Another day, another literary figure...well, lookalike. Yesterday, I was pondering just why someone would have their front wall covered with the head and neck of Samuel Beckett. This evening, I've seen someone with a not exactly, but pretty near resemblance to George Bernard Shaw. Deep in the blizzard of people around Shepherd's Bush Green, but entirely oblivious to it was an elderly man whose look, beard, even his raincoat made him a dead ringer for GB. Literary London, eh.