The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 9
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.
Rob is reading…
A Thousand Feasts by Nigel Slater. Not, perhaps, the best choice of bedroom reading as our Nige goes hard on luminous descriptions of his foodie adventures across the globe—and sweetly, puts his cards on table for the perfection of the simple bag of plain crisps.
Mmm, crisps.
But the commonplace-book aesthetic, which means each chapter runs for barely a page, is utterly addictive, keeping me reading for just one more just one more just one more. This may be his greatest work and there’s barely a recipe in it.
Rob is watching…
tv.garden is the natural succcessor to radio.garden, the service which allowed you to drop in on streaming radio services around the globe. You can probably guess what this new project offers. I am very fond of the Eastern European turbo-folk stations. Like a double espresso injected straight into the eyeball. Boy, that’s refreshing.
Rob is listening…
Pal Jillian and I have swapped playlists over the past couple of weeks. They were created with the mindset of a good old-fashioned mixtape with a beginning, middle and end. I wanted something for the drive down to Somerset, and she delivered in spades. There’s a story in here, if you care to listen out for it. Best played on an open road at—well, just around sunrise would be perfect.
Rob is eating…
Moussagna. What happens when you try to make a moussaka, realise you don’t have enough aubergine, so have to bulk it out with lasagne sheets. It was perfectly fine for a slightly more complicated than planned midweek dinner. But C and I both agreed it needed a) more protein and b) to be one thing or the other. Lesson learnt—sometimes fusion cuisine is not the best of both worlds.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Sally Rooney on Ronnie O’Sullivan. Yes, that Ronnie O’Sullivan. Yes, that Sally Rooney.
I picked up a cheap subscription to The New Yorker, just in time for the venerable magazine’s 100th anniversary. There’s a lot of good reading to be had with full access to the digital archives. I really enjoyed this trip to the essential resource for any print publication.
The early 80s was a wild, febrile time for cinematic science-fiction. The one-two punch of Star Wars and Alien completely changed the landscape, and the bleak socio-political realism of the mid-seventies was swept aside in favour of space-opera fever dreams. It’s unlikely a movie like Saturn 3 would be made nowadays, and the cost was high in all senses of the phrase. Typically, the story of how it came to the screen was as crazy as the finished article.
Something Is Wrong On Saturn 3
Up to a couple of years ago I would have shrugged at the announcement of bankruptcy for boobs-n-burger franchise Hooters. Another example of an idea which had dragged on well past its expiry date. Of course, there’s more than the perceived image to be found. As I’ve grown and oldered I see how there’s always another side to the story. There’s a sweetness to the legend of Hooters. It can be a place of respite, of discovery—of sanctuary.
Refuge Where You Least Expect It
Yep, ok, hands up, I am one of those insufferable foodie bores who owns a copy of Harold McGee’s On Cooking and have barely opened it since landed with a resounding thud on the bookshelf. In my defence, it’s a daunting hill to climb. But based on the next link, I might just have to take that first step.
Wayne Chambliss is making a habit out of turning caves into camera obscuras. The question is not why but, given the opportunity, knowledge and materials, why wouldn’t you? A fine example of art for art’s sake. Keep going till the end for a hint of The Matrix.
Graphomania is defined as an obsessive compulsion to write. There are times when I kinda wish I had a hint of it. I have no background in psychiatry, but feel that maybe Tox, Britain’s most prolific graffiti writer, has the urge. Interviewed by That Actual Banksy, Tox’s story is one which reads tragically in one light and triumphantly in another. One man refusing everything but his muse. Probably the must-read of the week.
Now, I think The Readership is aware of my feelings towards organised religion (they’re aligned with my feelings on organised crime, for clarity). This is not to say good things cannot happen within the operational field. I spent more time than was likely this week poking around Lectio, Mark Bertrand’s blog on Bible design. What became immediately clear to me was how the core text of the Christian religion exists in all sorts of forms and specifications and how it is used on a daily basis as both a working document and a source of comfort. A bit outside my remit but fascinating, nonetheless.
I bang on about genre like a bloke—mostly ignoring the most-read one of them all. Romance is a huge part of the publishing landscape, voraciously consumed by its millions of fans. As author Elisabeth Wheatley smartly points out in this Instagram piece, Romance is a clear mirror to the social mores and cultural norms of the times in which any given text was written. It’s therefore subject to quite sudden changes in tone, and can serve as a snapshot of those times. Elisabeth is worth a follow—clever, funny and not afraid to cosplay as a goblin for promotional purposes.
View this post on InstagramA post shared by Elisabeth Wheatley (@elisabethwheatley)
One last thing. So long, Val.
As Outro, a recommendation from music writer Pete Paphides’ Substack, well worth a punt if you fancy a peek into the mind of a journalist who really knows his beat. Speaking of which, Buddy Miles, who played with Jimi Hendrix in The Band Of Gypsies, understood maximalism and exhibited it with a pure and gleeful intent. The sweat on Buddy’s brow is earned, yo.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
