It’s all Hugh Jaeger’s fault. As are so many things. It’s been mayhem at the office since January. The shells keep coming over. Every day we’ve climbed the fire-step, scrambled over the parapet and – bayonets fixed – charged the enemy. And now, this week, for the first time, there’s space to breathe a little. So I gave myself the day off and rode back behind friendly lines into Oxford in search of inspiration. Instead, I spotted a familiar, Rasputin-like figure astride a rotary Norton. Continue reading