Who'd a thunk it. A few short months ago, James Alexander-Sinclair said the following in a comment on this very blog you're reading at this precise moment: "Ah-ha. So this is where the dastardly Kate (may the pigeons poop upon her laundry) hangs out."
Got that folks? "Dastardly." (Excuse me while I wring out my handkerchief; the memory still makes me weep.) If you think I made it up, you can check it out yourself. It was in the comments on the very first post in what shortly became known as the Sock Wars. (As for the remark about the laundry, the pigeons, and the poop, well–the less said, the better.)
After all, that's water under the bridge, and times have changed, and perhaps the leopard can change its spots, and–no, I canNOT get another cliche into this sentence. Just last week, in the midst of his otherwise rather irritable post announcing the awards for LAPCPADPOUB day, (his first words were, and I quote, "Bloody Hell,") James referred, (and once more I quote,) to "the divine Kate" Perhaps a bit of context will make this slightly more believable. The full sentence is as follows:
Well, well. I feel quite uplifted. I believe the correct expression amongst you Brits is chuffed.
And now we know how to bring the man to heel: just tell the truth about his terrific book, and he'll eat out of your hand. Try it, and you'll see what I mean. His blog has all the details about how to get the book, including something about bunging him a fiver.
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The photo shows sun shining through a columbine petal in my garden last summer.