29 April, 2009
Perhaps we ought to give up on language and just give every concept a number.
(Or perhaps not. "Twenty Number Six, please", said the confused drunk to the startled server in the Chinese takeaway.)
Edwin Greenwood is the nom de souris of a Mancunian early baby-boomer, now living in London, who like so many of his cohort has made the transition from cuddly inclusive soft-left liberal into a grumpy old git who is quite prepared to call a spade a black bastard. (The previous sentence may cause consternation to the Righteous. If this is you, read this and/or this before exploding with indignation.)