Suddenly, last Monday the weather changed and the temper-ature dropped and it has been cold and miserable ever since and, while Richard III's soliloquy suggests that his unhappi-ness is over now that wonderful summer is upon him, my own winter of discontent is about to start.
Although it's not all wine and roses for Dicky who declares, "Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time into this breathing world, scarce half made up, and that so lamely and unfashionable that dogs bark at me as I halt by them". He certainly got the short end of the stick, didn't he?
Maybe he should've got rid of those ridiculous dangling sleeves and not put on those voice-changing tights; after all, I managed to get rid of my ridiculous German accent (although I'm still battling with my dangling participles) and dropped my 'Lederhosen', but who am I to give advice.
Come to think of it, who am I?
P.S. Almost forgot how my mate Ian handles trying times like these - click here.
