Amo, Amas, Amat

Gosh that takes me back ... 'Magpie' Mason in the Upper Fifth. He'd look over your shoulder as you translated and twist the hair above your right ear at each 'howler'. Fuck, it hurt.

Of course, he wouldn't get away with it nowadays: Some bolshie 5th-dan oick would stand up and lay him flat. But I digress.

Back in the mists of time, a prohibitively bright young fellah rode the range and cited Harry Mount's fine book in that blog he never keeps up.

Years later, news gets through to the unwashed masses and Mount's royalties are mounting.

First print was 4,000 but thanks to brisk demand, a further 115,000 have just been ordered and the bidding war among US publishers top a quarter million.

But sharp-eyed Eric spotted it first, so good on you, mate.

Shame about the blog: it showed promise.

It were sex wot done him in: after years of enforced celibacy and rejection, some discerning doe-eyed hottie spotted his true worth, hauled him onto her chaise-longue and he hasn't surfaced for air since.