Help. I am a tennis widow. Or should that be a tennis widower? Whatever, I am left to my own devices after 1330 every day except Sunday, destined to make my own entertainment, perhaps nibble on a little dry bread and mouldy cheese for supper, and to go to bed alone: a lonely soul. ItContinue reading “Blog 96. “Forty Thirty. Silence, Please””
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"A Very Vintage Chap..." 