A rough week on the Day Job, for reasons it would be unwise to go into here. The latest bout of annoyance has had an upside, if you can put it that way—I am awake before sunrise today, plying my Swipery while the trees at Copse End slowly emerge out of the night into the soft blue of dawn. All is quiet part from birdsong. It’s a nice time to be up and about. I might need a nap later today, though.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Lots to see and do this week, so let’s crack on. C and I are away for a few days for to celebrate her birthing-time anniversary (they should really come up with a better term for that) so I honestly have no idea what foolishness you’ll get in the next chapter. I’ll try to resist a gardening update but so much is growing right now, youse guys.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
The Ides Of March are upon us. Death to all tyrants! Rise, citizens, like the flood of Biblical times, and wash away the corruption spreading over our land. Let those who think themselves untouchable understand, at the last, that true power comes from unity of the righteous against oppression!
Also this week: owls, gherkins and a sufficiency of prog.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
One of those weeks where celebrity deaths come in threes. Questions are beginning to be raised as to the suspicious ends of Gene Hackman, his wife and dog, while Roberta Flack’s onward transition was met with universal sadness and the inevitable BBC4 documentary. Meanwhile the Oscars staff are no doubt scrambling to update their In Memorium section before tomorrow.
For me, though, the passing of Henry Kelly hit hardest. I was interviewed by him for BBC Berkshire back when I was collaborating on zombie anthologies—the newsworthy connection came from my pal Rob generating a preparedness plan should Z-Day hit Reading. Henry was slightly baffled by the whole thing but charming and funny throughout. As a fan of Going For Gold when I was a student, it was a wildly weird but entirely cool moment for me to chat to him about prepping The Oracle against an incursion from the living dead.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
I keep coming back to this Bon Appetit clip featuring the boss of Una Pizza in New York, Anthony Mangieri. His process, his insistence on ferocious control of ingredients and technique when it comes to a meal of very humble origins fascinate me. Seriously, dude, get another dough chef on the line.
Pizza is turning into a bit of an obsession, with it landing for dinner in our house more and more regularly. Specifically, a seafood pizza, which seems to be tricky to get if you go out. Tuna, prawns and mussels is a favourite. It’s all about the dough, though, and I’ve been playing around. Nothing like Anthony’s careful tweaks with different flours and hydration ratios. I use the pizza setting on my 30-year old Panasonic bread maker to make a simple dough with type-00 flour, and let it sit in the fridge overnight. That slow ferment means it comes out lively, bubbly and flavoursome, ready to blast in a hot oven under cheese and a homemade tomato sauce (more below). It’s a good way to decompress and eat something good on a Friday night.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
The first great retail opportunity since X-Day has landed, and on a Friday too, so let’s make a weekend of it. I treated us to an excellent meal deal from M&S which included coquille St. Jacques, prawn and salmon on croute with smashed basil potatoes and chocolate and caramel pots alongside a rather nice bottle of Italian rosé for £25 quid. Plenty of folks are hopefully out helping restaurants and card shops stay afloat over the next couple of days. C and I, as you know are quiet and retiring types. Not for us the crush and hustle of V-Day dining. Like the saintly George said, it’s cold out there but it’s warm in bed. Hope you get a chance to put a little love in your life, even if it’s just honouring yourself with a little treat.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
We got through it, Readership. The first 57 days of January 2025 are finally over and we can get ourselves in shape for the challenges of the next four years. Were you dry? Did you vegan? Is there an untouched gym membership somewhere in your everyday carry, which will glare accusingly at you until you finally give up on it sometime in June? I did none of those things—in fact you could describe my January activity as barely there. However, I have been busy in my head, thinking, mapping, planning. The dark days of January are perfect for preparatory actions, readying for the swing of the season, waiting for the times when I will be woken by the sunrise rather than the buzz of an alarm. Tananarive Due has some advice for these pre-spring days, which resonated with me for all sorts of reasons.
I shouldn’t be focussing on the fall from grace of a certain British fantasy writer given the events looming this coming Monday in Washington, but hey, any distraction from the imminent end of all things is welcome.
The report in this week’s New York magazine on his alleged coercive and abusive behaviour is, of course, pretty bloody horrible—I couldn’t finish the article. The inevitable half-hearted mea culpa and denial has been issued from the Tower Of Dreams, to general eye-rolling and declarations of boycotts.
However things happened, and even if events didn’t roll out as reported (gentle reminder to all that at Excuses And Half Truths we always believe the women), the writer in question has suffered pretty irreparable reputational damage. I’m sure His Nibs will take this whole things as a fine excuse to comfortably retire, crying himself to sleep on a mattress stuffed with cash.
But why should we be bothered? Artists have always been notoriously revolting. I don’t recall seeing the cancel notice on Lord Byron getting much traction, despite the crap he put his lovers through. Ted Hughes was a fucking monster. Francis Bacon? Don’t get me started. I believe in separating the art from the artist, but then I don’t have Sandman-themed sleeve tattoos that probably look a bit silly now.
Look, it’s your call. Base your response to this whole sordid affair on which elements of reportage you choose to believe. If you feel you can’t read his books anymore, that’s completely fine. I’d offer a caveat—his comics are collaborative works, the product of hard graft from a cohort of incredibly talented people. And that universe continues, guided by other equally gifted writers who don’t deserve to be caught in the blowback.
Here we are now. Welcome to Volume 3 of The Swipe, which to celebrate the new year features absolutely no changes to format, style or content. However, this first chapter is a bumper offering, as we always believe in value for money. Even more so as the sticker price on your Saturday Soaraway Swipe is bupkiss, nix, nada and niente. You lucky punters.
Before we get into it, I wanted to share Jason Chatfield’s take on the way cartoons serve as an early warning alert for incoming censorious regimes. Start with the funnies and see if anyone notices.
in an unrelated update, I have cancelled my Washington Post subscription.
EXCUSES AND HALF TRUTHS 