Tally-Ho Corner stirs from its slumbers

“Time’s up, Mr. Stone.” After glancing at his PMN pocket watch and calling a halt, the geezer in the crumpled corduroy suit removes his spectacles, and starts packing up his stuff. Into the satchel goes the half-finished Battle of Kohima tapestry, the dented tartan thermos flask, and the copy of The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills. I could beg for an extension – explain that I only need a few more months of peace and quiet to finish Tally-Ho, my unripe aerial-wargame-with-a-twist – but I know there’s no point. Under that corrugated breast pocket beats a…







