“Dude, what a load of crap! All the books are completely fucked!” I heard myself shouting a few days ago. We were on holiday in Portugal. A quick digression: I once had a choleric history teacher, Mr. Z., who always freaked out at the end of the lesson with a bright red face and shouted, with his arms waving in an uncoordinated manner and with a wet pronunciation, because he thought no one was listening to him.
