Cathedral

These are the pieces for a simple board game for two players. Not the sort of TV game like Traitors, a spectator game that goes on for weeks, or Diplomacy; another long, brutal game that takes ages too and may end in tears.

Crumbs

This is one of three portraits by Hans Eworth at Tate Britain.

Published
Categorised as Art, History

Pot Luck

I never met Quentin Crewe, I wish I had; journalist, author, restaurateur and adventurer, all done with the significant disadvantage of being diagnosed with muscular dystrophy as a child.

In Bruges

Look at architecture in London and it’s usually easy to roughly guess the date. Likewise much art can be categorised but perhaps not portraiture.

Published
Categorised as Art

Top Hat

I cannot remember the Festival of Britain, I wasn’t quite born, but it has a lot to answer for.

Saint Piran and the Millstone

Should you visit the Blackmore tin-streamers on their feast-day, which falls on Friday-in-Lide (that is to say, the first Friday in March), you may note a truly Celtic ceremony. On that day the tinners pick out the sleepiest boy in the neighbourhood and send him up to the highest bound in the works, with instructions… Continue reading Saint Piran and the Millstone

Published
Categorised as Literature

St Stephen’s Day

Wednesday 26 December 1660 In the morning to Alderman Backwell’s for the candlesticks for Mr. Coventry, but they being not done I went away, and so by coach to Mr. Crew’s, and there took some money of Mr. Moore’s for my Lord, and so to my Lord’s, where I found Sir Thomas Bond (whom I… Continue reading St Stephen’s Day

Christmas Day

25 December (1940) Christmas Day! An old butler came in to wake me at half-past eight, bearing the conventional tray with tea. He was a trifle apologetic at bringing it to an American. And as he began fussing around opening the curtains and folding my clothes, I asked him about himself. He said he had… Continue reading Christmas Day

Of Obelisk and Orchid

I have been interested in war memorials for a long time and have wondered vaguely when they were first erected and, in particular, when the names of the fallen of all ranks were listed and commemorated.

The Flight of a Sparrow

As, inevitably, I am nearer the end than the beginning of my span here, where I will be after I can only speculate. The Ven. Bede has words which may be comforting, or not.