We - I - don’t plan these weekends. It’s impossible to predict when the mood will strike me, but when it does… First, I leave a subtle sign for you, like placing those boots on the stairs this morning; an undisguised hint that, this weekend, you are going to be the pet of the house, my dear. You refer to them as my ‘bitch boots’, and you have a delightfully entertaining love-hate relationship with them. They are kept for...