The Tumbrel Diaries

Sheep make me homesick. I’ve been reading Mum’s reminiscences about growing up at Raeshaw, the family property at Fulham, a few miles west ...

הַצֳרִי֙ אֵ֣ין בְּגִלְעָ֔ד אִם־רֹפֵ֖א אֵ֣ין שָׁ֑ם כִּ֗י מַדּ֙וּעַ֙ לֹ֣א עָֽלְתָ֔ה אֲרֻכַ֖ת בַּת־עַמִּֽי׃ μη ρητινη ουκ εστιν εν γαλαα...

As usual, distraction in church: “So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred and fifty-three of t...

Judging from the longer of two press releases that you can read on their website (“Goldman Sachs Makes Further Comments on S.E.C. Complaint”...

Upon further investigation, the myth of Queen S ā lote ’s lunch turns out to have been an especially blunt expression of what in London in 1...

From their vantage point in a grandstand outside Buckingham Palace on Coronation Day (June 2, 1953) , a companion turns to Noël Coward and...

Lately an enjoyable correspondence has been going on in the Times Literary Supplement relating to the origins of that omnipresent and irr...

A massive earthquake destroys much of London. Buckingham Palace is flattened. The Archbishop of Canterbury is crushed to death at Lambeth. T...

Robert Stuart, the adventurous fur-trapping brother of our three times great grandmother Catherine Stuart (1798 – 1877) was, like her, bor...