All Activity

The book '1984' by George Orwell is one of my favorite books.

Sweet child o' mine - Guns n Roses

A slightly interesting thing is that the picture on the front of my Penguin Classic copy of Rob Roy is a scene from the book. It was a painting called The Death of Morris the Spy (1827) by Camille Roqueplan, in the Musee des Beaux Arts, Lille. Rob Roy was first published in 1817. Presumably, it was translated into French and sold well there. I wonder how they translated all the Scots.

Sweet Dreams - Patsy Cline

chimpanzee trainer, shrimp teacher,

Three Trapped Tigers (1967) G. Cabrera Infante I searched for this book for a long time and could never find a copy eventually having no choice but to accept a second hand copy that had crisp, yellow pages (perhaps after decades of being in a bedsit where a man (let's call him Leroy) smoked forty roll-ups a day). In a strange way, the sickly mustard hue almost suited the book and made me think of sun drenched beaches and cigarette filled bars. I so wanted the book to be something glorious but, alas, it was nothing more than another febrile mess of Joycean mimicry not even attempting to masquerade as anything else. Infante can write but (like so many of his contemporaries) he made a choice of style over substance, to squander his talent by dismissing the opportunity to create a great work that would appeal to the world in perpetuity, instead focusing on ensuring that he would appeal to seven esoteric hipsters with names like Zac and Blane in a Seattle coffee shop who, on reflection, would eventually grow tired of their own performative claims of loving him anyway. The book is vague, incoherent, meandering, and unforgivably dull. I am reliably informed that the book is about three young people in Havana. But honestly, if you told me it was about ten people or just one, I wouldn't be able to categorically confirm or deny the assertion. I had no idea what was happening, who was speaking, what people looked like, where things were taking place, or how any of it connected. Some parts were easy to read but I still had no context for what was going on or why it should matter to me. I couldn't even tell you the name of one of the narrators (I think one of them might have been a photographer called Codac) but I lost interest by then because amid the skittish chopping and changing, we also have some stream-of-consciousness prose (because obviously) that adds very little and only further muddies the waters. I think there was one solitary page where I found a beautiful sentence (describing the nightclub singer) and Cabrera does a decent job of generating a sense of heat and tropical sweat on various sunburned bodies, but that aside, I simply found the writing to be immensely dull and repetitive. That damn James Joyce has a lot to answer for. There may be others out there who will like this so I would still recommend it but I found it extremely difficult to engage with. What makes it so frustrating (again) is the fact that Cabrera can clearly write but chose to do this instead. It's all just so tiresome. For all the inventive stuff thrown in (a mirrored page of backward writing, an upside down pyramid of writing, a few lists (because these kinds of books must always have lists) and several disjointed chapters that break things up for brevity), Cabrera never really considers the possibility that entertaining me me might also be an inventive thing to do. Sigh. 4/10

'that the benefits of rigidly adhered to Tai Chi, 4 times a week, with two seshes on each 3rd Sunday, shall assist me in counteracting the wear and tear of everyday life..?' The parson cautioned against Tai chi, ' one cannot trust the heathen nations, especially the Communists..only last week your dear son in law espoused a fearful mix of Stalinised Marxian economics, rehashed Sufi Islam, and Proudhonesque anarchism...I felt so aghast I reached for the Anadin immediately. Never mind. Give Jesus a try..' ' I am , dear parson, somewhat prone to giving Jesus a try.. as for that man, he's no son in law of mine. I will again ask the police to take action..I say, Vicar, you still have your handcuffs on..my neighbour Reg Bullblock, a personal trainer, sawed mine off..' 'Well you see it's a rather delicate scenario old bean..the Old Bill lost track of me.....

I have a Dream - Abba

whose other talents include

Walking On a Dream ~ Empire of the Sun

Dream Baby (How Long Must I Dream) - Roy Orbison

The chapter I read today was brilliant. It was a chapter in which a troop of Red Coats are ambushed by Rob Roy's men. Rob Roy and Waverley puts me in mind of Heart of Darkness. First Francis Osbaltistone relocates from France where it is reasonably urbane and civilised to Northumbria, close to the Scottish border. It's a bit rough and ready up then, but it's still England. Then he moves onto Glasgow, which is a little bit foreign. Then he goes out to the Highlands and he has gone back in time five centuries. Law does not really exist.

The Long Hot Summer - The Style Council

by Dave, in Surrey,

do you all hound me so? Is a man to get no peace? Cats caterwauling, deranged dogs, Revolting rotters, pesky Parsons and bothersome boys in blue. Where does it all end, that's what I want to know.' The Major clutched at his hair, which didn't really have enough spare for that kind of treatment. 'Dear Major, you're merely suffering from the ill effects of stress and overwork. What you need is a complete rest, and I know just the place.' 'Do you really think,' asked the Major pathetically ...

your cucumber sandwiches, made

Long Time Gone ~ Crosby, Stills and Nash

Love is Here and Now You're Gone - The Supremes

She's one of those books that make many things clearer and maybe even inspire new growth in a person's soul and heart

Here I go again - Whitesnake

Here You Come Again - Dolly Parton

Come back and stay - Paul Young

Come On-a My House - Rosemary Clooney

64 seconds, and eat...

the Major had accused Johnny Revolting of running a house of ill repute, however the Major was assumed , currently, to have taken leave of his senses. As a man of the cloth, asked Disorderly, what would Jesus do in the circumstances..?.. 'Let's look at it this way..I have been a parson for 30 years and I can justly report that the best course of action is to take a line of least resistance. Never let circumstances get you down..now..Disgusting is no criminal..Mr Disgusting ain't no criminal, that much is certain..as to whether Daddy Flowers is deranged, heaven only knows..tell you what ..I will go see him , wearing my spiritual compass round my neck, and I will ascertain for you how he's fairng these days..I ought not believe it should help but oh God,I do....' Disorderly, always happy to delegate police work to priests, assented. Following Tuesday, a knock at the Major's door at 2pm. 'Who the veritable blazes..at this damned , tarnation bound wreck of a time..??', asked Major Flowers..'Why...