Rarely, I venture out to sit in National Trust gardens, studiously avoiding eye contact with my fellow man. Here is a picture of me doing precisely that at Whitewick Manor last month.
Look at me, studiously avoiding eye contact with my fellow man. I'm just like Jeff Wode, tossing my orb about.
When my book is finally published, and I receive the various accolades, prizes and peer recognition that it will surely deserve, I sincerely hope that the people will lobby our miserable shower of a misgovernment, demanding that Whitewick Manor might be gifted to me, in recognition of my complete and utter brilliance, and for my selfish, random dedication to some things literary.
Shirt by Ebay. I tied my own laces. Shadow courtesy of Robert Weine.