Category: Literature

Bugles and a Tiger

Soldiers are often able to put down the sword and take up a pen; from Julius Caesar to John Hackett. When we were in Wales recently I was introduced to a new-to-me soldier turned wordsmith: John Masters.

On Box Hill

This is the view from Box Hill in Surrey. It is a short, steepish climb to the 735 foot summit and I was surprised how may people had made it up there until I saw a large car park operated by the National Trust near the top.

Arnold’s Omelette

The James Tait Black Memorial Prizes were first awarded in 1919, so happy birthday and may there be many happy returns. Unlike the not-Man Booker you will have read many of the authors and some of the winning books. I think I’ve read eighteen titles in the fiction category; fewer in biography.

Shadows on the Grass

Walking in Chiswick in the evening I thought about Simon Raven. Like Leslie Charteris, Dornford Yates, John Buchan and Sapper I am the last generation that will read him.

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The Collector

James Agate was a drama critic for The Sunday Times and the BBC. Between 1935 and his death in 1947 he published nine volumes of diaries. Wryly he called them Ego.

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Charles Boutell

I share some of the same interests and initials as CB. He is a Victorian, a Norfolk man, no fool; he went to St John’s Cambridge (BA) and Trinity Oxford (MA).

London Perceived

I have marched across Spain with VS Pritchett and hacked across Spain with two middle-aged ladies; Penelope Betjeman’s account of rural Andalusia in November 1962. The latter fulfills all the requirements of a great travel book.

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Hot Dogs

“Despite their promises at the last Election, the politicians had not yet changed the climate. The State Meteorological Institute had so far produced only an unseasonable fall of snow and two little thunderbolts no larger than apricots. The weather varied from day to day and from county to county as it had done of old,… Continue reading Hot Dogs

Smells

On a recent visit to Trumper’s to have my hair cut I bought a bottle of Portugal Eau de Toilette. I suggested to the salesman that I expected mule dung with top notes of drains and stale urine.

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