Some things were above my pay grade. Actually, there were things that slithered on their bellies that were higher than my pay grade.
I personally think humans have got about as far as we can go. We're wrecking the planet. We're never short of good reasons to massacre each other. Wrong god. Wrong race. Wrong color. Wrong sex. I'm ac...
I certainly wasn’t where I should be and it would be the cautious, the sensible thing to do. But, for God’s sake, I was an historian and cautious and sensible were things that happened to other people...
He had fallen for Cal like a sperm-whale failing to clear the Grand Canyon on a bicycle.
I was climbing into bed one night, accompanied by all the usual paraphernalia – laptop, Kindle, box of tissues for my early morning nose – my nose will kill me one day – notebook and a couple of pens...
Mr Markham, the box marked Sex is not an invitation. Please amend the details and apologise to Mrs Partridge.
No, he’s made a very good point,’ said Bashford provocatively. ‘Women are just vessels, you know.’ ‘That’s very true,’ said Sykes, smiling angelically at him. ‘I myself am a seventeen-thousand-ton Dre...
The doctor will be with you soon. He said you had beautiful lacerations, and it was a pleasure to patch you up. He was quite enthusiastic.’ She grinned. ‘He doesn’t get out much.
There’s something very satisfying about outwitting religious fanaticism.
What chest?’ I said, because everyone knows if you ignore persistent, throbbing pain then it goes away. Like toothache. And small children. And overdrafts.
An hour later, we’d indulged in the traditional St Mary’s ritual for dealing with any sort of crisis, which is to imbibe vast reservoirs of tea. People laugh, but it works. By the time the kettle has...
Believe it or not, there were rules. Everyone needs rules. After all, how can you break what doesn’t exist? Rules give anarchy something to aim at.
He was calm and soothing and had a reasonable explanation for everything. No woman should have to put up with that.
In this century, as in any other, men wore the comfortable, practical stuff, and the women wandered round expiring underneath over-decorated tea-cosies and with inadequate footwear.
Markham even had our banners ready. The polite NON AD CAPITAGIUM (No to the poll tax), the hopeful MAGIS STIPENDIUM HISTORICI (More money for historians) and the always accurate POLICITI NOSTRAE OMNEC...
Partridge was pretending not to lurk near the stairs. ‘The body’s under the desk,’ I said as I passed, just to give her something to worry about.