On the road again, again

To publish posthumously and squeeze a bit more money for the estate of the writer and his publisher (even though the work might be crap) or not? Decisions, decisions, though as it turned out not a difficult one for Charles Scribner’s Sons, of New York, publishers to the gentry

In which I admit to slightly odd behaviour (and later in the day put the boot in Honest Ernest yet again)

Crisis? What crisis? This one, matey, this one!

The Brexit farce continues and it’s not going to end well . . .

On the road . . .

Rose Tremain's The Colour: less than the sum of its - many - parts

You do realise, of course, that reading this blog marks you out as — well, how do I put this without being too effusive? — a little more refined, a cut above the rabble and someone whose intellect and lively mind one can only admire. Elite? Yes, and then some