We’re on holiday – well, some of us are.
Summer has returned and in now habitual fashion, the newly vacated DTW offices have taken on a distinct Marie Celeste bearing. Creaking timbers, the unmistakable aroma of stale sherry, cigars and charred office furniture – not to mention a gaping hole in the schedule – consequence of Mr. Editor Kearne’s precipitous departure to fortify his appetites at some unspecified summer retreat deep in the Andalusian hills – lord help them.
In the unaired half-light of our ninth floor headquarters, mystery abounds. The whereabouts of Myles Gorfe remains a pointedly unanswered question. His seasonal ticket to Granada lies unopened upon his desk. Packages of secondhand blue oval spares from as far afield as Bosnia–Herzegovina pile up, yet nobody, least of all his estranged wife Brigit appears keen to investigate his disappearance.
Even the normally felicitous Mr. R. Herriott has exercised his unalienable rights and chosen to Continue reading “DTW Summer Recess”
Driven To Write 