
fredag 28 november 2008
Fredag, snart december

torsdag 27 november 2008
Arbetsmyra

onsdag 26 november 2008
Någon dör, någon föds

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
tisdag 25 november 2008
Konsten att kommunicera

The Dora effect

söndag 23 november 2008
Morbror Edon

fredag 21 november 2008
Guuuud vad jag är gammal!

onsdag 19 november 2008
En hyllning till familjen

måndag 17 november 2008
En konstig mamma

lördag 15 november 2008
Soffmys

måndag 10 november 2008
Skit-TV

Mysigt på Musikmuseet

Reinfeldt ensamvargen

lördag 8 november 2008
torsdag 6 november 2008
No more PMS

onsdag 5 november 2008
Hetsiga föräldrar

tisdag 4 november 2008
Det börjar på O

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