Yesterday morning I decided to treat myself and headed down to the famous local café, Sweaty Nora's Greasy Spoon. Or rather, Sweaty Noras Greasy poon as it actually is written. She doesn't know how to use the apostrophe and an S fell off the sign.
Sweaty Nora's is a fabulous establishment. I often go there for a bacon sandwich when I have a bit of money, and Nora often does me a banana sandwich for free, because having me sit at the table in the window brings in the customers, so she says. It was my primary source (until I got this laptop) for getting information about the political world. They take The Sun and The Mirror, and they do get The Daily Star and The Daily Sport as well, but those papers are usually stolen by the builders who come in just after opening time for a breakfast. I used to have a subscription to The Spectator, but I cancelled it when the Royal Mail kept having difficulty delivering it. I mean, how difficult is it to deliver it to Wilberforce Monkey, The tree overlooking the Smithfield Car Park, Ludlow? All right, I may have forgotten the post code, but...
Anyway, I was in there yesterday, and as a rarity someone had left behind a copy of The Daily Telegraph. I was very saddened to read that Lord Bill Deedes, the infamous journalist and former cabinet member, had died. On the rare moments when a copy of The Telegraph was left behind, I used to enjoy reading the articles from this modest, yet giant of politics. I will miss his writing.
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