The newspapers I’d miss most were to leave London tomorrow are: The Telegraph on Saturday and the The Sunday Times.
Though neither is in the New York Times’s league for sheer size they can last all week. Strangely, or perhaps it is par for the course, both are associated with tyrannical press barons who traded in their first passports and wives–several wives in Rupert’s case–en route to the glittering heights. Any day now we’ll know if Lord Black will go to jail, and, if he does, it will be interesting to see if he undergoes any kind of conversion afterwards, like fellow Nixon biographer, Jonathan Aitken (a British politician whose downfall did not involve sex). And, at 76, Rupert’s days as a global mover and shaker are surely somewhat numbered.
The paper that doesn’t exist yet is the is the Weekend Compendium of the best articles from the previous week. The Week, which is a limited approximation, is enjoyable and I used to subscribe, but it’s a bit too much of a For Dummies guide — tasty but unsatisfying calories. I particularly enjoy the favourite book selections, where, each week, a different distinguished person describes their favourite books. I have accumulated a stack of clippings to scan and discard — representing an already lengthy list of books to read someday. If I could, I would consider subscribing to just that page. There’s something compelling about other people’s considered selections of a lifetime, especially when they contain glowing tributes to little known works of underrated writers, such as Patrick Hamilton, e.g., just to pick the latest such author I’ve read about (nice article here), alongside better known books.
I haven’t finished this week’s Telegraph, nor, in fact, last week’s. Meanwhile, here are my top three selections from the last Sunday Times. I’ll be back with the black pepper and the powdered wombat guts.
Starter: The best lobster in the world by Matt Rudd
Fundamentally, for all their foibles, it is impossible to dislike Americans.
Main Course: A fine piece by AA Gill
As usual, a worthy attack on a subject thoroughly deserving of assault and mockery, followed by a trenchantly funny critique of a nearby dim sum restaurant which I will now be sure to avoid.
Were I begrudger it would give me heartburn to think that an ability to write like Gill would effectively qualify me for free dinners for life. Sure, he’ll offered some overpriced or truly awful food now and then. He can be laceratingly witty when that happens, and the rest of the time, since the cosmos likes balance, he’ll either eat well or dine like a deity.
Not just is he entertaining but, as I’ve noted before, he dictates his articles. Presumably then, his rants are right first time. I knew someone who could dictate entire chapters of reports that were lucid and elegant and needed only the most trifling corrections. That was impressive. Gill is awesome. So this is on my read someday list, though it’s possible of much of it can be read here.
Dessert: A spot of mud over the left tyre and worse, in her Cassandra column by Ariel Leve
A small gem, best appreciated if you read her angst every week. I’m sure she received offers from foot fetishists, amateur pedicurists and podiatrists last week.
I hope these links will last as my newspapers will soon be recycled. I’ve had lobsta in New Hampsha but if I ever get to Maine (one of 6 states I’ve yet to visit) I’ll remember that there’s a place I want to go and that I posted a link to an article about it. (Just in case: It’s Nunan’s Lobster Hut).
Speaking of traveling, it is astonishing how pervasive the advice is in the British press these days about purchasing property overseas–in a country where some are starting to obsess about how many airmiles their imported vegetables have flown and in which strawberries go unpicked for the lack of immigrant labour to do the job. It seems more and more British are decamping to sunnier climes and being replaced by immigrants who don’t play cricket. There are now 400,000 Russians here according one weekend report! No wonder some politicians, including Gordon Brown, are mooting ideas of educating people about what it means to British and of a national day. Fools Russian where angels fear to tread.
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Thanks for those – some thought-provoking stuff.
I must say that I had never considered writing as a major pollutant of the planet before. But after reading that rant by AA Gill, I’m now convinced … !
Well, surely not writing so much as printing. After all, no trees were harmed in this correspondence. Not strictly true I know. I wonder if JK Rowling will pony up for some reforestation?