The Judgement Of Solomons.
Ah the autumn. Children trudging back to school. A chill creeping over the grass in my garden. The leaves not quite turning yet are never the less clinging with less lustre to the branches than they did a few weeks earlier. And someone is moaning about the state of the British Film Industry. Like the first cuckoo of spring I have come to appreciate the sound of the first journalist’s moan of the autumn as one of those beautiful natural…






