BY JAMES BEMBRIDGE ‘You seem an odd choice for a guard,’ I told the chap on the door to no reply. He stood pressed against the railing, dressed in Victorian finery and smelling of mothballs. His silence I put down not to rudeness but to his being a stuffed bear. ‘James!’ some lovely voice called from inside. ‘Oh, you’ve met Monty! I’m so pleased.’ This … Continue reading Bear Magnet