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The World Snooker Championship is on again, which means it's time for some pointless bitching about how the scoring system is all wrong...

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. So there's been a global pandemic of an airborne flu-like viral disease. I mean, stop me if y...

Same as last time , just a few follow-up thoughts after the last book review :  Firstly, I follow Flags Mashup Bot on Twitter because I hav...

The City & The City by China Miéville. Evenin' all. The name's Borlú: Inspector Tyador Borlú of the Extreme Crime Squad. Yeah, ...

A couple of quick follow-ups (follows-up?) to the My Abandonment post : You'll recall my slight bafflement at the odd but pivotal episo...

My Abandonment by Peter Rock. Caroline's Mum has died, so now she lives with her father. Not that unusual, of course. And where do they...

When She Woke by Hillary Jordan. Hannah Payne is red. It's not a metaphor, still less a touch of sunburn, but instead evidence that she...

Nostromo by Joseph Conrad. Welcome to the Republic of Costaguana, in some fictional South American location but most likely somewhere on the...

Never let it be said that Electric Halibut doesn't surf the bleeding edge of the Zeitgeist; as if to prove that point today's post i...

So, do you want to know my Wordle score? I absolutely  know that you don't, and as it happens that's just as well, as I've neve...

It's been a scarcely-believable fourteen years since this post about odd sporting clichés, so it's probably about time we set our s...

Master Georgie by Beryl Bainbridge. That's Mr., or perhaps even Dr., George Hardy to you - man of many talents, principally photographe...

The Hydrogen Sonata by Iain M Banks. There comes a time in every major civilisation's life when you sit back and think: hey, we've ...