Oh dear: the Amateur Local Historian is back. He of the portable river. The man who could not see why he should support his theories – and was soundly trounced for it by the real historians. He is back. Or perhaps not quite back?
The fact is, the man called me – a sufficient cause for alarm in itself, seeing that he hadn’t really sought contact since the Moving River Massacre. He called, and told me that perhaps, maybe, perchance, he might be sort of kind of writing another book. Continue reading
So, the 
Exactly eight hundred years ago, King John of England lay dying in a bed in Newark Castle. He would die in the night, among rumours of poison, or “a surfeit of peaches” – while in truth it was a bad case of dysentery. Then again, most contemporary biographers would be eager to give him a death that was the product of either retribution or gluttony…
Scribblings 