'Festina Lente' is the Latin phrase. The headmaster, of the grammar school I went to as a boy, once uttered it in my direction as I skidded round a corner of a corridor like Charlie Chaplin. He never raised his voice except in assembly since he kept a cane or two in his office. I heard that phrase again in the wind, in the flapping of drying autumn leaves. October and November (and indeed December, still technically autumn up to the 20th} are countries of their own.

Two Southern spitfire amateur sleuths dish men, murder, and all manner of dangerous things in this conversation featuring Cherry Tucker and Tai Randolph.

A lyrical poem in English and Arabic, of love in Arabia

A son returns to his mother. Too late?