While you wait for me to aim my alphabetic skewer at the letter U, hike over to The Dabbler where, it being Friday, the doors of my cupboard are thrown open. The doors of my cupboard, incidentally, are not unlike Aldous Huxley’s Doors Of Perception, in some ways. In other ways, they are utterly different. I shall leave it to you to allocate the similarities and differences, it will give you something to do at lunchtime. Anyway, this week I confess my foolish fascination with a president and his potatoes.
Does this mean that you’ve now become entranced by the folds in your robust tweed trousers?