WILL SEYMOUR seeks the comfort of escapism in the bounteous bosom of a corseted Victorian wench, but even his own self-spun yarns end in a tangle of despair and impotence.
WILL SEYMOUR appears to be having boredom-induced hallucinations in the UL.
WILL SEYMOUR goes speed-dating, and assesses a cavalcade of eligible speedy women for potential life-partnership.
WILL SEYMOUR begins his series of columns with an indiscriminate plea for ‘The One’
Live and let die… WILL SEYMOUR sells his soul to six little spots for a night of Basics rum and liberal nudity.
The three minute silence was vaguely reminiscent of a supervision with hungover NatScis.
Will Seymour