There are auctioneers and then there are auctioneers. Even as I wrote that sentence I realised it didn’t make a great deal of sense. What I’m trying to say is that you have some auctioneers who know their trade, work at it for years picking up the tricks and slowly building up a following. I … More What am I bid?
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