God Damn the flippin' Graniaud.
I've been whiling away these cold, dark winter evenings in my loggia tucked up with The Wire that OH kindly gave me for Christmas.
On making one of my occasional forays to the wretched rag, I've just seen the whole end game blurted out all over the screen with no spoiler alerts, nothing
That paper reminds me of one of those maiden aunts you used to have as a child - dying to show that they are in touch with the yoof by going on about "The Arctics", Breaking Bad etc. but should really be old enough to know better.
And show some editorial restraint.
And while I'm at it, is there something incredibly smug about the selfies of the columnists that gurn out at you from the screen? Smug in a way that pics of columnists for other rags possibly are not...
I've been whiling away these cold, dark winter evenings in my loggia tucked up with The Wire that OH kindly gave me for Christmas.
On making one of my occasional forays to the wretched rag, I've just seen the whole end game blurted out all over the screen with no spoiler alerts, nothing
That paper reminds me of one of those maiden aunts you used to have as a child - dying to show that they are in touch with the yoof by going on about "The Arctics", Breaking Bad etc. but should really be old enough to know better.
And show some editorial restraint.
And while I'm at it, is there something incredibly smug about the selfies of the columnists that gurn out at you from the screen? Smug in a way that pics of columnists for other rags possibly are not...
Comment