It was the arse-end of the ballroom days, but the scene was still vibrant.
The screeching of brakes, the monotonous blare of motor horns, the clip-clip of shoes on slippery pavements, the rustling of wet mackintoshes were all part of the great metropolis.
[…] according to some of the elders of the village, young Philip was the “very spit” of his father, as they once remembered him […]
Of a clarree maad of a certeyn wyn, / With nercotikes and opie of Thebes fyn.
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