Ivor Herbert

A whole library of recommendations but, best of all, sales catalogues   The weight of it in the front basket of my bike on the ride home from the library overburdened my steering this way and that, but dicing with calamity was a small price to pay for being able to savour Ivor Herbert's 'Red Rum'—hefty as a breezeblock—at home, face down on a candlewick bedspread in the mid-Seventies, my hands and fingers contorted into galloping horses as they raced each other, re-enacting the last euphoric moments of the 1973...