We don't have Evan Davis. I'd forgotten all about him until yesterday - it's called blotting out trauma, I think. But I dropped my guard and there he was again. In that solitary instant of less than complete vigilance, the full horror came flooding back.
What I especially hated when I lived in London was that moment in the morning when you'd turn on the Today programme and listen in trepidation - and, oh no, it was the D team, Evan Davis and that token woman, who has an exceptionally annoying voice.
But, hang on - I've just caught a glimpse of Eddie McGuire. I'd forgotten about him as well. The scoreboard's gone back into draw territory all of a sudden. Damn.
Preparing to visit friends, Jane Austen style - One of the things we learn through Jane Austen’s letters – and indeed through her novels – is how much visiting and travelling people did in the early eigh...
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