He was a cartoonist whose cartoons were often found in The New Yorker. Here are some.
Churchill Manitoba (the town where people are not to lock their doors because someone might need immediate shelter from a big hungry white thing) is on almost the exact same latitude as the Orkney island town of Twatt.
And appropriately for the companion “Interesting random facts you learned today” thread, I now know there’s a place named “Twatt Orkney” Now that’s a deliciously British name.
The only thing I remember about Scotland is putting shillings into the space heater in December.
There’s a Twatt in the Shetland Islands too:
Talk about doubling down
Thanks for the correction - I googled it first time round but still got it wrong somehow (embarrassingly, I can only assume I was looking at kms or something).
… and a Muff in Co. Donegal, Ireland
There is a Muff Diving Club but with no affiliation like PADI/BSAC/NAUI noted on the website. it’s probably capitalising on the name for merchandising (Not meant as an ad for them - I’m really disappointed it’s not an active dive club, I’d join in a flash).
It was not that it was over exceptionally humid , it was that I was not expecting it to so be and was not prepped.
Wearing a full sleeve shirt and slacks.
And I lived in Karachi, so trust me I know hot and humid. 
And neither of them has ever been represented in the House of Lords.
This is a grave injustice! Write to your MP at once!
Justice for Twatts everywhere!
The Lords don’t represent a ‘who’, they represent a ‘what’.
The what is ostensibly the good of the country. Whether it works in practise is another discussion altogether.
I don’t care about the good of the country.
I want to see someone with the magnificent title “the Lord of the Twatts”.
My favourite is a small town in Yorkshire called Idle. This means that they have an ’ Idle working man’s club’.
Would their wives drive them to it in their White Ladies Aston?
Jeez, that brought back a memory. Twenty five years ago when the place I was working got bought out and we were all waiting to be laid off, I started rewriting versions of The Rain In Spain to take my mind off things. No, I don’t know why. But I can remember just the one, which I shall perform for you now:
By Fuengirola’s seaside flats
The grans and granddads all wear hats
It always rains, there’s never sun
& p<0.1
I thank you.
j
I’m glad I provided a trigger for a long buried memory. I love when that happens to me.
Treppenwitz’s has now brought forth one of mine. Years ago, in a very wet growing season, an intern and I together wrote a very long song with many many verses, which we thought very funny at the time. Most of it has been mercifully forgotton. I remember the refrain, which was ‘and the rain just kept on raining on’; and that it was raining on the Queen and on her crown (I don’t think we specified what queen) and that it was raining on somebody else and dripping off his nose. Some of it must have had to do with the fact that it was raining on us and on the fields and crops, but I don’t remember any of that part.
I do remember a lot of giggling, though. So that part is good.
Peninsular Florida has a “mountain range” easily visible on satellite, standing out as white sand. The Lake Wales Ridge is 150 miles long, rising 300 feet.
Hehe, way to destroy my illusions. It just so happens I still have the Edinburgh guide, and it’s actually called the “City of the Dead Tours.” Here’s the blurb:
Take an exciting journey into the past to a terrifying paranormal conclusion-through hidden Old Town wynds, GREYFRIARS GRAVEYARD and the tragic COVENANTERS PRISON.
Then unlock the BLACK MAUSOLEUM-lair of the MACKENZIE POLTERGEIST-responsible for hundreds of physical attacks on these tours.
Wild history, wicked humour & the world’s best documented supernatural case.
(Some one word reviews)
Nightly outside St. Giles Cathedral…
www.blackhart.uk.com
The guide was a blonde dressed in black, and she was really into it. We went down a street behind the cathedral, and she bellowed “See how clean and pristine this street is? Imagine it covered COMPLETELY WITH RATS!” She went on to tell some black plague stories. Her voice was so loud, one of the priests came outside to tell her to tone it down.
We then walked to Greyfriars, where she told us the “It is rumored that beneath this hill are all the black plague victims in a big pile” story. She then told us about Scotty, the terrier who visited his master’s grave for 17 years after the man died, but it was actually the wrong grave! Then she told us about Burke, who led a crime ring where he and his associates befriended strangers, got them drunk, then lured them back to his flat where he stuck his fingers up their nostrils and down their throat, choking them to death. He then sold the corpses to universities for their anatomy classes.
She then talked about how some of the tombs have cold spots where poltergeist activity was known to take place, and had us all gather in one of them together. She kept up the “cold spot” talk, attempting to make us scared and nervous. “Feel that cold spot yet?” Suddenly the crypt door opened and a guy wearing a werewolf mask stepped in. It got a few squeals, but I was like whuuut? That’s your big scare moment? I could have went to a high school haunted house for more scares, but it least the constant BS was entertaining.