I have this odd cold. It's all on my throat, with just the occasional sneeze and nasal drippage. I hold the cold virus as ultimate proof there is no God. Or, if there is a God, he has a very strange sense of humour.
And I blame my lack of tonsils. I am of an age from when tonsils were whipped out on a whim—the boy has a limp; out with his tonsils. And now we know tonsils are a vital part of one's immune system. I'd sue someone, if I could do anything but croak out half-words.
I have tickets for the football match; and I have to go, because I have tickets and I'm a boy, don't I? I shall have to "wrap up well". It's one of my mum's old sayings, and one I will quite possibly heed today.
Book Review: The Adjacent by Christopher Priest - I hardly know where to begin in describing Christopher Priest’s *The Adjacent*. It’s a multi-stranded novel that alternates the tale of Tibor Tarent, a fre...
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