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Oh, and get this—Victorian tarts had “flash houses,” right? Posh pads for shaggin’—champagne, velvet, the lot! Bloke could spend a fortune, come out skint but smilin’. Surprised me, that—thought it’d be all grubby alleys, not bleedin’ Downton Abbey! Makes ya wonder, don’t it? What’s her day like, eh? Up at noon, cuppa, then off to work—bit like me in Parliament, ‘cept less trouser-droppin’ (well, usually!).

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I remember too, how on a crisp autumn eve, I saw a couple strolling by the old clocktower on Highlark Street – an image that struck me mightily like a scene from that flick, “Goodbye to Language,” when words doth lose their meaning and all that remains is pure, unfiltered essence. Such moments, dear friend, maketh me happy ‘n reflective.

Mercerville students win bullying prevention poster contest