January 2020 . . . .
It is absolutely within the realm of possibility that I am losing it (and other private thoughts that have escaped from the asylum).
By midwinter I tend to look homeless. Need a shave, a haircut, sunshine. I wear sweaters beneath my jacket, and they hang out. This used to be radically cool when RAF flyers were the wizards of the air with long turtle-neck sweaters and short wool jackets. And scarves. Goggles. OK belay the goggles, but cool hats, tipped jauntily. And they were twenty-two or