For the final word on interracial marriage, I think we need to turn to the words of Edward Lear, h.
There was an old man of Jamaica
Who suddenly married a Quaker
But she cried out "Alack!
I have married a black!"
Which distressed that Old Man of Jamaica.
There's a lesson for us all there, I think.
You must scrutinize my own very excellent Ode to Nigella b. Ne'er a faux rhyme nor deviation from scansion to be seen and I would rather die than employ this particular lazy contrivance.
Pathos my black arse, the **** just couldn't think of anything else to rhyme with Jamaica
I glanced at Nigella last night. Once again, she cooked remarkably ordinary food and then sat around scoffing it with her chums (who do appear to be some of the worst human beings on the planet, btw). It struck me that, without all the curves and the lascivious twinkling to camera, she really no longer has an act.