The Swipe Volume 1 Chapter 44
It’s coming. You can smell it, all clove and cinnamon, goose fat and sage, pine and wood smoke. You can see it in every string of lights draped across house fronts, in the reflections of trimmed trees in shop windows. You can hear it, in the way tunes are made seasonal with the addition of sleigh bell samples, in the groan when an unsuspecting victim gets Whamageddoned (my Waterloo was early this year as a rickshaw span past blaring the song while we were looking at the deccoes in the fashion district round Bond and South Molton Streets—a literal drive-by).
However the season hits you, I hope it’s gentle and easy and warm and sweet. Something a little different next week, as I issue an Annual Report, which will include a couple of short stories from me to ease you through Betwixtmas. I always bang on about being a writer. Here comes the proof.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Re-reading, sure, but it’s hard to stress just how relevant Joe Sacco’s Palestine remains, especially now. A massively influential epic of comics journalism, his warped lens and brutally self-aware analysis (Joe is extremely hard on himself, painting a portrait of the artist as a young misanthrope) build into a picture of a land which will, as far as I can tell, never properly be at peace. Honestly, a must read.
Rob is watching…
Paramount Plus, currently offering a deal for new subscribers at half price. A little under three quid a month for all the Star Trek I can eat. Make it goddam so!
Rob is listening…
To my bespoke, years-in-the-making carefully curated Christmas playlist. I’m sure a lot of you have one, or at least a song you like to play first thing on X-Day. If you’d like to soundtrack your morning The Wickings Way, the rules are simple. Play the first two songs on the list (Bruce as an opener is non-negotiable) then shuffle as you like. Note there’s no Mariah, no Elton, No George and Andy, no Slade, no Wizzard and absolutely no Cliff. We can do better.
Rob is eating…
Monica Galetti’s Palusami, as an excuse to get shot of the huge bag of Cavolo Nero which turned up in the veg box. Good with chicken swapped out for the fish, too, although that smoky creamy flavour from the mackerel is a joy for this greedy boy.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Magical cop coffee. The way TV cops will always roll into the office or join a stakeout with exactly the right order of caffeinated beverage in big go-cups for their co-workers. I noticed it while watching and enjoying Vigil, then Brooklyn Nine-Nine and now it jumps out at me in every cop show I come across. I guess it’s so prevalent in the set-up to a scene it simply goes un-noticed. Unless you’re a freak like me.
I am delighted to announce that, following lengthy negotiations with my parents with whom I shall be spending X-Day, no sprouts will sully our dinner table. Why let tradition stand in the way of a nice meal? There is one place for the vile cruciferous orb, and that is as the punchline to a Christmas prank. Judy Brown on Instagram takes things to a new tier of villainy.
In which five writers, including one Hollywood A-lister, write a short story on a napkin. You can, if you’re feeling lazy, click through to a plain text version, but I like the work involved in deciphering the original. The medium is, after all, the message.
Time to give the brain a little workout. I loved this piece on the Dynomight Substack regarding Pierre Bourdieu’s Theory of Taste, and how what we like defines our place on the social scale. Can’t say I’m convinced, but it’s food for thought while you’re eyeing up the Ferraro Rocher and hoping they have not been tainted with evil intent.
I get Christmas ghost stories, but the trend for cosy crime at this time of year seems to be a more recent trope. I do, that being said, enjoy the BBC run of classic Agatha Christie adaptations which appear around Betwixtmas (the latest, Murder Is Easy, looks splendid). I guess we like a bit of darkness amidst all the sparkle and glitter.
Dolly Parton on David Letterman’s chat show in a reindeer outfit. That’s it. That’s the post.
I came across Invitation by Mary Oliver this week, a poem of such stark beauty that it stopped me in my tracks. Possibly one to revisit come the New Year when our thoughts turn more easily to the concept of change but for now, please, let this one speak to you in whatever voice you choose.
This Fresh Morning In The Broken World
Following on from the recent test on the limits of religious freedom expression from the Satanic Temple in Iowa, here’s a good reason to love and support the National Railroad Museum in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Open, honest inclusion beats culture war foolishness hands down every time.
You have to admire the ambition and invention in the sadly failed collaboration between a radical theatre company and the makers of Pokémon Go but honestly, I can see why it would all fall apart. The concept is brilliant but sadly the public would just ruin it. We’re not good enough for this level of cool.
A long read from Michael Gerber at The American Bystander on death and history and tradition and the joy of a good cigar. Tobacco is not a vice I picked up but honestly, based on this, I’m tempted to give a good cigar a try.
Last up. Perhaps a bit too late to order for Christmas, but I can see the need for this item only becoming more urgent as we roll into 2024. Go ahead. Treat yourself.
We Outro, as is becoming a habit on the last post before X-Day, with a song which is a favourite but seems to have dropped right out of the standard rotation. I guess it’s a little too chilly and sharp for modern sensibilities. TLC have loved Greg Lake’s bleak, proggy contrarianism since we were kids. I urge you to give it a chance.
I wish you a hopeful Christmas. I wish you a brave new year.
See you in seven, true believers. Merry X-Day!
