There was a tiny wash of rain this week. Barely enough to wet the ground and fill the air with the blessed scent of petrichor. But it was a moment of respite from this seemingly never-ending dry spell. C and I have already started rethinking some of the garden planting, embracing the idea of more drought-resistant varieties. In our runway of a plot, marching watering cans up and down for hours on end is not the best way to spend our time. We’ve already had to sacrifice some planters, and hope that the new border C planted up this year will be able to cope until the winter, after which it should be able to look after itself a bit more.
However, the tomatoes, squash and cucumbers are happy as anything, and we’re enjoying the slightly illicit thrill of poaching blackberries from the brambles looming over from next door’s garden. It’s a fruitful time, if nothing else, and helps us to spend more time outdoors, off our screens, awash in sunlight.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Maxwell’s Demon by Steven Hall. A bizarre but fascinating metafictional construct masquerading as a novel. A treatise on entropy, the nature of time and our perception of it with a literary mystery pulling the whole shebang together. Funnier than it sounds, but very aware of its own cleverness. And the footnotes, designed to look like falling leaves, are effectively unreadable.
Rob is watching…
The Commonwealth Games. A cut-down version, after Canada decided not to host because of the cost and Glasgow stepped in last minute. Ten disciplines instead of the usual eighteen, no free-to-air live coverage and a rotten scheduling decision which put it three weeks before the European Championships. Therefore, a lot of the big names bowed out, holding their fire for the big show. It should be a bust, but of course there’s plenty to watch and enjoy. The swimming, cycling and track events have been full of thrills, drama and stunning reversals of fortune. Much more fun than the W*rld C*p, if I’m honest. See you in Birmingham!
Rob is listening…
I put together a playlist for Pal Jillian’s birthday which, for reasons neither she nor I can properly explain, became a dive into jungle, garage, drum-and-bass and rave tracks I enjoyed back in the day. The anomaly in the list is this banger from Shakedown, more of a four-to-the-floor room-filler, but it has all the bounce I need to get me going on a Saturday morning.
Rob is eating…
Random thought. I saw a sign this week advertising ‘salty popcorn’. I immediately misread this as ‘balti popcorn’ and man, I could go for some curry-spiced cronchies right now. Perfect with an ice-cold IPA, amirite?
(yes, I know, I appreciate this is probably already an Indian thing, so feel free to jeer at Uncle Unconnected over here).
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
I just thought this was hilarious. I’m sure the millennials have plenty of opinions on how Gen Xers like me communicate in the virtual realm. ‘Virtual realm’ is probably a signifier all by itself. Put the keyboard down, grandad.
Two Renaissance painters spent decades struggling to prove that their work was their own. Why? Well, thanks to the same old nonsense which has held back civilisation since the beginning—that one half of the human race is inherently more capable at certain tasks than the other. Unfortunately the one aspect in which this is undeniably true is part of the reason for the repression.
Another one from History Is Punk, in which we meet the leader of France’s most successful resistance spy network during WW2. A consummate organiser, team leader and ferocious fighter.
Finally, in this week’s performative male allyship section—Death pants. Death pants. I bet they don’t even have pockets. FFS.
Some great archival pics from photographer and designer Steve Cook, taken at Gary Numan’s farewell gig as Tubeway Army in 1980. There’s a clear line into the gleeful excesses of the New Romantics on display but really, this is all just a great example of kids finding their tribe, experimenting, dressing up and having fun. I love this.
Neal Stephenson on the benefits of writing a novel by hand, and the best tools for the job. I’ve never really done this, apart from the occasional scribbled note in whatever pad comes to hand. Although, thinking about it, all my EDC bags have pens and notebooks tucked into a pocket. Perhaps I should give it a try. Any excuse to dig out one of my fountain pens…
A great primer on how to sympathetically render dialogue in comics when your character has a distinctive but—let’s say idiosyncratic way of talking. This approach works really well, I think.
Ian Fleming’s daily schedule. I could happily live like that.
I’m going to bang on a bit more about this particular subject next week (sorry) as it’s pertinent to my professional interests. It’s interesting how one movie has suddenly got people talking about considerations in aspect ratio and how films are framed. Particularly as it seems if you want the full picture, you’ll have to hoof it to a more expensive big screen.
I’m sure you’ve all seen the piece in question, and there are already backlashes to the backlash in place. Nevertheless, as a fan of great critical takedowns, I found Emily Wilson’s excoriation of the movie based on her translation of a three-thousand-year old text is as deliciously salty as the wine-dark sea.
In conclusion…
Let’s finish with a bit of Pulp, live in Reading in 2011. No idea why this song popped into my head this week, but it and the extended (ahem) Outro is delightfully prog-adjacent. Different feel to the bouncy dance track above, but equally full of sunshine.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
EXCUSES AND HALF TRUTHS 