A short poem that plays with the idea of how night-time may expose subtle hints and hidden meanings.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year, again. And that can only mean that it’s the Strictly Come Dancing Final tomorrow. Get out those festive, three for £5 nibbles, finish off that already-opened bottle of wine, and relax. Feel safe in the knowledge that Tess Daly will make at least twelve patronising sounds in […]