I've just been lying, swathed in my counterpane, thinking, about me. Or more exactly, my name; S R Plant. I quite like its fuddy-duddyness. But my supine musings churned out a far better appellation, one more colourful, containing a hint of literary allusion (Henry James, I think) and whose rugged second half (so complimentary to its delicate first) culminates in a strident, confident syllable of infinite possibility – “Pleased to meet you, I'm Hyacinth Macaw!”!
At least it got me out of bed.
