I twitter. If you wish to follow the meaningless twittering, you can do so here. All set? Super. I’m still not sure what it’s all about, but if it’s good enough for Keene and Lebbon, it’s good enough for me.
Tony Hart has died in his sleep, aged 83. If you grew up in the United Kingdom between the sixties and the nineties, then you grew up watch Hart scribbling and painting on the BBC like a childish, kindly uncle, sometimes talking to plasticine men, sometimes whitewashing live elephants, all in the name of inspiring kids to pick up a pen and draw. He was so convincing, even I tried it.
I was rubbish, and gave up immediately.
It’s a testament to Hart’s persona as a presenter that this didn’t stop me watching his art shows, because I still wanted to find out what he was going to do next.
A couple of new reviews which the Internet has alerted me to. The first, at Horror Drive in, is a lukewarm review of The Flesh Remembers, a PDF of which you can download for free on this site. I felt a little sad at the start, and wondered where I’ve been, but you can;t win them all. At least Mr Monge ultimately had a good time with the book. Funnily enough, my Dad also likes the short story ‘The Loch’ more than the novella The Flesh Remembers. It makes me glad I threw it in there.
The second review is of Short Trips: Transmissions, by blogger Louise Dennis, who gives a thorough overview of the book, and liked ‘Lonely’ a lot. Both reviewers reach sort of the same conclusion, in different ways. These are books you might enjoy. Give them a shot, why don’t you?
I’m getting a bit obsessed by running. On Saturday I was out in driving wind and rain, and bloody loved it. It’s easy to love running after the fact, when the achievement is achieved, and your legs don’t hurt anymore. Saturday, I think, is the first time I’ve been consciously aware of having a really good time while actually doing it.
Which is nice.