This time of year I always picture Schroeder in "Peanuts" counting down
the shopping days until Beethoven's birthday.
Dunno what kind of days you count until Orwell's birthday. Days closer
to an early grave or something equally dire, I suppose. At least some of
them get to be spring days that nobody can stop you enjoying.
Well, happy 105th, George.
Rgds,
M
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