What’s in a name?
I pour myself a tumbler of rotgut and settle in with the names, these glorious names
I pour myself a tumbler of rotgut and settle in with the names, these glorious names
The English language as written today is often nearly incomprehensible on first reading
I wonder if London — or any of the great cities — will ever be the same again?
Whatever spick and span reminds us of, it is as an idiom with a cheery meaning of its own
There is a theory in Ireland that the country’s bog bodies may be the remains of failed kings, ritually killed on Samhain
Benjamin Franklin’s masterpiece goes on forever