Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.
Come with me to my magical memory island. On second thoughts . . . just leave me alone
Chi-pôte-lay isn’t only frequently mispronounced. It’s also continuously misconceived.
I stand outside La Belle Équipe on the corner of the rue Faidherbe and the rue de Charonne staring down at the great tattered mess of handmade cards, poesies, rotting bouquets wrapped in cellophane.
My wife had booked us all in to a showing of the latest Bond film at the IMAX Cinema at the Trafford Centre. “Why the Trafford Centre?” I taxed her. She looked at me as if I were a complete ass, but refused to enlighten me.
Kulturkampf wing of the class cleansing directed by Gauleiter Osborne et al they may be, but there's something compelling about the bearded cereal poltroons.
I would argue that Spectre, despite all its aerial gymnastics, also has a subtext dug deeply into the built environment.
There should be some way of apprehending the wondrousness of even our most banal transports. The alternative is everyday murderousness.
Boris had a perfect grasp of the way to play the new-old game: develop a full-blown shtick-man of a caricature of yourself and use it to return all that’s smashed at you.
Who knows, if things keep on this way, Britain may well become the sort of country where the outcome of a televised baking competition becomes a matter of high social and political importance.
Lee is perhaps the most intelligent comedian ever to tread British boards.
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