I've read the screed on their sides and it tells me all sorts of things but not that.
Whenever I work in the garden at ground level- weeding, mowing, edging- small lives- mainly ants and spiders- hasten to get out of my way. I do my best not to harm them but I don't think you can be both a gardener and a Jain.
Baw is with us again. He and Sith are replacing the rackety sliding door on the side of the garage with a window. When they've done that there are other jobs lined up...
John McEnery died. Everyone who remembers him remembers him as Mercutio. It was one of those performances- so brilliant, so vital they define a whole career. It seems he put a lot of himself into it. One the highlights of his old age was getting hauled up before the beak for waving a water pistol around in a pub.
I was talking about him to a friend and it suddenly came to me out of a clear blue sky that Mercutio- as written- is a loving portrait of the recently deceased Kit Marlowe. I don't know if this is a fresh new thought or a scholarly commonplace but I'm sure there's truth in it. The wit, the poetry, the irreverence, the death by stabbing- who else could it be?
Brandishing an empty pistol in a pub is just the sort of thing Kit would have done. Perhaps he did. And perhaps he did it in Faversham- just like John- on a side trip to research his play about Thomas Arden...