes
children jumping in
the mud on their trousers
mum's got something to do
glimmering sunlight
in splashes of water
dark houses surrounding
happy autumn street
silver high sky
trees waving happily
on september 30
my happy autum world
no one else that happy
don't understand it
and I'm glad.
I thought I had to post something again.. =D |
Caroline Anne Morris
Inspector
Username: Caz
Post Number: 458
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, November 05, 2003 - 5:05 am: |
|
Ok Jack, what's it all about?
Outside in and inside out.
Did ya leave Old Nichol to rip up old Nichols?
Was it Chapman on Chapman?
By George, what riddles!
Stride left Kidney left kidney left Eddowes
But did ya have to leave Kelly
all over her pillows?
Insides out and outside in,
Left you with river or loony bin.
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