When Sue and Dave Malvern came to my last party, she gave me a photograph of the Forbury Gardens bathing in the afternoon sun. Composed of at least six overlapping shots, it was printed on a very long piece of glossy paper. Covering about one-hundred and twenty degrees, it begins with St. James’s on the left and ends with the Reading Lion on the right. My house is not far from the church. The lion looms large, though. When I thanked Sue for her gift, I felt compelled to close my short note with the following words: “And the lion roars.” Since the party, the picture has been sitting on my kitchen table, and every time I light upon it, I repeat these silly words to myself. I am writing this down in the hope that the spell will thereby be broken.