I’ve been on Jura on a Wedding Planning Immersion Course* these past few days so, apart from noting that the Pope is retiring (upon which I have no opinion), I’ve not been paying little attention to the outside world. Some things have crept through, however. Among them this splendid obituary in today’s Telegraph. The intro is arresting and in the best tradition of Telegraph obituaries:
Jungleyes Love, who has died aged 56, was an Old Harrovian hippie who traded in runic jewellery, dinosaur eggs and fossilised animal excrement, which he sold from his shop on the tourist trail to Kew Gardens in south-west London.
Well, you want to know more, don’t you?
It may not surprise you to discover that Mr Love died unmarried.
*Which, I’ll have you know, I survived more or less intact. There was only the occasional thought of doing away with myself. Nearly lost it when my suggestion “we are not, I trust, going to be talking about napkins” was met by “Napkins need to be discussed” but the resulting homicidal rage passed quickly.
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