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I was delighted to inspect another statue of Oliver Cromwell last year, in the town of Warrington. Having seen the ones at Westminster and Wythenshawe, I began to wonder if only places beginning with that letter had such statues, until I recalled St Ives.

The strange little town in which I live recently held its annual festival of ice sculptures. Much as I resent the town council’s incessant increasing of the Rates, these events seem to draw many visitors, who presumably spend their money in the shops.

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.








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