On the day before Mothering Sunday I got up early and drove alone to Birmingham to put flowers on my mother’s and my grandmother’s graves, a timeless act of ancestor worship. Two years ago, when I took my then three-year-old son with me, he accidentally flung a 2ft-long branch into the door panel of a…
The reintroduction of the otter into British waterways is one of the conservation success stories of recent years. Indeed, the Otter Trust has now closed its Bungay captive breeding centre to the public, its once apparently impossible aim of repopulating the rivers with capering otters brilliantly realised. There is a slight blip in the story…
Saxophonist Roscoe Mitchell: appreciated by 17-year-olds and septuagenarians. Photograph: Massimo Valicchia/Demotix/Corbis Just before Christmas, I saw the early-80s Boston hardcore band Mission of Burma in a Shoreditch cellar, playing to a crowd of young people barely born this century, typically too inarticulate to explain exactly what had led them to a room I expected to…
Mine is a generation of men that was defined by its underpants. We prized them for their garish styles and loud colours; and because they annoyed our baffled parents, still shell-shocked from the second world war; and because they told people – teachers, the police, girls – who we were. It is painful for men…
Crisps. Those perfect golden wonders transform even the loneliest moments into treasured memories. Consumed with caution, crisps provide salty rewards for the dreary daily tasks of my paternal and professional duties. As a child, every school holiday I would be left in the hot car outside a succession of Devon pubs with only a pint…
I have been commissioned to write a libretto about Tarzan by an American minimalist composer who wishes to remain anonymous, and who, I suspect, will have little difficulty in doing so. My new patron initially thought the apeman story a worthy operatic subject, having noticed the inherent musicality of Tarzan’s famous cry: “Ooh-ee-oh-ee-oh-ee-oh-ee-oh-ee-ooh”. Our Tarzan…