The edition I am here reviewing is the 1998 version and is thus incomplete, but had I bought the 2014 number, the account of the Sun’s history would in some ways still be fundamentally misleading: the ‘soaraway Sun’, the proud boast of its then editor Kelvin MacKenzie, which at one point sold more than four million copies daily has not soared in many a year And that is putting it mildly.
Neither have Britain’s other national newspapers, of course, and circulations all-round are well down the toilet, courtesy of the internet and its many functions.
As each newspaper’s circulation numbers are vital as leverage to screw as much out of advertisers as possible – ‘just look at how many people will see your ad!’ – it does not need a rocket scientist to realise that if a paper – take
As the easy money it once was, selling ‘news’ and whatever else ‘interests’ the reader is pretty much as dead as the dodo for national newspapers.
To understand how, frankly catastrophic, has been the collapse in print newspaper circulations, when I joined the Birmingham Evening Mail on January 7, 1980, as a trainee sub, it was selling just north of a quarter of a million every day.
Great, you’d think, but actually. the Mail was not all pleased – it had just been bested into second place by its local arch-rival the Express & Star, based in Wolverhampton, it had long looked down on.
That means that in 1980 more than half-a-million folk living in the West Midlands were buying an evening paper every night. But now? In 2024 the Express & Star had slumped to just 9,707 daily sales, and the most recent figure I can find for the Mail is pitiful 2,958! A total of just 12,665! Catastrophic is exactly the word.
The Evening Mail is owned by Reach plc which in recent years has been hoovering up Britain’s regional evening and weekly newspapers and also owns several national newspaper, including the Daily Mirror, Daily Express, Sunday Express, Daily Star and Scotland’s Daily Record and Sunday Mail.
Publishers like Reach put on a brave face in view of the circulation collapse and point out that each of their papers has an ‘online presence’. Nice try, dear hearts, but really no cigar – advertisers don’t much care for placing ads in online newspaper websites. It’s all too vague as to how cost-effective doing so is and most of the online newspaper online presences are abysmally bad. ‘Clicks’ are hard to verify, are never as good as ‘sales.
Though there are notable exceptions: Mailonline – in industry and professional terms, I add, as I am not a fan – has an attractive website and has been turning a tidy sum for many years. The websites of the saintly Guardian and the doughty Daily Telegraph, owned since the end of June 2026 by Germany’s Axel Spring SE which also publishes Bild – founded in 1952 in direct imitation of Britain’s Daily Mirror, though it was and still is a broadsheet – are also half-decent.
Others, though, are cask: take a look at the Sun’s ‘online presence’ – it is an embarrassment, fucking awful (as are the websites of the Daily Mirror, the Daily Express and the Daily Star. They are not a patch on the Mailonline and although they invite readers to subscribe, I doubt many do and prefer to accept the few – ads that populate the sites.
In its day, the Sun was Britain’s best-selling ‘red-top’ – downmarket tabloid newspaper – hitting over four million daily sales and knocking the circulations of its arch-rival the Daily Mirror (at times officially known as just The Mirror) and its imitator the Daily Star into a cocked hat. But times have changed drastically.
For the past six years the Sun has refused to publish its circulation figures, ashamed of them no doubt, but they are estimated to be about 700.000 sales daily.
Worse, where the Daily Mail always came a distinct second to the Sun, though it did appeal to slightly different market (once memorably and accurately described as bought by the NCO’s wife) and now sells at least 150,000 more day.
. . .
There can’t be many reading this who have not heard the Sun’s owner and liberal hate figure, the ‘media mogul’ Rupert Murdoch. Now 95 years old and possibly kept alive these days on a daily regimen of lamb testosterone and stem cell injections, the lad is, according Forbes magazine, ‘the 31st-richest person in the United States and the 71st richest in the world’.
Worldwide he owns a string of newspapers, including the Wall Street Journal, The Times and The Sun, television stations, including Fox News in the US, and the publisher Harper Collins, and it is accepted that he has the ear of every and any leading politician he cares to ring up.
As a student at Worcester College, Oxford, studying PPE, Rupe is reputed (according to America’s National Review in 2010 and to Vanity Fair in 2011 to have ‘kept a bust of Lenin in his rooms and came to be known as “Red Rupert” was a member of the Oxford University Labour Party and stood for secretary of the Labour Club’.
The relevant links to the articles are dead more than 16 years on, so I can’t provide them, but I have no reason to doubt that claim, though Rupe’s youthful idealism – which did not please his daddy Sir Keith, also a ‘newspaper magnate’ though on a far smaller scale – did not survive.
Worldwide he owns a string of newspapers, including the Wall Street Journal, The Times and The Sun, television stations, including Fox News in the US, and the publisher Harper Collins, and it is accepted that he has the ear of every and any leading politician he cares to ring up.
As a student at Worcester College, Oxford, studying PPE, Rupe is reputed (according to America’s National Review in 2010 and to Vanity Fair in 2011 to have ‘kept a bust of Lenin in his rooms and came to be known as “Red Rupert” was a member of the Oxford University Labour Party and stood for secretary of the Labour Club’.
The relevant links to the articles are dead more than 16 years on, so I can’t provide them, but I have no reason to doubt that claim, though Rupe’s youthful idealism – which did not please his daddy Sir Keith, also a ‘newspaper magnate’ though on a far smaller scale – did not survive.
Rupe has long been a byword of right-wing politics, though not in the mindless way so popular with rather too many others of the same political bent.
Like him or loathe him – and I’m agnostic on the matter as I find the conventional whooping and jeering, obligatory in the US but we are catching on here in Old Blighty whatever your poison, terminally silly and pointless – we cannot deny that Rupe was – well, still is I suppose as a death notice has not yet appeared – a very sharp operator and ruthless.
Pertinently, the Sun, which is the subject of Stick It Up Your Punter, played a very significantly role in Rupe’s stellar rise to become one of the world’s better known oligarchs.
He was just 21 when his dad died and he eventually took over running the old man’s, comparatively mini, media ‘empire’ – two newspapers and a small TV station.
Like him or loathe him – and I’m agnostic on the matter as I find the conventional whooping and jeering, obligatory in the US but we are catching on here in Old Blighty whatever your poison, terminally silly and pointless – we cannot deny that Rupe was – well, still is I suppose as a death notice has not yet appeared – a very sharp operator and ruthless.
Pertinently, the Sun, which is the subject of Stick It Up Your Punter, played a very significantly role in Rupe’s stellar rise to become one of the world’s better known oligarchs.
He was just 21 when his dad died and he eventually took over running the old man’s, comparatively mini, media ‘empire’ – two newspapers and a small TV station.
But Rupe was ambitious and over the following decade and a half, he bought up more newspapers in Australia and New Zealand, but even they did not quench his thirst for whatever he was thirsty for, and in 1996 he arrived in London. Perhaps he wanted to be a big fish in a bigger pond – speculate to your heart’s content, but I shan’t bother.
It was that move to Europe and, five years later to the United States, which allowed Rupe to build the Empire and gain the clout many either like or loathe.
It began with some nifty footwork. At the time, Britain’s Sunday newspaper, the News Of The World and 126 years old in 1969, was ailing financially and Rupe took his chance. By some kind of wheeling and dealing – I still haven’t quite got my head around the details – he played the white knight manoeuvred the paper’s owner, Sir William Carr, out of control and himself into control of the paper and, crucially, acquired the printing press in Bouverie Street, just off Fleet Street.
The original, pre-Murdoch Sun had been launched five years earlier by the International Publishing Corporation (IPC), which owned the Daily Mirror, and was to be a revived version of another IPC property, the left-wing Daily Herald, another victim of the slow but steady decline in print newspapers.
Two other papers, the left-of-centre Daily Sketch and the liberal News Chronicle, had already fallen by the wayside in the 1950s because sales were slumping and had both been taken over by the Daily Mail (which then killed off, taking on the best of their staff and putting the rest out to pasture).
In my view that decline began with the advent of ‘commercial television’ in 1955 and the eventual launching of fifteen different regional TV stations which began to give the then monopoly BBC TV a real run for its money.
IPC’s chairman, Hugh Cudlipp, wanted to give the Herald a new lease of life somehow, but was worried that keeping it as another left-of-centre paper would hit sales of IPC’s star, the Daily Mirror.
With this concern in mind, he only to easily allowed himself to be persuaded by a market researcher that there existed in increasingly prosperous Britain a newspaper-reading constituency of ‘social radicals’ crying out for an intelligent, middle-of-the-road paper, a supposed gap in the market left by the demise of the News Chronicle.
It soon became obvious this was complete bollocks, and by 1969 the ‘old Sun, selling 1.5m when it was launched, had lost half its circulation and was reported to be bleeding £2m a year, more than £31m in 2026 and IPC wanted it off its hands. (I use the phrase ‘bleeding’ because I can never spell ‘haemorrhaging’.)
Bernard Shrimsley, a deputy Sun editor under Murdoch’s ownership and later a News of the Screws editor, later observed that the market researcher’s claim of ‘an immense, sophisticated and superior middle-class, hitherto undetected and yearning for its own newspaper’ was ‘a delusion in the El Dorado class’.
Murdoch, looking for some way of utilising the his new printing press in Bouverie Street and wanted the old sun, but so did a chancer called Jan Hoch.
Hoch was born Jewish Czech and had served in the British Army in World War II after escaping Nazi-occupied Czechslovakia. In Britain he reinvented himself as Robert Maxwell, made fortune by buying a company publishing scientific journals and got himself elected to Parliament as a Labour MP. He also hoped to become a media mogul (which he eventually did, ironically, buying the Daily Mirror, though then stealing an estimated £400 million from the paper’s employees’ pension fund).
Rupe’s bid for the old Sun was preferred by IPC over Maxwell’s – and that old fraud Maxwell had already lost out toe Murdoch when both tried to buy the Screws – simply because Rupe, again ironically given the shenanigans of seventeen years later during the Wapping dispute, promised to get rid of fewer printers than Maxwell said he would. (The Wapping dispute is chronicled in Linda Melvern’s excellent and entertaining account The End Of The Street.
IPC were worried that if too many printers jobs were axed, the print unions – this was when for almost 35 years since the end of World War II Britain’s trade unions ruled the roost and were universally feared by the Conservatives, finances and business – would hit back at the Daily Mirror and stop production.
Quite apart from wanting to add another newspaper to his growing collection, Murdoch hated that the press he had acquired in Bouverie Street was worked just one night a week to print the News of The World on Saturday night and was lying idle for the other six nights a week. So the Sun as it became for the next fifty years was born.
It was that move to Europe and, five years later to the United States, which allowed Rupe to build the Empire and gain the clout many either like or loathe.
It began with some nifty footwork. At the time, Britain’s Sunday newspaper, the News Of The World and 126 years old in 1969, was ailing financially and Rupe took his chance. By some kind of wheeling and dealing – I still haven’t quite got my head around the details – he played the white knight manoeuvred the paper’s owner, Sir William Carr, out of control and himself into control of the paper and, crucially, acquired the printing press in Bouverie Street, just off Fleet Street.
The original, pre-Murdoch Sun had been launched five years earlier by the International Publishing Corporation (IPC), which owned the Daily Mirror, and was to be a revived version of another IPC property, the left-wing Daily Herald, another victim of the slow but steady decline in print newspapers.
Two other papers, the left-of-centre Daily Sketch and the liberal News Chronicle, had already fallen by the wayside in the 1950s because sales were slumping and had both been taken over by the Daily Mail (which then killed off, taking on the best of their staff and putting the rest out to pasture).
In my view that decline began with the advent of ‘commercial television’ in 1955 and the eventual launching of fifteen different regional TV stations which began to give the then monopoly BBC TV a real run for its money.
IPC’s chairman, Hugh Cudlipp, wanted to give the Herald a new lease of life somehow, but was worried that keeping it as another left-of-centre paper would hit sales of IPC’s star, the Daily Mirror.
With this concern in mind, he only to easily allowed himself to be persuaded by a market researcher that there existed in increasingly prosperous Britain a newspaper-reading constituency of ‘social radicals’ crying out for an intelligent, middle-of-the-road paper, a supposed gap in the market left by the demise of the News Chronicle.
It soon became obvious this was complete bollocks, and by 1969 the ‘old Sun, selling 1.5m when it was launched, had lost half its circulation and was reported to be bleeding £2m a year, more than £31m in 2026 and IPC wanted it off its hands. (I use the phrase ‘bleeding’ because I can never spell ‘haemorrhaging’.)
Bernard Shrimsley, a deputy Sun editor under Murdoch’s ownership and later a News of the Screws editor, later observed that the market researcher’s claim of ‘an immense, sophisticated and superior middle-class, hitherto undetected and yearning for its own newspaper’ was ‘a delusion in the El Dorado class’.
Murdoch, looking for some way of utilising the his new printing press in Bouverie Street and wanted the old sun, but so did a chancer called Jan Hoch.
Hoch was born Jewish Czech and had served in the British Army in World War II after escaping Nazi-occupied Czechslovakia. In Britain he reinvented himself as Robert Maxwell, made fortune by buying a company publishing scientific journals and got himself elected to Parliament as a Labour MP. He also hoped to become a media mogul (which he eventually did, ironically, buying the Daily Mirror, though then stealing an estimated £400 million from the paper’s employees’ pension fund).
Rupe’s bid for the old Sun was preferred by IPC over Maxwell’s – and that old fraud Maxwell had already lost out toe Murdoch when both tried to buy the Screws – simply because Rupe, again ironically given the shenanigans of seventeen years later during the Wapping dispute, promised to get rid of fewer printers than Maxwell said he would. (The Wapping dispute is chronicled in Linda Melvern’s excellent and entertaining account The End Of The Street.
IPC were worried that if too many printers jobs were axed, the print unions – this was when for almost 35 years since the end of World War II Britain’s trade unions ruled the roost and were universally feared by the Conservatives, finances and business – would hit back at the Daily Mirror and stop production.
Quite apart from wanting to add another newspaper to his growing collection, Murdoch hated that the press he had acquired in Bouverie Street was worked just one night a week to print the News of The World on Saturday night and was lying idle for the other six nights a week. So the Sun as it became for the next fifty years was born.
. . .
It might be convenient to view the development of the Sun as outlined in Stick It Up Your Punter in two phases: the new paper in its first decade, then the second when Kelvin MacKenzie was editor.
In that first ten years, the Sun did slightly raise eyebrows, but it wasn’t until MacKenzie took over in 1981 that the paper became increasingly notorious.
If Murdoch was the driving force behind the launch of his ‘red-top’, much credit must also go to one Albert Lamb, better known as Larry Lamb, who shaped the early Sun. He introduced the Page 3 girl showing her breasts and later came up with the line in an editorial, now a semi-cliché, The Winter Of Discontent. This was in the run-up to Britain’s 1979 election when striking unions were causing nationwide chaos (some might say with reason, some might not).
In many ways Lamb, the son of a Yorkshire colliery worker and proudly ‘working class’, and the Aussie Rupe were kindred spirits. Both felt like outsiders, and Murdoch, who came from a prominent, wealthy and socially respected Melbourne family, was irked that Britain’s Establishment viewed him with disdain as just another Aussie ocker and looked down their noses on him and his second wife Anna.
Lamb, then working as northern editor of the Daily Mail, also agreed with Rupe on what kind of paper the new Sun should be: an irreverent, fun, more joyful alternative to the Daily Mirror, the red-top to beat, with a distinct heavy emphasis on television: neither chose to regard television as a threat to print as was the common Fleet Street view, but as a prime source of great copy.
According to Punter’s two authors, Peter Chippindale and Chris Horrie, little by little the warm relationship between Murdoch and Lamb soured somewhat towards the end of the 1970s, but which time Murdoch had based himself in New York to oversee his growing US media empire.
Perhaps indicative of what might have gone wrong was that Lamb, simple ‘Larry’ to Sun reporters, writers and subs in the early days, developed airs and graces when he was knighted in 1980 and insisted that staff should ne address him as ‘Sir Larry’.
Murdoch, a the ‘owner’, always had the last word and he was more and more put when ‘Sir Larry’ began to argue the toss with him towards the end of his editorship. One story Punter recounts is that Murdoch increasingly liked to wind up Lamb – never a healthy sign – by repeating an Aussie joke:
If Murdoch was the driving force behind the launch of his ‘red-top’, much credit must also go to one Albert Lamb, better known as Larry Lamb, who shaped the early Sun. He introduced the Page 3 girl showing her breasts and later came up with the line in an editorial, now a semi-cliché, The Winter Of Discontent. This was in the run-up to Britain’s 1979 election when striking unions were causing nationwide chaos (some might say with reason, some might not).
In many ways Lamb, the son of a Yorkshire colliery worker and proudly ‘working class’, and the Aussie Rupe were kindred spirits. Both felt like outsiders, and Murdoch, who came from a prominent, wealthy and socially respected Melbourne family, was irked that Britain’s Establishment viewed him with disdain as just another Aussie ocker and looked down their noses on him and his second wife Anna.
Lamb, then working as northern editor of the Daily Mail, also agreed with Rupe on what kind of paper the new Sun should be: an irreverent, fun, more joyful alternative to the Daily Mirror, the red-top to beat, with a distinct heavy emphasis on television: neither chose to regard television as a threat to print as was the common Fleet Street view, but as a prime source of great copy.
According to Punter’s two authors, Peter Chippindale and Chris Horrie, little by little the warm relationship between Murdoch and Lamb soured somewhat towards the end of the 1970s, but which time Murdoch had based himself in New York to oversee his growing US media empire.
Perhaps indicative of what might have gone wrong was that Lamb, simple ‘Larry’ to Sun reporters, writers and subs in the early days, developed airs and graces when he was knighted in 1980 and insisted that staff should ne address him as ‘Sir Larry’.
Murdoch, a the ‘owner’, always had the last word and he was more and more put when ‘Sir Larry’ began to argue the toss with him towards the end of his editorship. One story Punter recounts is that Murdoch increasingly liked to wind up Lamb – never a healthy sign – by repeating an Aussie joke:
‘Why did the sun never set on the British Empire? Because God never trusted the Poms in the dark’
This quip irked Lamb but the more it irked him, the more Murdoch repeated it. This it was soon time for ‘Sir Larry’ to move on and make way for fresh blood. And that fresh blood was Kelvin Calder Mackenzie.It might be appropriate to call him a force of nature, but I suspect that description has generally positive overtones. But in many ways MacKenzie was a cunt. Ruthless, charming, more than capable, almost fearless he might have been, but a great deal of what he got up to and the practices he encouraged in his staff were despicable.
In the 1980s I was working as a sub in Birmingham then, after brief interlude of two terms at photography college (curtailed when I ran out of cash), followed by a year and a half of joyless unemployment, I spent four years as a sub in Cardiff and each subs’ desk had the range of morning papers every day.
We all made a beeline for the Sun, always good for a laugh and ‘the latest scandalous details’, but it wasn’t until a week or so ago when I got the full picture that it all came into focus.
We all made a beeline for the Sun, always good for a laugh and ‘the latest scandalous details’, but it wasn’t until a week or so ago when I got the full picture that it all came into focus.
One jokey feature in the Sun newsroom – this is not in the book – was a MacKenzie’s ‘true story alert’: when a reporter was being reprimanded for a detail in one of his stories and pleaded ‘but Kelvin, it’s true!’, MacKenzie grabbed something or other from the news desk, shook it and dubbed it ‘true story alert!’
Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, and when I first heard that, I was as amused as everyone else.
But reading how the Sun concocted an ‘interview’ with the widow of a Falklands War veteran, much to her distress, how it stitched up Elton John over lies about ‘his frolics’ with rent boys, how the public were regularly almost persecuted until they agreed to be interviewed and photographed, how after a football stadium tragedy in which and all of if this simply in the interests of boosting sales, it all left and still leaves a bad taste in mouth.
In his 13 years at the Sun helm, Kelvin gave Murdoch quite a few headaches and – as in explicably I wasn’t kept in the loop by Rupe or News International so I can only assume– eventually enough as enough and he was moved on.
Though, as Punter details, there were contributory factors to all the problems the Sun was causing Murdoch, MacKenzie was not wholly to blame. He had cost Murdoch £1m (around £2.7m now) in an out-of-court settlement to end Elton John the libel suit, he and his star re-write man, John Kay who had once killed his wife in a fit of madness (not the strict medical term) and had invented ‘an interview’ with the widow of a dead war heroDespite reliable great sales, Kelvin was slowly but steadily pissing off much of Britain and making his paper look risible.
Perhaps worse, MacKenzie had alienated the whole city of Liverpool when, under a splash head proclaiming ‘The Truth’, he informed his readers that drunken Scouser had pissed all over the bodies of dead fans and stolen from them in the wake of the Hillsborough disaster and that were responsible for the deaths of 79 of their number because of they had tried to break into the ground to watch the match without paying https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coverage_of_the_Hillsborough_disaster_by_The_Sun,
Originally, MacKenzie wanted to head the splash ‘You scum’ but wiser heads dissuaded him. Sun circulation in Merseyside plummeted by between 40% and 80% and are believed to have cost Murdoch tens of millions in lost sales and ad revenue over the years. Many Merseyside news agents refused to sell the Sun but were informed by their wholesaler that they were contractually obliged to sell the papers given them.
By Chippindale and Horrie’s account, the once pleasant, collegiate atmosphere of the newsroom in ‘Sir Larry’s’ day was becoming sour as MacKenzie hired ever younger reporters and writers as gung-ho and unprincipled as he was. They were encouraged to come up with sensational stories by whatever means, and Kelvin made life hell for many older staff members who baulked at many of his methods
Mackenzie finally departed in January 1994, later claiming he had left because his deputies Rebekah Wade (another horror) and Dominic Mohan (of whom I know nothing and will leave it to you to google him) had not told him of the phone-hacking that was going on. Believe that if you like, but I find it implausible that Kelvin should suddenly have developed moral scruples.
His subsequent career is, on paper, respectable: media executive, TV and radio presenter and columnist, but none of this latest ventures lasted more than a few year. Essentially, editing the Sun had been the high-water mark of his life and then it slowly began to ebb away.
Mackenzie’s guidance of the Sun, choice of content and stule could be guauged from what, now dead journalist and satirist Auberon Waught wrote in a Spectator (‘Speccy’) piece:
‘One of the comforts of life for those who read only the Sun — and I dare say a fair proportion of its readers read nothing else — must be to live in a state of permanent doubt about what is going on in the world.
My 1998 edition is more than a little sparse on Sun life post-Kelvin, simply registering that his deputy Stuart Higgins took over as MacKenzie shuffled of. One of Higgins’ ‘strength’ was that as the papers West Country reporter one of his contacts was Camilla Parker-Bowles who fed him and confirmed many stories. She is now better known as the wife of Brian Windsor (a.k.a King Charles III).
Frankly, had I bought the 2014 edition or were there an even more up-to-date edition, the account of life on the Sun would not be much different to life on any of the other nationals.
Ironically, under Higgins, who bowed out in 1998, the Sun actually increased circulation, though little-by-little over the following 28 yearsunder its subsequent editors – David Yelland (1998–2003), Rebekah Wade (2003–2009), Dominic Mohan (2009–2013), David Dinsmore (2013–2015), Tony Gallagher (2015–2020) and since 2020 when sales and circulation figures were no longer publicly available, Victoria Newton.
‘Sir’ Larry Lamb and, initially Rupert Murdoch himself, had developed a new kind of tabloid, taking the popular approach of the Daily Mirror and pushing the boundaries further.
Ironically, the Daily Star was launched in 1978 to outdo the Sun and under the ownership of successful porn baron Richard Desmond if anything was even closer to the knuckle. It saw its fair share of libel suits, controversy and fabricated stories but came no where close to denting the Sun’s sales. As of January 2026, it was selling just 91,701.
Perhaps it is my age, but for many years Kelvin Mackenzie was the Sun and subsequent iterations became paler and paler. Where once it amused – one of my favourite tabloid spats was the battle between the Sun and the Daily Star over ‘Blackie the Donkey’ in 1987 though the tragic sinking of the Herald of Free Enterprise in March 1987 in which 193 died killed that story stone dead in a flash.
I worked subbing shifts on the Sun (features desk and Irish news desk for several years in the early 1990) but then it was just another gig. I shall not claim that I would not have worked there had I realised the full scope of its skullduggery – I still would have done so – but Chippindale and Horrie’s account did rather register.
Perhaps it is my age, but for many years Kelvin Mackenzie was the Sun and subsequent iterations became paler and paler. Where once it amused – one of my favourite tabloid spats was the battle between the Sun and the Daily Star over ‘Blackie the Donkey’ in 1987 though the tragic sinking of the Herald of Free Enterprise in March 1987 in which 193 died killed that story stone dead in a flash.
I worked subbing shifts on the Sun (features desk and Irish news desk for several years in the early 1990) but then it was just another gig. I shall not claim that I would not have worked there had I realised the full scope of its skullduggery – I still would have done so – but Chippindale and Horrie’s account did rather register.
Yes, it is now as close to irrelevant as much as many years on, but it is a very good read indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment