The days spent dreaming of a future
And say then, that was my life.
For the days are long –
From the first milk van
To the last shout in the night,
An eternity. But the weeks go by
Like birds; and the years, the years
Fly past anti-clockwise
Like clock hands in a bar mirror
J.P. Donleavy’s Dublin, by Derek Mahon
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It’s all there in black and white.
I’d been looking forward to visiting the Grand Palais in Paris last November, to see Noir et Blanc, a black-and-white photography exhibition, but the virus, of course, put paid to that. The exhibition never even opened. Now it’s been relaunched online, and a fine job they’ve made of it. A €4 ticket allows you to … Continue reading “It’s all there in black and white.”
Our Intangible Cultural Heritage
It has been a quiet week, so, in a desperate attempt to hold your attention, I will start with some vulgarity. For thirty years, the writer Iain Pattinson, who died last Sunday, wrote scripts for the presenters of Radio 4’s I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue. His scripts, described by presenter Humphrey Lyttleton as ‘blue-chip … Continue reading “Our Intangible Cultural Heritage”
Where angels fear to tread
Walking down the street the other day, I felt a familiar pressure under my left foot. Merde! At that precise moment, I’d have happily signed a decree authorising the public execution of every dog-owner within a hundred kilometres. As I morosely slid the sole of my shoe backwards and forwards on a nearby patch of … Continue reading “Where angels fear to tread”
