“Gout? You must be joking!”
“Not at my tender age it isn’t, apart from which, gout is a rich man’s problem and church mice can’t possibly catch it.” I had a mental image of an old squire being pushed along by a nursemaid in his bath chair, foot elevated and his big toe a throbbing, pulsing crimson. It was 10 o’clock on a... Sign in to see full entry.