The search for Oldton was always likely to be a maths problem at some level.
Perhaps it is *only* a maths problem, a series of number games that combine to create the illusion of a town that never really was:
a set of 52 lefthand pages (plus jokers); a 4 x 13 grid; a probability equation; a date; a longitude and latitude; a royal flush beating a full house; a postcode; Pi...
I went out in search of a structure for housing my memories and sorrow. And my nerdy mathematical mind found me one.
It pleased me to think that if I wrote one page a week, my search would take me exactly a year.
