I've decided to start a separate blog for books and literary matters. My new Books Blog can easily be accessed on the bar at the top of this page.
The reason for having two separate blogs is that a literary blog requires a bit of discipline and order, whereas this one can be more eclectic. I've become increasingly envious of blogs that rant and opine, that think nothing of jumping from the worthy to the trivial, from great causes to personal gripes. I can do that, I thought, so here we are. I admit that I still don't quite have the courage to go completely outside my natural caution, not yet anyway, though that's partly to avoid offending friends. This may, of course, change if I fall out with any of them, for in truth I'm quite envious of bloggers who don't mind offending, but I've been brought up to be oblique in my insults as that way the stupid twerps may not understand them. Some blogs seem to smell of lavender (as in posts about lovely country walks) others of cannabis (where the words 'Tory scum' or similar must appear at least four times in every post). I am a devotee neither of lavender nor cannabis, though I grant the very occasional slight whiff of red wine might just come through if I'm writing late in the evening.
I suppose I had better think of something suitably controversial to set the ball rolling, and what could be more controversial a subject than grandmas? Whenever I walk past the Giles monument in Ipswich (for those who don't know, Giles, who worked from his studio in Ipswich, was a popular cartoonist who commented on current affairs through the medium of a family dominated by a formidable matriarch) I am instantly reminded of the striking similarity between his Grandma and my own. It is not such an incredible coincidence, because in those days a lot of grandmas looked like that. I think old-fashioned grandmas carried more respect, so my advice to modern grandmas would be to forget slimming classes and aerobics and get yourself a proper grandma outfit. If you can find a fox fur, all the better.
Here is my Grandma Williams, flanked by my dad, Uncle George and my mum. Below is the Giles monument in Ipswich.
The reason for having two separate blogs is that a literary blog requires a bit of discipline and order, whereas this one can be more eclectic. I've become increasingly envious of blogs that rant and opine, that think nothing of jumping from the worthy to the trivial, from great causes to personal gripes. I can do that, I thought, so here we are. I admit that I still don't quite have the courage to go completely outside my natural caution, not yet anyway, though that's partly to avoid offending friends. This may, of course, change if I fall out with any of them, for in truth I'm quite envious of bloggers who don't mind offending, but I've been brought up to be oblique in my insults as that way the stupid twerps may not understand them. Some blogs seem to smell of lavender (as in posts about lovely country walks) others of cannabis (where the words 'Tory scum' or similar must appear at least four times in every post). I am a devotee neither of lavender nor cannabis, though I grant the very occasional slight whiff of red wine might just come through if I'm writing late in the evening.
I suppose I had better think of something suitably controversial to set the ball rolling, and what could be more controversial a subject than grandmas? Whenever I walk past the Giles monument in Ipswich (for those who don't know, Giles, who worked from his studio in Ipswich, was a popular cartoonist who commented on current affairs through the medium of a family dominated by a formidable matriarch) I am instantly reminded of the striking similarity between his Grandma and my own. It is not such an incredible coincidence, because in those days a lot of grandmas looked like that. I think old-fashioned grandmas carried more respect, so my advice to modern grandmas would be to forget slimming classes and aerobics and get yourself a proper grandma outfit. If you can find a fox fur, all the better.
Here is my Grandma Williams, flanked by my dad, Uncle George and my mum. Below is the Giles monument in Ipswich.
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