I was home first that evening and had brought supper with me. A good chunk of game pie, half a bottle of wine, and even some vegetables, although it has to be admitted that these had a sad a wilted air. Still, chopped, seethed in the juice of a punnet of boelits (also somewhat past … More Brass knuckles for a lady
I mentioned some little time ago that I have an interesting account to how I came to be friends with Sneal the Peddler. Somebody has asked me about this story, I assume the rest just expect me to tell it in my own good time whether they ask me to or not. To be fair, … More Music and decorum
Strangely enough, recently a number of people have asked me to tell them the tale of Stilwater the Squid Wrestler. At one time I told it regularly, but after a short while you realise that there is a danger that too many people have heard it more than once. When they start critiquing not the … More Stilwater the Squid Wrestler
It was Susan who brought Mistress Meena to mind. It happened years ago now, as always I was younger then. But still, she was (and is) an interesting lady. When I first came across her she was a very minor guest at an affair I was assisting at. She appeared, as if from nowhere, a … More Who are the innocent anyway?
It was Chris Graham who reminded me, jogging my memory when he sent me the old picture. There the man was, metaphorically at least, staring out of the paper. Mord Filch. I suspect that in his day he was one of the most respected doctors in Port Naain. He had a flourishing practice, his cupping … More A minor poet
It was Sneal, a friend of mine, who told me this story. Sneal is a peddler, or wandering merchant if you wish to flatter him. Not that flattery will get you anywhere; there are few men with their heads more firmly screwed on than Sneal. Indeed you might wonder how he ended up as the … More Not perhaps the best location
I confess now that I am not what you might describe as an accomplished cook. There are a few simple dishes I can prepare, toast is one. But my admiration for the person who can cook knows no bounds. Any of these creative geniuses will find me sitting at the table, napkin neatly tucked into … More A few simple spices
It has to be said that I may not have mentioned Anald in these jottings of mine. Indeed until Sue Vincent jogged my memory I’d entirely forgotten the incident. Anald was perhaps one of the finest cozeners I have ever had dealings with. A person of immense charm, he had spent nearly twenty years separating … More Bucolic abandon
Neethlie Mossot was destined for great things by her mother. She aspired for her daughter to be a quaintrelle, a social butterfly, an ornament to society. Neethlie rather spoiled that by running away at the age of sixteen with a Partannese soldier of fortune. Just between ourselves there is some controversy over her age at … More The Mother of her people
Talopian Hearsan was one of those people I just somehow never took too. I’m not sure why to be honest; he was always polite and respectful to a poet of my status. The problem was perhaps that he was too polite and too respectful. In the same way he was always too nicely dressed, too … More Too nice?