The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 25
These are the strange times. The dog days. Summer is in full swing, yet at the time of writing (Thursday afternoon, a quiet time after work, TLC working away upstairs, Millie in the conservatory snoozing while pretzeling herself into increasingly impossible contortions) it is wet and windy and—well, a bit blah, frankly. Post-anniversary blues, I suppose, with our next break a whole (checks diary) SIX WEEKS AWAY! How are we to cope? When shall we breathe fresh Northern air again?
Oh well, at least the roads are quiet.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Winchelsea by Alex Preston. Described on the back cover blurb as ‘Daphne duMaurier meets Quentin Tarantino’, the story of the feisty Goody Brown and her adventures amongst the smugglers of the Kent coast in the 1760s is a heady rush, based in part on real thugs and villains who haunted the area. It’s a lot of improbable, violent fun, with some insane heel-turns in tone and plot. A proper holiday read—with a glass of rum to hand, of course.
Rob is watching…
The Olympics, naturally. We’ve taken a subscription to Discovery Plus out at a discounted rate to keep up with the action. A very pleasing way to spend summer evenings, even if events are just noodling away in the background while we get on with other tasks (with the occasional break to whoop and holler at an especially thrilling race result). Can’t wait to see what the Breaking looks like…
Rob is listening…
To a new musical genre which came to its inventor in a dream. I’m having a play myself in Logic Pro. It’s surprising how much you can do with a tune in 5/4 time at 212bpm.
Rob is eating…
I made a chili for the first time this year on Wednesday—I guess the changeable weather put me in the mood for a warming spicy stew.. Highly inauthentic, my method would be frowned at from San Jacinto to Salamanca. Don’t care. Chile ingles has its place. Pork and beef mince, chorizo, a pepper, beans, cumin, chilli and coriander and passata. With tortillas, cheese, salsa and avocado, it brought the sunshine to a damp evening. More importantly, I made a vat full, so there’s plenty for when the cooler weather really shows up.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
My new writing chair, which we’re calling TLC’s anniversary gift to me. Comfy, stylish, and an excellent reason to sit at my desk and bang out wordcount instead of doomscrolling in an armchair once I get in from work. Money well spent. Don’t ever underspend on furniture you plan to spend a lot of time in. Trust me, your back and bum will thank you.
I dunno if anyone is still grumbling about LED lightbulbs. If anyone in your circle is, show them this article. We were victims of a huge scam for decades.
Yes, alright, another huge scam.
Pete Wells, the food critic of the New York Times, is hanging up his pad and pen this summer. In tribute, the NYT has put together a list of his best reviews. I don’t think you can do any better than Pete’s joyful paean to a joint I certainly plan to visit should I make it to the Big Apple again anytime soon. Yes, I will be ordering the Chester. Always go for the patty melt if it’s on offer.
We shouldn’t say goodbye to Pete without taking a look at his last ever column for the NYT, in which he explores how restaurants have changed in his 12 years in the game. Spoiler alert, he’s not a fan of QR codes or online booking. I can’t say he’s wrong.
There will be another version of the Dracula story out this Christmas (the Nosferatu name was nothing more than an attempt to swerve copyright demands from the Stoker estate, don’t assume there’s any movement off the rails of the well-worn plot track) and to be honest I’m a little bored with the whole thing. Yeah yeah plague metaphor yeah yeah fear of the unknown blah blah xenophobia yes fine I get it. Francis Ford Coppola made the definitive version. There’s nothing more to be said.
Frankenstein, however, somehow stays fresh and relevant. The OG SF tale of artificial life still speaks to us today, reflecting our inner turmoil and need to belong, to be loved, to be recognised as our own person, transcending our creator and other people’s perceptions of what we should be.
It Is True, We Shall be Monsters
The purest of pure animations, a glorious dance of colour, form and music made in the most direct way possible. The technique Norman McLaren pioneered is exacting and challenging , and it’s crazy hard to get the results you expect. Witness a wild kind of magic, ignoring everything written in stone about film production and giving the scene a little bit of jazz, baby.
I have been an acolyte of Gillian Anderson since she strode into our lives as the earnest, truth-seeking Dana Scully, and she is one of the lucky actresses with a spot in my Crush Files. She continues to amaze, delight and inspire and oh stop it you know what I mean. Was I conflicted with her portrayal of Margaret Thatcher in season four of The Queen? Yes, I was. Did I find a way to resolve it? Yes, I did and let’s move on.
My fascination with The Bear continues unabated, as I raise a quizzical eyebrow to the critics decrying season three and wonder if they were watching the same show I was. In particular, I loved the way the show talks about service, and how in the context of fine dining it’s almost more important than the food. I’ve eaten at two Michelin two-starred restaurants in my time, and I still think more about the front-of-house action than the food. Yes, everything we ate on those two occasions was extraordinary, delicious, palate-educating. But it was enjoyed in an atmosphere where we were instantly made to feel welcome, at home, appreciated.
This is something Will Guidara knows all about.
While we’re on the subject, allow me to recommend a Netflix doco on a pair of sibling eateries, which is properly vocal in celebrating the staff who make both joints so successful. A gentle nudge to watch if you’ve been distressed by events regarding immigration ‘protests’ this week—we need these folk, and it’s about time their hard work, heart and tenacity were not just recognised but applauded.
I bought a bottle of Fernet-Branca earlier in the year, and I’m too scared to open it. Similarly, I can see me putting down cash on a bottle of Massachusetts’ favourite poison and have it glowering from the back of the drinks cabinet a year later. The evil version feels like a step too far. And yet, you know, in the right place at the right time—who knows?
One last thing. You may have noticed that Banksy has been throwing up works in a frenzy this week all over London. I am delighted to note that the most recent, in my beloved Walthamstow, is above the chippy C and I regularly frequented for the ten years we lived at the top of the High Street. That’s two Banksy works in my former and present home town. People will start to talk…
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c20l71yyxp1o
C and I used to be big Maria McKee fans, her first solo album on almost constant rotation. As is the way with obsessions, Maria slipped away a bit, only to slide back into our lives this month. For once, the Spotify algorithm did a good thing.
I was instantly reminded how much I loved her difficult, abrasive and bone-china brittle third album, Life Is Sweet. Absolutely Barking Stars is the highlight, built to holler in floods of tears while cranked guitars rage and squall behind her. I love this live version, raw and bloody as a skinned knee. It’s alright. We know what we are.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
