It’s not been a good month in the plodosphere. Things had been going pretty well, it will be recalled. I’d finally disembarked from my blotchy, shirtless summer and the Svengoranertia of another World Cup failure. All on my own, I’d somehow got down from my shingley sick bed. How heroic, and how very pleased with myself I looked when I glanced down to see my reflection in that highly polished — and slippery — floor.… READ MORE.... …