’93 Exhibition

     So Anno Domino slid another double six across the board, and before we’d time to empty our glasses of summerberry wine, tempus was fugitting us all into knocking and queuing at the bar for jugs of winterwarm and thick socks and candles. Trade, tho’ underwhelming, was a mite up on previous, but what can you say about that, without splashing politics up your leggings? We survived, and that’s as much as any will boast for a year or two, I fear. The end of the season was blighted by bad weather and burst riverbanks, and had me advertising ‘Pictures on the Pond’.
     But I’m dried off, now, and back here looking for a glimpse of Norwich money (and if I can get me hands on some of it, then God bless your Lordships) before running like Bob Cratchitt to join in the merriest Christmas, not in Camden Town but Catfield, and if the Lord Mayor and her Majesty can’t make it, then I  pity their loss.