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World's End by TC Boyle. It's 1968 and Walter van Brunt is doing some standard carefree hippy shit: caning a few beers at a local b...

It was our tenth wedding anniversary at the weekend so Hazel and I managed to wangle a quick break away (specifically, away from the kids, ...

But what, you'll have been thinking, has been going on in the spicy noodle arena? We don't seem to have heard about that for a whil...

The Other by Thomas Tryon. The small town of Pequot Landing, Connecticut, seems like an idyllic place for a family to live, especially two ...

Every day, as I was saying only recently on Twitter , is a school day. And so I'd like to share with you a thing I learnt today as some ...

As well as traumatising and maiming small children by throwing balls at them and menacing them with bits of wood, the easing of lockdown ru...

It's been delightful, over the past few weekends, as COVID-19 lockdown restrictions ease, to be able to meet up with extended family aga...

A couple of follow-up observations on earlier posts: Firstly, I notice that politicians continue to embarrass themselves by attempting to i...

The Tears Of The Giraffe  post reminded me of a thing I mentioned on Twitter a while back: the difficulty of accurately categorising (in ter...

Tears Of The Giraffe by Alexander McCall Smith. Precious Ramotswe is a woman of unusual talents. She runs her own detective agency in Gabor...

Brick Lane by Monica Ali. Nazneen was born in fairly unpromising circumstances in a Bangladeshi village in the late 1960s, and, being prema...

Leaving The Atocha Station by Ben Lerner. Adam Gordon. He's a poet. And he doesn't know it! No, actually he totally does know it, b...

You may recall that after the death of John le Carré in December 2020 I did a bit of retrospective rearranging of the curse list as a coupl...