Windflowers

I had forgotten the chattiness of the Irish. Not the well bred iciness of the middle class, whose mark of good manners is studiously ig...

Exams are tortuous.  We have all been there, paper before us, the clock ticking.  The terrifying sound of others asking for more writing ...

Today I passed an unusual sight.  There was an English tourist stamping his feet as if doing a demented version of Morris dancing on a sea...