I'm in Doncaster. In a pub. Waiting for Mrs Musket to pick me up.

Where are you? (It's alright. I'm asking out of courtesy rather than giving a monkey's cunt.)

Another Musket is on holiday and a third one seems to have broken ranks.

I'm devastated to say Ian Hislop wasn't in the cafe today. These historians are elusive little buggers.

Still, the beer is wet and My lift awaits. Train was running 13 mins late by the way.