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…
BOOKS: David Rees’ How To Sharpen Pencils, Penguin’s new edition of Arthur Machen’s White People, Savage Continent by Keith Lowe, a deliberately unreliable history of obscure ’90s comedy called You Are Nothing by Robert Wringham, Julian Cope’s Copendium, Sean Howe’s Marvel Comics The Untold Story. TV: Endeavor (Young Morse) on ITV. BBC’s Sherlock Holmes, Call…
“Know, O prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars…. Hither came Conan, the Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword…
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…