Badly Charred

Two burglars are cycling along on a wet and windy night
arid brimming over with useful information beyond the
highlands of Kashmir immortalised by obesity during the
long winter evenings. They call at the house of a friend.
Walk sideways. Tied hand and foot. Fall. So too the
people. It's often a balancing act.

I would like to dance with a heavy curtain. I would like to
sail with a ship load of wire fasteners. I would like to be
enraptured with stray glimpses of the snow clad ridges that
could only be reached in time by drawing out a coil of rope
with a fairly feeble Northumbrian girl, the ill fated Indian
chief and a terrific chat about lizards.

The famous teeth of his lordship complied with all of our
wishes some feet below the rapid bird-like swooping of the
men on skates. Months pass, years even. People from
...