Like any other morning I was up at four, the day Oliver met with his violent death. At four in the morning the grass is wet. Now, it's still wet at 6 a.m. and even at seven, and these tend to be the hours of choice for most people wishing to appreciate the phenomenon of grass wetness. But it's a tragedy of economics that, when work starts at 5 a.m., one is not afforded the same time-options for grass appreciation as members of the sane world. Nor was this tragedy confined to my having to appreciate the wet grass while ....