A word from the woods

I awoke on Saturday morning with a head still swimming in red wine. I had consigned the weekend to gentle recovery, having heard nothing from Chris Pellett, the stonemason with whom, some months earlier, I had eagerly booked a weekend course. I brushed my teeth and, with only moments left before the possibility of making it to the start of a weekend of hammering, tried him one last time. He answered. I inwardly cursed. He told me I was expected. Now, on Monday, I consider my