I’m going down in my cellar – after fighting the cobwebs – to sit there with my mice mates and misquote all the Shakespeare I’ve ever learned.

 

A horse, a horse, I come to bury Caesar,

Now is the winter of to be or not to be.

Cry England for God and infamy, infamy.

Wherefore art thou, is this a dagger I see before me?

By the pricking of my thumbs, Juliet is the sun.

 

Love mice. Hate spiders.

Time for bed, said Zebedee (!)