An unexpected joy this week has been reading a very good book about a very bad place. I recommend The Badness of Ballydog by a glorious Irishman called Garrett Carr. Mr. Carr knows a thing or two about fish finger factories, taxidermy and the quare ways of folk. I’d like to meet him one day. I think he is a man possessed of secret things, with whom it would be good to share a bottle of something smooth and peaty.