My Aunt Agatha, for instance, is tall and thin and looks rather like a vulture in the Gobi desert, while Aunt Dahlia is short and solid, like a scrum half in the game of Rugby football. In disposition, too, they differ widely. Aunt Agatha is cold and haughty, though presumably unbending a bit when conducting human sacrifices at the time of the full moon, as she is widely rumoured to do, and her attitude towards me has always been that of an austere governess, causing me to feel as if I were six years old and she had just caught me stealing jam from the jam cupboard: whereas Aunt Dahlia is as jovial and bonhomous as a dame in a Christmas pantomime.

It was one of the dullest speeches I ever heard. The Agee woman told us for three quarters of an hour how she came to write her beastly book, when a simple apo…

I had not failed to interpret the significance of that dark frown, that bitten lip and those flashing eyes, nor the way the willowy figure had quivered, indica…

'You're one of those guys who can make a party just by leaving it. It's a great gift.'

He was a peculiar guy. I'd never met him, just seen his picture and heard tell of him from the veterans of GEE's early days: And I'd seen him on film: sitting …

Dale Luck looked like your average off the street homeless hippy with long hair and was pretty laid back.

In private, you got what you got in public. He treated everyone the same. He was just a very warm man, and he worked hard to impress upon his children the valu…