My shadow life as an international man of mystery has taken us away again this week-end. Where? Here's a clue.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ. Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit. Shall lure it back to cancal half a line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
Let it Snow Let it Snow Let it Snow (I nearly got up and did a Frank Sinatra dance in front of the kids... In fact i was singing to them and they must have wondered what i was on)