On this point Socrates had no doubt, for he says, “When I was about to cross the stream, the daimonian sign that usually comes to me was given—it always holds me back from what I want to do—and I thought I heard a voice from it which forbade..." (Phaedrus, 242b).

And Stamford Bridge erupted with joy as Florent Malouda slotted in a cross from Drogba, who had stayed just onside.

The cabbage turnep is of two kinds; one apples above ground, and the other in it.

I don't look at him, or even hear him anymore, but then I feel his big callusy hand on my wrist and my stomach somersaults and my breath rushes back into my mouth.