Dear Reader, as you may be aware, April is National Shit Haiku Month. Who knows from whence these notions emerge? They are rumoured to rise out of the amber east, from gloried, morning dreams. I've heard it said that they are of the lozenged ether and this I am happy to believe. I don't recall … Continue reading Mikado Spittle.
The summer he left school, Nick worked Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays at his uncle’s pet food shop in Middleton, the main thrust of which was chopping and bagging frozen blocks of tripe. Of an evening he walked the woods behind his parents' house for an hour with a German Shepherd who answered to the name of … Continue reading The Orwell Fiction.
Letter to The Times Sir - I cannot abide the slender new volume, The Selected Gush (1880-1910). But, who among us, in all honesty, could say they've never once been smitten by her louche, languid lines of lust (described in this very journal as 'fin de siècle erotica')? No! Neither I! I've annotated her verse … Continue reading The Selected Gush (1880-1910)
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