I hope regular readers of PBS have enjoyed, or at least tolerated, the brief take over by the ether-monkeys of WordPress with their occasional postings from Oxford Noir. I have been trapped in a different sort of Dante-esque place of confinement at The National Archives for the last week and, prior to that, the victim of some wicked ennui that made all non-essential writing a painful ordeal. I will, given time, actually write about my adventures but for now I will simply check in and deposit this fragment from the second volume in the Oxford Noir series, unfortunately titled Close Roll and Open Corpse (somehow, this one didn’t impress the literary agents either).
“While it was inevitable that someone, sometime, had thought of it, no-one was prepared to insult their visitor’s intelligence or aesthetic tastes, by cracking some joke about Venice, noble feuds, and the tower on Kew Bridge Road. There were things beyond the pale, even in that well of black humour. The tower sat on the other side of both the river and that immaterial barrier of fair play.”