Still reading the C.S. Lewis biography, The Authentic Voice. A mention of cherubs, and of Lewis's dislike for the chubby summer house sort of cherub, made me remember a conversation with a colleague many years ago, which memory made me laugh. I was writing a poem about cherubs at the time (not a promising subject, I know, but I fancied myself as an infinitely versatile poet back then). I asked my colleague what he thought about cherubs. After a moment's pause, he said: "I can take them or leave them."