The week has passed goutily. I know. I’m sorry. There’s nothing more tedious than people moaning about their ailments. But the trouble is that as a result of said gout, I’ve been more or less housebound all week, and able to do little more than fester on the sofa watching cricket. How does this differ … Continue reading Plums and berries and gout, oh my!
We stood on a hill in South London, as cold and wet as an eskimo’s lavatory. The lettings officer drew an imaginary line with her arm across a patch of sodden wasteland. “This is half a plot,” she informed us, “more or less.” She carried about her an air of disappointment, as if showing prospective … Continue reading A fiendish plot