The right’s out on another freemasonry scare. The kind of paranoia popularised by Franco’s official historian (whose work is often quite as bad as anything produced by the left-wing historians who came to power in the 80s) and his mates may explain why at least three people try to run me down every time I…
A friend once impressively tried to play the trombone in a London cab, but the prize goes to the small lottery kiosk containing a middle-aged woman several sizes larger who was dreamily squeezing away at her accordeon this afternoon. Her dog was crammed in there as well.
I’ve been having problems with some vowels recently, so I wish this kind of stuff was available for more languages. The doggies and birdies are particularly welcome. (I once worked for an insufferably conservative company with a phenomenally rear-end approach to corporate comms. One day it was discovered that, rather than wait for the official…