At the first opportunity, I omitted to add to this Passing Bull item an extract from the poet of the month, Yeats. I had promised not use his best known lines, but the revival of Sodom and Gomorrah really makes me now do so.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
A propos of another form of trading in sex, Playboy is going clothed. Do you remember the time when some diffident younger or older men said that they bought Playboy for the articles? Now, I can warrant you that some will say that they watch Nigella to learn how to cook.
With Compliments 
What a delicious possibility you initiate. That the rough beast slouching towards Bethlehem which Yeats forsaw was Hugh Hefner. Auden disowned his own best lines in his poem on Yeats’s death
Time that with this strange excuse
Pardoned Kipling and his views,
And will pardon Paul Claudel,
Pardons him for writing well
This delicious. And if you get this, it means I am coming to grips with with tech. The Economist has a note on Vols 5 and 6 of Auden’s prose. Keep the faith.
You may already have dealt with this in your poet of the month posts, forgive me if that is the case. If not, may I draw your attention to the concluding lines of The Gift of Harun al-Rashid which so affected Clive James that he forgot to breathe for minutes after reading them
…..and I alone –
Of all Arabia’s lovers Ione-
Nor dazzled by the embroidery., nor lost
In the confusion of its night-dark folds,
Can hear the armed man speak.
James’s reaction, and his assertion that no single poet could compete with the magic (poetic magic as opposed to Celtic Dawn jiggery pokery)
I had not referred to it. we are still on Yeats. Next month, a lady.
(unlike you I have not mastered the technology and my reply went off too soon) is to be found in a piece in The Spectator a couple of decades ago, and I suspect reprinted on one of his many collected essay indulgences.
You need a dashboard. I think.