Nobody has to die for this to happen

Three scenarios:

One chilly October day, whilst turning over some Maris Pipers in the veg plot (G does our gardening so I’m guessing about the activity/month correlation) I come upon a long forgotten stash of ancient Roman silver tupperware. When my find is announced, museums worldwide enter in to a frenzied bidding war. My landlord and I plump for the British Museum, even though they offer less than the New Yorks Metropolitan Museum of Art, not out of patriotism but because we like stopping by and seeing our names on a plaque. We split the cash 50/50.

Waiting at Regents Park for the Bakerloo line to take me to the Elephant and Castle, an older man next to me is shoved by a thoughtless hoody and tumbles helplessly onto the track. The train only a terrifying moment away, I scramble down to roll him out of the path of the iron horse, thus saving his life. (Ok, that’s not entirely an original idea) This man turns out to be reclusive billionaire and duty free shop originator, Charles Feeney. He adamantly insists on expressing his everlasting gratitude by the medium of pounds sterling.

Ian McEwan feeling inexplicably unfulfilled despite prize winning novels developed into million dollar grossing movies, decides to take up craft. Idly tapping “crochet” into his search engine his eye is caught by the whimsically named “Judah’s blanket”. He can read no more than three lines without breaking down and sobbing in awe at the raw, pulsing talent he has discovered. He shakily speed dials his agent to recommend my signing.

These are a way of saying, if I suddenly had this money I would go on holiday here:

(It’s Briol)

And buy these, every one: (It’s woop studios collective nouns in pictures. Do follow the link, each one is glorious and surprising.)


Don't let me do all the talking.

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