After the internet and some light drinking left me in a stupor on Sunday night, on Monday morning as per usual I lumbered glumly out of bed. Just like so many other men and women the working world over, I took a shower and tried to pull myself together, which ahead of an arduous week always means a couple of…
He dwelt among ‘Apartments let,’ About five stories high; A man, I thought, that none would get, And very few would try. A boulder, by a larger stone Half hidden in the mud, Fair as a man when only one Is in the neighborhood. He lived unknown, and few could tell When Jacob was not free; But he has got…
Entitled ‘Forward, Together: Our Plan for a Stronger Britain and a Prosperous Future’, less of a wish than a command, and superficially attempting to shift the focus away from domestic policy and back towards Brexit, much of the Conservative Party manifesto released last Thursday seemed brazenly wrong or patently false. There was the scrapping of free school lunches for infants; another…
Since he last turned the dials on our cinema screens, the now 71-year-old David Lynch – one of the greatest of all American directors and the preeminent surrealist of his generation – has been busily honing yet another reputation, as a far out yet decidedly modern day Renaissance man. He designed a night club called ‘Silencio’ in Paris, exhibited his…
There was a time some time before today when us humans as a species routinely immersed ourselves in water. Gentleman frolicked in bathhouses at their leisure, mothers set their children in tin tubs by the fire, where the gentle scrubbing of dirty boys and girls produced a slick-smooth lather, northern Europeans hopped in lakes after their saunas, baptism meant being…
Last year, I admired wines. This, I’m wandering inside the red world. Last year, I gazed at the fire. This year I’m burnt kabob. Thirst drove me down to the water where I drank the moon’s reflection. Now I am a lion staring up totally lost in love with the thing itself. Don’t ask questions about longing. Look in my…
The recent early morning rumblings of an impending announcement from Buckingham Palace had royal correspondents not to mention the general populace in a highly undignified stew. Was somebody dead or on the verge of dying, was the palace crumbling down, was Harry getting married or William a new head of hair, or were they all departing for somewhere new? Alas…
Every story has already been told, and so it is for Theresa May, the British Prime Minister, who recently endured a dinner with the terrible Juncker, European Commission President Jean-Claude. The following account serves as a warning should the EU continue to obfuscate and prevent the Prime Minister from getting precisely her own way: ‘About the beginning of the twenty-first…
Theresa May keeps defying expectations, only each time in the worst possible way. After flip-flopping with remarkable haste over Brexit, her party’s budget, and the need for a snap general election, and reducing her already limited capacity for speech to a single slogan, ‘Strong and stable, strong and stable, strong and stable’ a dozen times a day, this week she…
Dear Doctor, I have read your play, Which is a good one in its way, Purges the eyes, and moves the bowels, And drenches handkerchiefs like towels With tears that, in a flux of grief, Afford hysterical relief To shatter’d nerves and quicken’d pulses, Which your catastrophe convulses. I like your moral and machinery; Your plot, too, has such scope…
