But the trouble was pervasive and deep-rooted as couch-grass.

‘Shut up’ hissed Gwilym. ‘Don't be so rude! He's a great old bloke. I wish he was my bamp.’

It's a leftover from yesterday, but it's still perfectly good.

Our giants again found their way to the larder, and broke theirfast with collops, rashers, carbonados, a shield of brawn and mustard, and a noble sirloin of beef, making sad havoc with the latter, and washing down the viands with copious draughts of humming ale.