How will anyone know?

Like many people my age, I was very sad to hear of Whitney Houston's death. It seems ridiculous being really upset all week about the premature death of someone you never even knew,  but the voice is so familiar, and such a long background soundtrack to people's lives, that you can't help feeling like something... Continue Reading →

The ballerina Marianela Nunez was in Trevor Sorbie this morning, having her nails done. First, I saw a bright pink trainer walk past me; it barely seemed to touch the ground, moving along on springs, rather like people do in Nike ads. The way she walked, and her absolutely emaciated frame, made it very obvious she... Continue Reading →

The Germans – almost always the baddies

Another night in the giant multiplex at Westfield, watching Sherlock Holmes. In the first few frames of the movie, I see that familiar gothic typeface, known in Germany as Frakturschrift, and my heart sinks. The scene is Strasbourg in 1891, and the German inscription says something like "1. Jubiläum Elsaß-Lothringen" - which means "first anniversary... Continue Reading →

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