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Oh dear, Aranalde, sorry to hear it. I leave the Midlands for a year and all hell breaks loose! Ah well, I suppose it explains the paucity of scratchings down here, and the stellar prices where they can be found at all.
Spokily enough, it’s faggots for dinner at Chez Column this evening.
The patron saint of lower-grade fare. A gently critical friend of point-to-pointing. Kindness is a political act.