William Boyd, Any Human Heart

I gather that they are making a film about this, so glad I got in first.  Basically, a game of two halves, held together with a weird Bondsian interlude in the middle.  Astonishingly believable, and rather upsetting in a way, although anyone would give their eye-teeth to end up like Logan Mountstuart, pottering about France with a couple of dogs for company.

Another plus, a lot of worrying about money and the day-to-day, to balance all the walk on parts by Hemingway, Fleming, etc. etc. (though we all love to name drop).

There's even an index.

Would read more Boyd if the covers didn't have his name plastered across them in the same way.

Scott Pilgrim Vs The World

A increasingly rare trip to the cinema by myself (found myself almost at sixth-form levels of embarrassment finding a seat, etc.), essentially because I thought 'what the hell, let's see what's on'.

Turns out there was something starring the likeable chump from Superbad (Michael Cera) and written/produced/directed by Wells' finest (sister-in-law excepted), Edgar Wright.  His first Hollywood vehicle seemed well formed, and he must now be seen as the Starsailor side of the Verve/Starsailor equation in relation to Spike Jonz.

But it did mix a clever amount of sincerity, and perhaps a way past irony, etc., in the comic book self-referential form.  A homage to David Foster Wallace, perhaps.

I am also reading Any Human Heart, which has managed to get its hooks into me - indeed, I can't remember being so affected, not since Gilead.

Electric Counterpoint, Asphodel Meadows, Carmen

At the Royal Opera House.  The secret to a good ballet, as well as Sarah Lamb, I've discovered, is not just the ballet, but booking a meal during the interval in the Balcony restaurant.

Couldn't quite work out why the critics disliked the Carmen so much (too slight, despite the crude jerky movement?), thought the second piece very mature for a 24-year old, and impressed by the first one; although the promise of the projection wasn't perhaps explored enough?

Sus

A film, which everyone said was too stagey (without saying that this actually worked very well for the subject matter).  Liked it because someone I know was the assistant director, and also liked it in a gloomy way because it was the day after the election.  It all seemed worryingly prescient.  Let's hope not.

Bike Snob

Currently, an old Etonian is driving towards Downing Street.  I'm sure he's not a snob.  However, I have just finished, in a couple of short chomps, Bike Snob.

You probably know the blog, and if you don't you should.  There are nice stickers (one is now on my bike), some excellent illustrations, and an altogether well-put together feel - as it should be for BSnobNYC's book.

More than that, it's a great read, probably the perfect introduction to cycling for the neophyte.  And what's more, contains some of the best short bits of prose on why cycling is so great.  Bike Snob is revealed as a softie at heart.

Doug Cowie, Owen Noone and the Marauder

 

An amiable book, in many senses.  Tested by water and fire, Owen and his new just out of college friend form a band based on the Lomax songbook, and in a road trip/buddie movie/rock novel, travel coast to coast in Marauder's first-person memoir of a late friendship.

Good on lots of counts; it's understated, and the things it states seem pretty truthful, not least Marauder's difficulty in finding the right things to say or how to feel what he's feeling; it makes you want to see Owen Noone and the Marauder live; and the trajectory of fame, and expected bottom-of-bin status, is nicely done, too.  Great final sentence, something which defeats most novelists, and scoops the award for best use of babushka doll metaphor in literary history.

Museum of Everything, Primrose Hill

This was clearly  mis-selling.  There was at least a kitchen sink missing, but what you do get is a warming, creepy, cluttered, obsessed, and fascinating collection of 'Outside Art', which no doubt has phds about it aplenty.  This show was 'Secret Art'.  All the kind of naive, slightly dowdy stuff that worms its way inside your head; and sadly seems to have informed the Innocent Drinks and all those adverts making use of drawings and doodles at the end of the Great Boom, c. 2007.

Nice offbeat labels, with digs at Hampstead types, neat comments from the bestest still going artist (Ed Ruscha), albeit with wrong apostrophes in decades...  Rambling overwarm building was perfect, and the crowd had hipsters, oldsters, posh toddlers, and artsy girls milling around to add to the effect.  Sadly, the fairground thing wasn't working.  The Revd.' s chapel was perfect, though. And there was even a tea lady and china cups and saucers at the end.  I may be back to have a Rich Tea and some Yorkshire tea at some point.