Thursday morning, riding the Great Glass Elevator to the office cafe, I had a random disassociated thought..."something's stirring in the woodshed", unable to remember the precise exact quote.
Thursday evening, on the Tube going home, the woman opposite me was reading a yellowed, orange covered Penguin, with the price in shillings (her mother's copy?) of...Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons.
What is the likelihood of that happening...?
