We live on a crowded island, in a crowded shack. Over the many several centuries of our dwelling in such confined conditions we English fops and dollies have developed many strategies to overcome such stifling proximity and clutter. Initially, it is true, we simply murdered one another; or lived in conditions of such unspeakable dirtiness that death harvested a good many of our number. Over time, though, we began to tap our noses knowingly and, winking, conjured up cunning ploys to create a condition of the utmost spaciousness. Indeed, my own family have one such 'trick' passed down through the male line, from mother to daughter.
Accordingly, I have been busy today, bringing some more of the outside inside - and into The Weedy Shack. To date I have managed to empty around twenty seven large boxes of outside in here, and it's looking considerably more spacious already. Dan Tangle will be back in a couple of days, and I know he'll be pleased to have some space to stretch out his poulaine's
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