As a small boy James Macintosh once asked his tutor at Saint Burley-on-the-Cue Boy's Municipal Fluoride Academy what the difference was between premonition and intuition.
His wise tutor, after filling his pipe with sage and turkish taffy, and lighting it from a nearby burning bush, replied:
"A premonition is hatched from a promontory; while intuition is free to anyone who can play a decent game of soccer."
Macintosh never forget those stirring words. He often tells this story to his adoring acolytes, over a flowing bowl of butterscotch punch down at the Fluffy Sheep's Head Pub.
Jimmy, as he is known to practically no one but his accountant, is the kind of writer who will walk a mile in another man's shoes rather than buy a new pair of his own. He writes a ten-thousand word essay each morning before dawn on the importance of Stilton cheese to the British Commonwealth, and then punts up and down the Thames, taking potshots at mudlarks.
His prize-winning work at the Wall Street Journal includes an in-depth look at the Marmite Cartel and its sinister influence on Brexit. He won the prestigious Arthur Q. Poppinjay Award for his expose of sentient vending machines. His journalist colleagues agree that no one writes a passive/aggressive sentence the way Jimmy Macintosh does.
His hobbies include distilling artisan embalming fluid and cultivating colanders at his villa on Capri.
He is currently under indictment for posting photos of his cats on Twitter.
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