Occasionally a blog comes up that is so good that any comment is inadequate. One such is Tom Clark's, from whom I have learnt, among other things, about the works of Curzio Malaparte. This piece on Girls in the Wheatfields I found almost unbearably horrible.
Phil Hall, long the enfant terrible of the Guardian's Poem of the Week, runs an entertaining blog called Donkeyshott and Xuitlacoche, and has been generous enough to supply this list of traditional Christmas carols.
John Wells ran a very funny column a few days ago on Steve Bell's Geordie Royalty: "Ahse o' Windsor is too bleedin' poncey this day n' age"
"Ah should fackin' coco!"
Finally you will indulge me if I mention the beautiful and talented Marie-Claire at Thursday's Child: the diary of a ballerina.
On Saturday I spent a few hours in a room full of nerdy fans at Reading Library for a celebration of the works of H.P Lovecraft. I found myself 25 years back in time when I too was a geeky attender of wargame and fantasy conventions. Lovecraft himself was a strange and misanthropic creature but a horror writer of no small talent. If you have not read 'The Call of Cthulhu' or 'At the Mountains of Madness' I recommend them. Here is an animated version of one of his short stories.
Anyway, during the break I repaired to the Hobgoblin for a pint of winter ale and a crafty snout and got chatting outside to a small man with two Patterdale terriers: working dogs as he cheerfully admitted. Apart from the regulation 100+ rats that week his dogs had also brought down a Roe deer: 'Clamped its fuckin' win'pipe n wouldn' ge' off - 'ad to finish the poor fucker meself.' I pointed out mildly that the law now forbade that sort of thing. He snorted and spat. 'Te' you wha', if the fuckin' ol bill think they can take me dogs I'll go down the fuckin' station and kick off proper, I'm tellin ya.'
A passing old lady smiled and made to pet one of the Patterdales. 'One thin' I fuckin' 'ate is some nosy ol' cunt starin' at me dogs.' he muttered after she had gone. His speech and intonation patterns were utterly fascinating; I made a surreptitious recording, which I shall transcribe for posterity.
© Simon M Hunter 2010