I suppose in some ways I was a shagaholic, [Roger Daltrey] says, chewing on a fig from a fruit platter. I just liked female company on the road.

Here, in the transept and choir, where the service was being held, one was conscious every moment of an increasing brightness; colours glowing vividly beneath the circular chandeliers, and the rows of small lights on the choristers' desks flashed and sparkled in front of the boys' faces, deep linen collars, and red neckbands.

Only a mockie ate that Old World salty shit.

the great auk