A reader should imagine this blog as being a large, old house. Each room has many stories to tell. In a room on the ground floor, with French doors opening into the sunny garden, there is an oak writing desk. This desk has innumberable drawers and compartments all containing the secrets and stories of everyone who passed though the house over the years. Their stories are varied and their secrets range from the mildly embarrassing, through sneaky to evil beyond compare. Hard to imagine when sitting at the desk looking out over a field of lavander.