“Issokay sir, I already got one here,” says his tormentor, gingerly holding up a decidedly sick piece of fruit hanging on desperately to the last vestiges of bananahood, before lowering it from Kevin's view.

Feb 19, 1997, K.A.J., “PU, whats that smell......”, in rec.equestrian, Usenet, retrieved 2022-06-20:

In Peterhouse the Master and Fellows might not allow a stranger to perendinate for more than a fortnight unless they were certified of his moral character and of his ability and willingness to do the College some notable service […]

For a writer celebrated for his control of his characters’ inner lives, for a husband and father notoriously prickly about his expression of the suburban proprieties — the crewneck Shetland sweater and khakis, the plummy faux-Brahmin accent, the adoring Labrador at his feet, the woodpile neatly stacked and grass hand-scythed — here was scandal in full spate, sludge flooding over his family and friends.