On the train to Dorking I really got into James Rhodes’ Fire On All Sides – this is going to be a great read. I took a dozen books to the Oxfam bookshop and bought three (A Gate at the Stairs – Lorrie Moore, The King is Dead – Jim Lewis, and the non-fiction The Death of Expertise – Tom Nichols). I deserved the coffee and pain au chocolat at the very pleasant Dorking Deli. Incidentally there’s an amazing bike shop just a couple of doors down. Continue reading “Do I know you? & The man with a tail”
We were on our way for a walk along the Thames when a phone call brought the terrible news of an ex-colleague’s death. She had taken over my role when I retired. She wasn’t sure whether she was up to it and I also had my doubts – it was a sometimes technical role. But she accepted the position, and despite requiring my help every once in a while for the first couple of years – I don’t think she ever really mastered database queries – she was a success in the post. She was always bubbly and cheerful, which makes her taking her life all the more shocking and hard to comprehend. Things change, but I wish I could turn back the clock.
On a grey and windy day, some pictures from a morning visit to the National Trust’s Polesden Lacey. I’ve no idea who the gentleman in the hat is, but I liked his look. We took the tour, which was extremely interesting, before ambling through the rooms.
The Dawn Wall is a wonderful and astonishing documentary following the attempt to climb the Dawn Wall, a 3,000 foot rock face in Yosemite National Park.
Informative, exciting and emotional – don’t miss it. You can watch it on Netflix. Continue reading “The Dawn Wall”
See more of Chloe’s talents at thingschange.blog/artwork-by-chloe-iris/
Our last day in Scarborough and it’s a grey morning, to be followed by a wet afternoon. A stroll brought us to the Italian Gardens, to the bench where we scattered grandpa’s ashes, to a row of chalets crushed by the falling cliff top, and to the gallery of the quirky artist Tracy Savage.
Another grey day in Scarborough, hence the sixty minute bus ride to the charming market town of Pickering. The trip takes you round the houses, over country roads and through attractive villages. The village of Hutton Buscel (I call it Darcey Bussell!) is a particular favourite of mine.
What a great read this is! A violent, childhood-brutalised man, fumes in an American, snow-covered, rural town. Superb.
At the end of last year I read another of Russell Banks’s novels, Lost Memory of Skin, which I described as a fantastic novel about a young sex offender in America.
Clearly a writer I should read more of.