The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 17
We’ve finally hit a point in the garden where most of the heavy work is done and we can relax into the space a little. We’ve spent an awful lot of time, energy and yes, money, to get here. I shudder to think how much we’ve coughed up just for compost. But it’s worth every penny and bead of sweat to sit out at the end of a hard day in the sunshine, watching bees and butterflies hover and swoop, jackdaws and blue tits hop around the feeders while red kites make bombing runs overhead. The garden kept us sane over lockdown. Now, in an ever more lunatic world, it’s a truly safe space.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Red Noise by John P. Murphy. Yojimbo on a space station. The ronin character setting two warring criminal factions against each other is depicted here as a nameless female assassin with a bod full of enhancement-tech and a love for indoor plants. It’s not great literature, but nails the action beats and fills the setting with flawed and quirky characters. Murphy, a Nebula Prize nominee, writes with flair and style and is clearly enjoying himself. As am I.
Rob is watching…
Dept. Q. An Edinburgh-set reboot of a Scandi noir. We’re seeing more of these and they work extremely well—the bleak but beautiful settings, the dour characters, the moody cinematography. The glue is the wounded and bitter detective Carl Morck, a career-best performance from Matthew Goode. He’s a delight—snarky and vicious, but you can see he’s barely hanging on to his sanity. Written by Scott Frank who gave us The Queen’s Gambit, this is really great telly.
Rob is listening…
To ten hours of art rock and you can either join in or step aside.
Rob is eating…
Curry shrimp, please. Although that oxtail is also talking to me.
PULL UP, BELOVED.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
This goes deeper than you’d expect. I suggest you just relax and slide on down.
Really, I should have saved this one for Halloween, but it’s just too good. It’s funny how masks reveal as much as they conceal, doncha think?
Elena Gonsalvez Bianca looked after Patricia Highsmith in the months before the crime writer’s death. Her account of that last winter opens up a new perspective into the mind of the woman who brought us dark visions of creatures like Tom Ripley. No wonder Elena wondered if Highsmith was plotting one last murderous act…
On the one hand, movie executives gloomily predict the end of the cinema experience. On the other, places like The Nickel on Clerkenwell Road in London choose inventivelness and sheer love of the medium to show there’s still life in the notion of sharing a room with strangers while a dream flickers to life on a screen at the far end. I find this story hopeful and inspiring.
An impromptu performance of classic Greek mythology which ends in a highly unexpected manner. Who knows, maybe the denizens of legend do live among us after all.
How Do Muppets Go Outside? Not a question I thought I’d be asking this week. The answer is one of my favourite watches of the week. More and more, I believe Jim Henson to be one of the greatest film-makers of the 70s and 80s. A true innovator.
At low speeds, Harvette our beloved Honda sounds like a spaceship, emitting a low, ethereal tone. This is deliberate—all cars with electric motors have to give some sort of audible warning when they’re on the move in the absence of engine noise. But different manufacturers have different solutions to the problem, which this Washington Post infographic shows in a very elegant fashion.
Really good comics defy explanation. They simply are. A perfect merging of words, pictures and the undefinable magic that happens in the spaces between the panels. I’m with Alan Westbrook. This simple four-pane from Lynda Barry is everything.
One last thing.
I found this on a ramble around YouTube and couldn’t get it out my head. It’s your turn now. You can thank me later.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
