Incurably curious. Curiously incurable.

I might as well get it out of my system now; confess, if you will. I love words. I love reading dictionaries.  [If I were making a speech at a golf club, say, I would have lost about ninety per cent of my audience already. It is possible to love words and golf, or books and... Continue Reading →

Denim and truth

On the threshold of my teenage years, I discovered for the first time in my life that as selfish as such behaviour might be, nagging one's mother to distraction does yield the desired result. The very much desired object of my affection was my first pair of jeans. There is no need to describe them... Continue Reading →

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