A prickly throat and pounding
head (possibly man flu on the way) sent me to bed for the afternoon, and unable
to read meant resorting to BBC Radio Four and being treated to the usual
eclectic mix of programmes that I would not have sought out but enjoyed
thoroughly – a satire on 1930s Hollywood, an appreciation of a Welsh miner (not
minor) poet, and an analysis of the British criminal involvement in people
smuggling; ironically the one programme I may have chosen (Open Book) I have no
recollection of, so must have slept through.
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