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One of the many reasons for missing life in central London is Daunt Books. I’ve mentioned it a few times here, including in this post
I’m starting a new occasional blog series with this post, which was stimulated by something I recently read in Daniel Hill’s challenging book White Awake: An
Today’s reading is neither poetry nor fiction but is prose of a different sort. It is one of C. S. Lewis’s great essays, one which
I’m haunted by contemporary city life – the millions of parallel lives occupying the same square miles. Christopher Nevinson entitled one of his most striking
It wasn’t a plan particularly, but then that’s part of the joy of books – I never have a plan for what I’m going to