Simple pleasures are my favourite pleasures. Complicated pleasures frankly just aren't worth the effort, but simple pleasures are amazing because they're so easily achieved, and although the seratonin imbalance is only a tiny bit levelled with a brief instance of joy, it sure beats the fizzy drinks can build up that complicated pleasures endure during their creation that by the time the big taste question is answered, it blows up in your face.
No. Like cartoonish American policemen, a coffee and doughnut is all it takes these days. I don't think I'd actively gone and bought a doughnut in about five years. Maybe not even before the time when Rachel and I used to buy them before watching VHS tapes of Twin Peaks from the library. I think that was in late 2002. Each VHS had three episodes on it apart from the ones which had the hour-long Season 2 bookends which only had two episodes. I used to watch it first on my own in bed facing the window eating skittles or chicken soup, then on Saturday or Sunday afternoon Rachel would come over and we'd watch them again, and I'd feel slightly cleverer because I'd already seen them but it meant I could be distacted picking the hundreds and thousands off the doughnuts one at a time during the bits where Nadine Hurley thinks she's a teenager again. The doughnut I bought was from Subway, which again, I don't think I've been to in about a year. Subway always enthralls me because nobody questions it. For example, everyone knows that a Greggs a day will kill you, and thingammy with the moustache told us all that eating nothing but McDonald's will also kill you, and even Adam and Eve told us that too much fruit will bring untold trouble. But Subway, they could literally be serving sliced children cutlets and fluffy hamster guts and I've never even thought about it. Same with Millies Cookies - "look, it wasn't around when I was 13 when everyone talked about people finding nemetode worms and gall bladders in their burgers, so I will unquestionningly consume it's wares". The doughnut was delicious mind, and was round, and had bits of chocolate on it when fell into the bag during transit, so I got to tip them onto the plate and then try and fasten them back onto the doughnut.
When I was younger, the jam doughnut was the king of the doughnuts. Mainly because you got jam in it, and in a more than slightly pathetic manner, I used to argue that they were better because you got less doughnut with a ring doughnut. I'm glad I grew out of that. People who think that are also the sort of people who celebrate their birthdays at midnight on the day before. One of my ex girlfriends birthdays was on New Year's Day, and she refused to even acknowledge it until the next day, despite the fact there was essentially a party happening right there and then. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with her. But back to the doughnuts, obviously garish ring doughnuts with icing and fingertraps for hungry wasps made out of sugar and drizzle and lemon and insanity, the Homer Simpson doughnut, the pumped-up party ring, these and these alone, are the only doughnuts anyone should consider. Clearly these should be digested with black coffee the colour of oil, and nobody else in the room. Then, and only then can the simplest of pleasures be truly immersed.
Tuesday 13 January 2009
Sunday 11 January 2009
The Ecstasy of Gold
2009 thus far has been brought to you by the letters R, M and the number 37.
Also the following
This time was different because I was on my own, was going to stay on my own, wasn't going to share wine with any homeless people, and was intending to be home before bedtime. I think because of the connections to Bristol with former love life greatest hits, birthday adventures and crazed mentalists (or any combination of the above) I've always been apprehensive about the place. The last time I went anywhere near Bristol was driving through the city centre with my parents in the rain and taking photographs through the drandrop mottled car window of people waiting at the zebra crossings and bridges. I enjoyed going in the station at Temple Meads because they have those three-in-one hand washersoaperdriers which are a novelty when you're about three years old but once you're old enough to realise dry, soapy hands are a nightmare for turning the pages of a book on a crowded train. But I didn't feel like getting out of the car.
The river was frozen over in places, which was a rare pleasure because you don't often get to see rivers frozen over, partly because the freezing temperature of putrid bile is a lot lower than pure water, but there were crazing paving cracks and dark grey veins of ice all around the edges of the dockside. These were all very pretty and cold, but the real highlight was looking around the grey hulking mess around the site of "@ Bistol" a 21 century hokum museum that nobody outside of Bristol understands and/or cares about. Outside this endeavour is a courtard flanked on several sides by crap grey fountains, a big crap round metal ball that makes your reflection look like a National Geographic outtake, and some miserable little chain restaurants. This was all covered in dirty brown ice, slobbered liberally over the fountain edges and floor, and if I'd been trying to impress someone, or was waiting outside the school gates rather than on a walk through Bristol at 10am, I'd have make spinny circles and vampire bat slides across the drain covers. I really wanted to, but these are the sacrifices of solitude. I did take some photographs of some stuff I saw on the floor, like painted question marks and bourbon biscuits and green and brown slime.
Since my epiphany somewhere about two months ago that buying second hands books regardless of the likelihood of reading them at any conceivable point in the near future, second hand book shops and charity shops have been heaven to me. I think also since the realising that unlike with music, rooting out the 'classics' and the 'cult classics' is actually a very good thing, rather than a waste of effort. For example, many great novels were published in the 60s, 70s and 80s by brilliant American authors, some regarded as cult best sellers. The comparable bands would be like, The Doors. No thanks. For this reason, the second hand boat I'm sailing is good, because I'm almost guaranteed to find exactly, or near as damn it, what I'm looking for. On this occasion, I was trying to find Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon, for no reason other than that it's apparently absolutely impossible to read; the literary equivalent of those jigsaw puzzles with nothing but a giant close up image of a plate of baked beans, tomato bubbles and everything. I also quite like the covers of the Thomas Pynchon reissues, which of course, is the most important thing. I didn't find Gravity's Rainbow in the Oxfam on Park Street, but I did find one of Pynchon's other books. The man at the counter who looked like a bookworm, and I could tell this because he was wearing a fleece from Millets, started talking about Gravity's Rainbow and I realised the exact conversation I had played out in full in my head like a screenplay for a fantastically boring film about myself, was taking place. It seems that you can strive for individuality and a semblance of ubiquity, but when it comes to second hand books and nerds, we're all on a level playing field. I ended up buying nine books in Bristol, I won't bore you with the details, but finding an orange-spined edition of The Kingdom By The Sea was a little exciting. Oh, I said I wouldn't bore you.
I went to some old haunts; The giant Fopp down in Broadmead has now become a giant CEX, a cross between a shoplifters paradise hookey street metropolis and a seedy above-street-level boxing club. There were three copies of 'Hats' by The Blue Nile shelved in the H section. I checked the P and A sections for The Blue Nile albums I didn't have. I also walked underneath that big building by the roundabout, the one that cars can drive under, and nobody knows what the building is actually for. I walked past that building with the graffiti skull on it. I went to the depressing blue funk that is the new shopping centre, Cabot Circus, which is up there with the worst places I've ever been. You can see the almighty air of disappointment surrounding Cabot Circus from space, you know. The only part of it I liked was the wall opposite the outside of the mens toilets. I also went to The Commericial Rooms, which is a classy Wetherspoons near the centre of town. I realised I never wanted to work in a bar, especially not this one, when the poor girl was subjected to three simultanous idiot customers complaining about their drinks. I sympathised so much that when I found out the only soft drink available with my meal deal was J-2-0, I didn't grimace until I saw she wasn't looking. And I drank the J-2-0, of course. In the spirit of exorcising demons, I sat on exactly the same table I sat on the last time I went there. I didn't even realise this until I left, despite the fact the table was right next to the kitchen, and is the table that the kitchen staff usually sit at to eat their complimentary food. They probably spat on my lamb burger before they skewered it.
I finished The Girl Who Played With Fire in the cinema in Cardiff. One of the plus points of turning up 90 minutes early for a film you've told people you're only going to see "because there's nothing else to do" is that you can pretend it's a mistake and have an hour and a half to yourself to read, and the bar in the Cineworld in Cardiff is perfect for it. The downside is then running into someone you know at the cinema and explaining you've turned up 90 minutes early to see Role Models, and look like the ultimate loser.
Which of course, I am.
Also the following
....and!
I went to Bristol this week. Bristol and I really don't get on. But forgive and forget. Or forgive more than anything, because I'll never forget the times I've spent in Bristol. Like the time I got lost because the falafel was too hot and I ended up at the wrong train station and had to get a train to Temple Meads in order to get back home. Like the time I had to hide all my deoderants in the bushes outside the Academy. Everyone's done that. Like the time I missed the last train (the last train missed me) and spent the night on the streets a la Chelmsford with no company except the best of Warren Zevon and the best of Uncle Tupelo on opposing sides of a C90. That was the night I found out where the Thekla was, and I found out where the mechanical cows lived. There were also times where I walked in the fountain and was sick on the station platform, times where I've been late for being a dinner lady because I wasn't sure what side of Bristol I was on. More recently there was the time I stayed on when I was planning to go home, and we got rained on more than I've ever been rained on.
This time was different because I was on my own, was going to stay on my own, wasn't going to share wine with any homeless people, and was intending to be home before bedtime. I think because of the connections to Bristol with former love life greatest hits, birthday adventures and crazed mentalists (or any combination of the above) I've always been apprehensive about the place. The last time I went anywhere near Bristol was driving through the city centre with my parents in the rain and taking photographs through the drandrop mottled car window of people waiting at the zebra crossings and bridges. I enjoyed going in the station at Temple Meads because they have those three-in-one hand washersoaperdriers which are a novelty when you're about three years old but once you're old enough to realise dry, soapy hands are a nightmare for turning the pages of a book on a crowded train. But I didn't feel like getting out of the car.
The river was frozen over in places, which was a rare pleasure because you don't often get to see rivers frozen over, partly because the freezing temperature of putrid bile is a lot lower than pure water, but there were crazing paving cracks and dark grey veins of ice all around the edges of the dockside. These were all very pretty and cold, but the real highlight was looking around the grey hulking mess around the site of "@ Bistol" a 21 century hokum museum that nobody outside of Bristol understands and/or cares about. Outside this endeavour is a courtard flanked on several sides by crap grey fountains, a big crap round metal ball that makes your reflection look like a National Geographic outtake, and some miserable little chain restaurants. This was all covered in dirty brown ice, slobbered liberally over the fountain edges and floor, and if I'd been trying to impress someone, or was waiting outside the school gates rather than on a walk through Bristol at 10am, I'd have make spinny circles and vampire bat slides across the drain covers. I really wanted to, but these are the sacrifices of solitude. I did take some photographs of some stuff I saw on the floor, like painted question marks and bourbon biscuits and green and brown slime.
Since my epiphany somewhere about two months ago that buying second hands books regardless of the likelihood of reading them at any conceivable point in the near future, second hand book shops and charity shops have been heaven to me. I think also since the realising that unlike with music, rooting out the 'classics' and the 'cult classics' is actually a very good thing, rather than a waste of effort. For example, many great novels were published in the 60s, 70s and 80s by brilliant American authors, some regarded as cult best sellers. The comparable bands would be like, The Doors. No thanks. For this reason, the second hand boat I'm sailing is good, because I'm almost guaranteed to find exactly, or near as damn it, what I'm looking for. On this occasion, I was trying to find Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon, for no reason other than that it's apparently absolutely impossible to read; the literary equivalent of those jigsaw puzzles with nothing but a giant close up image of a plate of baked beans, tomato bubbles and everything. I also quite like the covers of the Thomas Pynchon reissues, which of course, is the most important thing. I didn't find Gravity's Rainbow in the Oxfam on Park Street, but I did find one of Pynchon's other books. The man at the counter who looked like a bookworm, and I could tell this because he was wearing a fleece from Millets, started talking about Gravity's Rainbow and I realised the exact conversation I had played out in full in my head like a screenplay for a fantastically boring film about myself, was taking place. It seems that you can strive for individuality and a semblance of ubiquity, but when it comes to second hand books and nerds, we're all on a level playing field. I ended up buying nine books in Bristol, I won't bore you with the details, but finding an orange-spined edition of The Kingdom By The Sea was a little exciting. Oh, I said I wouldn't bore you.
I went to some old haunts; The giant Fopp down in Broadmead has now become a giant CEX, a cross between a shoplifters paradise hookey street metropolis and a seedy above-street-level boxing club. There were three copies of 'Hats' by The Blue Nile shelved in the H section. I checked the P and A sections for The Blue Nile albums I didn't have. I also walked underneath that big building by the roundabout, the one that cars can drive under, and nobody knows what the building is actually for. I walked past that building with the graffiti skull on it. I went to the depressing blue funk that is the new shopping centre, Cabot Circus, which is up there with the worst places I've ever been. You can see the almighty air of disappointment surrounding Cabot Circus from space, you know. The only part of it I liked was the wall opposite the outside of the mens toilets. I also went to The Commericial Rooms, which is a classy Wetherspoons near the centre of town. I realised I never wanted to work in a bar, especially not this one, when the poor girl was subjected to three simultanous idiot customers complaining about their drinks. I sympathised so much that when I found out the only soft drink available with my meal deal was J-2-0, I didn't grimace until I saw she wasn't looking. And I drank the J-2-0, of course. In the spirit of exorcising demons, I sat on exactly the same table I sat on the last time I went there. I didn't even realise this until I left, despite the fact the table was right next to the kitchen, and is the table that the kitchen staff usually sit at to eat their complimentary food. They probably spat on my lamb burger before they skewered it.
I finished The Girl Who Played With Fire in the cinema in Cardiff. One of the plus points of turning up 90 minutes early for a film you've told people you're only going to see "because there's nothing else to do" is that you can pretend it's a mistake and have an hour and a half to yourself to read, and the bar in the Cineworld in Cardiff is perfect for it. The downside is then running into someone you know at the cinema and explaining you've turned up 90 minutes early to see Role Models, and look like the ultimate loser.
Which of course, I am.
Tuesday 6 January 2009
Turn the Radio Off (2008 Part 2 / 2009 Part 1)
Here's a list of my top 100 songs of 2008. As with every year, this is not based on what record I think is technically better, or is a 'better piece of music' or carries more credibility. It is more of a list of what songs meant most to me, has the most memories attached, which made my feel like my heart was full of popping candy, or my tongue was covered with sulphuric acid. I'm not making any allusions (delusions) of grandeur with this list, in fact, I don't recommend listening to the songs you don't already know, because you probably won't like it. I don't believe many people would like Mysterious Skin by Orphans and Vandals, but I do. I like it a lot. It's not an easy sell, but it's a perfect soundtrack to what's been an imperfect year.
100 Death Cab For Cutie – No Sunlight
099 Sightings – Cloven Hoof
098 The Battlefield Band – Blackhall Rocks
097 Wolf Parade – California Dreaming
096 Slow Club – Because We’re Dead
095 Canadians – The North Side of Summer
094 Constantines – Hard Feelings
093 Yeasayer - 2080
092 Bon Iver – For Emma
091 Glen Branca – Lesson no. 1
090 Crooked Fingers – Sunday Morning Coming Down
089 Galaxie 500 – Don’t Let Our Youth Go to Waste
088 Orphans and Vandals - Christopher
087 Art of Fighting – Heart Translation
086 Tom Petty – Don’t Come Around Here No More (Tiedye Dub)
085 John Denver – Fly Away
084 The Wrens – She Sends Kisses
083 The Imagined Village Band – The Hard Times of Old England Retold
082 Mobius Band – Friends Like These
081 Lloyd Cole and the Commotions – Are You Ready to Be Heartbroken?
080 John Vanderslice – Up Above The Sea
079 Johnny Foreigner – Yes! You Talk Too Fast
078 Eugene McGuinness – Bird on a Wire
077 Graham Nash – I Used to be a King
076 The Mountain Goats – San Bernadino
075 The Mae Shi – The Lamb and the Lion
074 Wild Beasts – Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyants
073 Dodos - Fools
072 Mogwai – Dracula Family
071 Constantines – Trans Canada
070 Glasvegas – Lonesome Swan
069 Frightened Rabbit – Heads Roll Off
068 Fuck Buttons – Colours Move
067 Elliot – Carry On
066 The Gaslight Anthem – Casanova, Baby!
065 Wilderness – High Nero
064 White Hinterland – The Destruction of the Art Deco House
063 The Young Knives – Turn Tail
062 Alphabeat - Fascination
061 Get Well Soon – If This Hat is Missing, I Have Gone Hunting
060 Andrew Bird – The Trees Were Mistaken
059 Empire of the Sun – Walking on a Dream
058 Shearwater - Rooks
057 Paul Simon – Darling Lorraine
056 These New Puritans - Elvis
055 Sun Kil Moon – Tonight The Sky
054 Scott Walker – The Seventh Seal
053 Juno – The Sea Looked Like Lead
052 Marnie Stern - Transformer
051 Fleet Foxes - Your Transformer
050 Mark Kozelek – Up To My Neck in You
049 M83 – Graveyard Girl
048 A Mountain of One – Ride
047 The Hold Steady – Constructive Summer
046 The Magnetic Fields – California Girls
045 Sun Kil Moon – Gentle Moon
044 The Secret Stars – Shoe In
043 Usher – Love in this Club / Moving Mountains
042 Deer Tick – Ashamed
041 John Vanderslice – Promising Actress
040 The Tallest Man on Earth – I Won’t Be Found
039 Titus Andronicus – No Future (Part 2)
038 Panic at the Disco – That Green Gentleman (Things Have Changed)
037 Parts and Labor – Satellite
036 Studio – Escape From Chinatown
035 Frightened Rabbit – My Backwards Walk
034 Wintersleep – Dead Letter and the Infinite Yes
033 Sun Kil Moon – Lost Verses
032 Marnie Stern – Prime
031 Malcolm Mclaren – Madame Butterfly
030 Fuck Buttons – Sweet Love For Planet Earth (Andrew Weatherall Remix)
029 Passion Pit – Sleepyhead
028 Prefab Sprout – When Love Breaks Down
027 Wild Beasts – The Devils Crayon
026 The Gaslight Anthem – Miles Davis and The Cool
025 The Durutti Column – Otis
024 Tom Smith – Bonny
023 Frightened Rabbit – Keep Yourself Warm
022 Cat Stevens – Lilywhite
021 Bon Iver – re:stacks
020 Set Your Goals – Echoes
019 Wilderness – Silver Gene
018 Parts and Labor – Prefix Free
017 Of Great and Mortal Men – Ulysses S Grant: Helicopters Over Oakland
016 The Infadels – Make Mistakes
015 Cut Copy – Hearts On Fire
014 Ida – Maybelle
013 Fuck Buttons – Bright Tomorrow
012 Hercules and Love Affair – Time Will
011 Red House Painters – Shadows
010 Laakso – My Gods
009 Wintersleep – Miasmal Smoke and the Yellow Bellied Freaks
008 Mark Kozelek – Cruiser (Little Drummer Boy Version)
007 Kleerup feat. Marit Bergman - 3am
006 Cat Stevens – Don’t Be Shy
005 Studio – Turn The Radio Off
004 Of Great and Mortal Men – Richard M. Nixon: Two Under Par Off the Coast of Africa
003 Frightened Rabbit – Good Arms vs Bad Arms
002 Titus Andronicus – Fear and Loathing in Mahwah, NJ
099 Sightings – Cloven Hoof
098 The Battlefield Band – Blackhall Rocks
097 Wolf Parade – California Dreaming
096 Slow Club – Because We’re Dead
095 Canadians – The North Side of Summer
094 Constantines – Hard Feelings
093 Yeasayer - 2080
092 Bon Iver – For Emma
091 Glen Branca – Lesson no. 1
090 Crooked Fingers – Sunday Morning Coming Down
089 Galaxie 500 – Don’t Let Our Youth Go to Waste
088 Orphans and Vandals - Christopher
087 Art of Fighting – Heart Translation
086 Tom Petty – Don’t Come Around Here No More (Tiedye Dub)
085 John Denver – Fly Away
084 The Wrens – She Sends Kisses
083 The Imagined Village Band – The Hard Times of Old England Retold
082 Mobius Band – Friends Like These
081 Lloyd Cole and the Commotions – Are You Ready to Be Heartbroken?
080 John Vanderslice – Up Above The Sea
079 Johnny Foreigner – Yes! You Talk Too Fast
078 Eugene McGuinness – Bird on a Wire
077 Graham Nash – I Used to be a King
076 The Mountain Goats – San Bernadino
075 The Mae Shi – The Lamb and the Lion
074 Wild Beasts – Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyants
073 Dodos - Fools
072 Mogwai – Dracula Family
071 Constantines – Trans Canada
070 Glasvegas – Lonesome Swan
069 Frightened Rabbit – Heads Roll Off
068 Fuck Buttons – Colours Move
067 Elliot – Carry On
066 The Gaslight Anthem – Casanova, Baby!
065 Wilderness – High Nero
064 White Hinterland – The Destruction of the Art Deco House
063 The Young Knives – Turn Tail
062 Alphabeat - Fascination
061 Get Well Soon – If This Hat is Missing, I Have Gone Hunting
060 Andrew Bird – The Trees Were Mistaken
059 Empire of the Sun – Walking on a Dream
058 Shearwater - Rooks
057 Paul Simon – Darling Lorraine
056 These New Puritans - Elvis
055 Sun Kil Moon – Tonight The Sky
054 Scott Walker – The Seventh Seal
053 Juno – The Sea Looked Like Lead
052 Marnie Stern - Transformer
051 Fleet Foxes - Your Transformer
050 Mark Kozelek – Up To My Neck in You
049 M83 – Graveyard Girl
048 A Mountain of One – Ride
047 The Hold Steady – Constructive Summer
046 The Magnetic Fields – California Girls
045 Sun Kil Moon – Gentle Moon
044 The Secret Stars – Shoe In
043 Usher – Love in this Club / Moving Mountains
042 Deer Tick – Ashamed
041 John Vanderslice – Promising Actress
040 The Tallest Man on Earth – I Won’t Be Found
039 Titus Andronicus – No Future (Part 2)
038 Panic at the Disco – That Green Gentleman (Things Have Changed)
037 Parts and Labor – Satellite
036 Studio – Escape From Chinatown
035 Frightened Rabbit – My Backwards Walk
034 Wintersleep – Dead Letter and the Infinite Yes
033 Sun Kil Moon – Lost Verses
032 Marnie Stern – Prime
031 Malcolm Mclaren – Madame Butterfly
030 Fuck Buttons – Sweet Love For Planet Earth (Andrew Weatherall Remix)
029 Passion Pit – Sleepyhead
028 Prefab Sprout – When Love Breaks Down
027 Wild Beasts – The Devils Crayon
026 The Gaslight Anthem – Miles Davis and The Cool
025 The Durutti Column – Otis
024 Tom Smith – Bonny
023 Frightened Rabbit – Keep Yourself Warm
022 Cat Stevens – Lilywhite
021 Bon Iver – re:stacks
020 Set Your Goals – Echoes
019 Wilderness – Silver Gene
018 Parts and Labor – Prefix Free
017 Of Great and Mortal Men – Ulysses S Grant: Helicopters Over Oakland
016 The Infadels – Make Mistakes
015 Cut Copy – Hearts On Fire
014 Ida – Maybelle
013 Fuck Buttons – Bright Tomorrow
012 Hercules and Love Affair – Time Will
011 Red House Painters – Shadows
010 Laakso – My Gods
009 Wintersleep – Miasmal Smoke and the Yellow Bellied Freaks
008 Mark Kozelek – Cruiser (Little Drummer Boy Version)
007 Kleerup feat. Marit Bergman - 3am
006 Cat Stevens – Don’t Be Shy
005 Studio – Turn The Radio Off
004 Of Great and Mortal Men – Richard M. Nixon: Two Under Par Off the Coast of Africa
003 Frightened Rabbit – Good Arms vs Bad Arms
002 Titus Andronicus – Fear and Loathing in Mahwah, NJ
001 Orphans and Vandals – Mysterious Skin#
So where do we go from here? Here's a quickly doodled biro box around the key events of 2009 so far.
* I'm pretty sure I've already seen the best film of the year. Frost / Nixon, starring Michael Sheen and Frank Langella. This isn't just because I'm obsessed with Richard Nixon and have been for about 18 months, but it really is brilliant. Langella's Nixon, despite looking and sounding very little like Tricky Dick, is one of the best acting performances I've ever seen. Michael Sheen, who seems to be getting away with murder impersonating yet another member of the British establishment, is a riot as Frost, and has all the excellent inflections in the journalist's voice. The fact that the supporting cast includes Sam Rockwell, Kevin Bacon and Oliver Platt all being completely awesome makes it even better. I went to an advance screening with Sian and Nick from work, and there was a satellite link-up afterwards with a Q+A in London, hosted by some fuckwit who was 2 parts Marcus Brigstocke, to 2 parts total bell end, and with Peter Morgan (anonymous looking screenwriter) and Sheen (much more 'britpop' behind the scenes). The link failed for a good 20 minutes, but the rest of the questionning was cool.
* I have too many books to read. As I look up, and I note all the books I got for Christmas, the ones I've picked up from work or charity shops in Winchester since, the books I bought before Christmas and the one I'm currently reading (The Girl Who Played With Fire by Steig Larsson) which I'm waiting until Thursday to buy, it amounts to a backlog of about 30 books. So, if anyone has read the following and can reccomend over some of the others, then stand up and let your voice be known.
Martin Amis- London Fields
Martin Amis - Times Arrow
Paul Auster - True Tales of American Life (Edited by P. Auster)
Eric Berne - Games People Play
Drusilla Beylus - The English Marriage
Robert Dallek - Nixon and Kissenger
Richard Feynman - Surely, You're Joking, Mr Feynman
Luke Haines - Bad Vibes
Henning Mankell - The Pyramid
Colin Thubron - Journey into Cyprus
PG Wodehouse - Psmith, Journalist
PG Wodehouse - Ukridge
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein - The Final Days
I think I'm going to be reading these until Christmas.
Im also 6 days into an attempt to go without alcohol, cigarettes, fizzy drinks and talking about the weather. So far, the hardest of these has been the latter. It's been so cold these past few days. By 'talking about the weather', I don't mean discussing temperature, like I have just done above. What I'm trying to cut out is the act of walking into a house or room after being in the cold/rain/sun/snow/tornado and going "ooh, bloody hell it's cold" or "Jesus! it's freezing" or "fuck me it's cold" or "I don't think I've ever been so cold" etc etc etc. The others I'm doing OK with, but then, these feel like the longest 6 days of my life.
Across the bridge of many ways / run with the fox...
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