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.
I don’t mind the frisson of fear – without it, I might relapse into Kingoonya altogether.
One of the many great things about Australia is a genuine, if slightly abrasive egalitarianism.
Labour MPs should be swapped for migrants – and I’ll happily declare Tories, Scots Nats and entire marauding phalanxes of Pilates instructors stateless as well.
I’ll tell you one thing about Jeremy Clarkson. He always files on time and his spelling is immaculate.
Not many people realise how strong Buddhism is in contemporary Scotland, or that arguably the reason for this is topographic as much as spiritual.
“Suburban!” I expostulated. “That thing’s big enough to contain an entire suburb!”
The only possible course for the ethical meat-eater is to accept that our diet, in common with so many other of our lifestyle choices, is a matter of what we feel comfortable with, and to leave it at that.
It occurred to me that the only possible summation would be a paraphrase of Dr Johnson’s infamous remarks about female preachers, which is to say, I was amazed not so much by the Who playing well, as that they were capable of playing at all.
It’s an all-you-can-eat buffet and soup kitchen combined.
The question of whether being institutionalised helps the mentally ill cannot be engaged with on these terms. Being crowded together with a lot of distressed people is always distressing, no matter how sane you may be.
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