The esteemed M.J. Nicholls dryly encircled the genius of this novel. It was fitting to conclude my week-long tour of Britons electing paired initials as Christian names - to rest easy under the warm praise of the Scotsman with his love of completeism and exhumation.

Alfred Polly is my hero. His neologisms are remarkable. I thought of citing a half dozen examples but feel that out of context, it would prove to be shit. His suspicions and pleasures appear to be my own. One can't just sit around forever. Such is my paraphrase of the novel's amazing conclusion.