April 16th - April 22tnd 2007
Sunday Kew Gardens
Saturday Scoff
Friday Kew Gardens
Thursday Climate of fear
Wednesday Kew Gardens
Tuesday Phone for fish-knives
Monday Kew Gardens
Sunday 22nd April
Kew Gardens, Spring 2007
Saturday 21st April
Darren Campbell, Olympic gold medallist, confesses to the Independent that "After the Olympics, I came home and devoured a whole packet of Mr Kipling cherry Bakewells. I ate the box of six in a day."I can't say I'm over-impressed by his speed. I've been known to scoff a whole packet of Mr Kipling cherry Bakewells in just over ten minutes.
That's the problem with modern athletics: no ambition.
Friday 20th April
Kew Gardens, Spring 2007
Thursday 19th April
Speaking of global warming, the LRB has carried two excellent (long) pieces of analysis lately, both of which go a long way towards helping sort out the truth from amongst the corporate horseshit and/or hippie dipshit which elsewhere flavours this currently hot topic: The Political Economy of Carbon Trading by Donald MacKenzie, and Warmer, Warmer by John Lanchester.
An extract from the latter:
I don't think I can be the only person who finds in myself a strong degree of psychological resistance to the whole subject of climate change. I just don't want to think about it.
This isn't an entirely unfamiliar sensation: someone my age is likely to have spent a couple of formative decades trying not to think too much about nuclear war, a subject which offered the same combination of individual impotence and prospective planetary catastrophe...
Wednesday 18th April
Kew Gardens, Spring 2007
Tuesday 17th April
If you couldn't already guess just how uninterested I am in the love-life of the Heir to the Heir to the Throne, you might get a clue from the fact that I looked straight through the two head-shots on yesterday's front page of The Sun and read the headline ('TEARS IN THE ALPS') as a dire warning of yet another apocalyptic symptom of global-warming.
(Which is not to say I can't imagine some Willum-related headlines I could relate to, 'Prince Billy Bums Bar Boy at Boujis' being one.)
And wtf is all this sudden hoo-hah about whether Kate is just toooo middle-class? Narry a single criticism that I ever saw whilst they were still going out - and suddenly she's fair-game for every half-baked commentator and her cousin to trot out their tired Nancy-Mitford clichés.
I hope she knew what she was getting into when she first started dating him, because I very much doubt she knew what getting out of it would bring down on her pretty little head - unless, sweet thought, her rumoured Non-Disclosure Agreement came in response to a big fat cheque.
(Besides which, class is just So Fucking Yesterday; call me a metropolitan sophisticate but these days, if we worry about such things at all, we're far more likely to be speculating about somebody's country of origin than their class...)
Monday 16th April
Kew Gardens, Spring 2007
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