I woke up this Saturday morning and began to feel like Rip van Winkle, that American Dutchman of kingly disposition who fell asleep in the Catskill Mountains of New York after sharing a drink with the ghost of Henry Hudson and woke up twenty years later an old man.
It wasn’t the creaking bones, although my joints aren’t at their best until I’ve been up for five minutes or so. It wasn’t that I sleep in a little longer at weekend. It wasn’t a hangover either as I don’t indulge any more. No, it the trip to C0-op that made me feel as if I’d mislaid a chunk of time. Read more ›››