2016, The Independent, Lost Lambton: The Postal Village of Aughrim

Rimmer ducked his body low into his chair, so just his head remained above the table top, and peered past the backs of the examinees in front of him, waiting for the adjudicator to make his move. Waiting for him to leap forward and rip off his flimsy flightsuit, exposing his shame: his illustrated body, Rimmer's cheating frame.

By-ends and Silver-Demas both agree; / One calls, the other runs, that he may be / A ſharer in his lucre; ſo theſe two / Take up in this World, and no further go.

In the parcels office there were small cooking stoves, asteam with the aroma of boiling rice, set on the desks among the glue pots and brown paper, cardboard boxes of opened parcels.