"Gold for the merchant, silver for the maid / Copper for the craftsman, cunning in his trade / 'Good', laughed the Baron, sitting in his hall / But iron - cold iron - shall be the master of them all."

Thanks, but please don't send me cash "tips." Instead, support this charity: The Fletcher Street Urban Riding Club.

Nothing says I miss you quite like war poetry carved in your door with a stanley knife.