Category: Literature

Shoot Lunches

Durham University is a hot-house for lifelong friendships and (not always lifelong) marriages. A conspicuous success is John and Katie who live on their farm in Northumberland. Their daughter, Lucy, was brought up on good plain cooking and shoot lunches. Now she has spread her wings.

I Can Do That

The Washington Post has an article about new thrillers and what to drink with them – well I can do that.

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Categorised as Literature

A Noble Thing?

The National Trust evokes a range of emotions and the appointment of Helen McGrady as its new Director-General stirs up some new ones.

Charmed Lives

There is a beguiling exhibition at the British Museum, Charmed Lives in Greece, about Niko Ghika, John Craxton and Patrick Leigh Fermor.

Death on the Bosphorus

I struggled at first with Dance to the Music of Time. It is otiose to allude to Powell’s circumlocutory style making Henry James’s prolix, copia verborum seem exiguous. However, I persisted and now I am hooked.

Oh Happy Day

I have just finished reading Len Deighton’s spy trilogy Berlin Game, Mexico Set, London Match. Immensely enjoyable but when I started, it was with a sense of nostalgia for all that Cold War stuff. Now two things have happened.

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Categorised as Literature

Princess Margaret

I am sure I am not alone in deploring Craig Brown’s vulgar “biography” of Princess Margaret. It is a scurrilous hotch-potch of unreliable, disloyal and deeply offensive gossip garnered from a muck heap of diaries and newspaper articles.

Spam

I’m finding Anthony Powell slow going. He does not spoon-feed his readers. Towards the end of A Question of Upbringing Jenkins witnesses a meeting between Sillery and Buster. “Whatever they had found in common was satisfactory to Buster, too, since he laughed and talked with Sillery as if he had known him for years.”

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Categorised as Literature

I’m into Something Good

An obsequious, chastened Pious brought him the gin on the stoop. Morgan poured two inches into a glass full of ice, added some bitters and a dash of water. He hated the drink but it seemed the apt thing to do; end of a tropical day, sundowners and all that.

I Never Met …

I never met Winston Churchill or Princess Margaret. My brother marched behind Churchill’s coffin when he was a young officer in the Irish Guards and Uncle George (aka Sir George Bellew) helped arrange the elaborate funeral.