The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 19
It feels to me that any period of hot weather lasting more than a couple of days invites comparisons to the summer of 1976—six weeks of unbroken sunshine, leading to drought so bad that domestic water supplies were restricted and, in some places, people were forced to rely on public standpipes. I was nine, and remember little of the obvious problems. It just seemed like a nice time to hang out in trees and eat ice lollies.
The point about 1976 was how unusual it was, especially for us Brits who see any two-day stretch of sunshine as manna from heaven. That’s already changing. Records for dry and wet weather are broken every year. I hope we don’t see another 1976, but I can’t say I’d be surprised by a summer where we have to queue in the streets with buckets for the morning cup of tea.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Most Secret, a history of Orford Ness by Paddy Heazell. We visited the island, once home to secret research stations and at one point the most powerful radar station in the world, the brilliantly named Cobra Mist, a couple of years back. You can read about that here. It still holds an eerie charge, and the empty blasted landscape gives off strong 70s SF vibes. Paddy’s account of how this tiny isolated bit of Suffolk became an epicentre for atom-age weirdness is absorbing and detailed. Well worth hunting down a copy if ou’re interested in the stranger side of life.
Rob is watching…
Season 2 of The Gold, Neil Forsyth’s brilliant dramatisation of the aftermath of Britain’s biggest robbery—the Brinks-Mat heist. The chase for the other half of the swag sees the focus change from season 1. The gold has gone. Now it’s all about chasing the money it created.
Hugh Bonneville as Boyce, the detective in charge of the hunt, is naturally excellent, matched by Tom Cullen as the manipulative John Palmer. Obviously not a documentary, so events have been ramped up for drama, but C and I were locked into this. On iPlayer now, if you fancy a binge while sheltering from the sun.
Rob is listening…
to Turnstile, the hardcore band it’s trendy to like. This sort of noise is right up my street, and their influence is writ large across the 2025 guitar music scene. A bit more on that later…
Rob is eating…
Lidl steak and chips, obvs.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Advisory: this loops and will be in your head before you know it.
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To start, here’s the original article which inspired the (criminally) still unseen movie. News is hopeful for a release now the rights have been wrested away from Warner Bros. The blend of cool legalese and cartoon violence is so beautifully handled.
My dad gifted us an angel’s trumpet from a glut he’s grown in his garden. It’s an impressive plant displaying a mass of dramatic flowers. It’s also used in the manufacture of a common motion sickness drug—and in criminal enterprises. A lovely plant, but handle with care…
Angel’s Trumpet, Devil’s Breath
Pete Paphides on Oasis. As salty and spicy as you’d expect. Some really interesting insights, but you can tell he’s not a fan.
Should you find yourself in Paris this holiday season, Shelby Chambers has all the insider secrets you need to make the most of your visit. The Swipe is always happy to offer up useful service information to you, o Readership. Fun and value, what more could you want?
A long read on the parlous state of greyhound racing in the US. Of course, it’s understandable that concerns about the health and safety of the dogs has led to a massive decline in the pastime, but I’m still a little sad. Walthamstow Dog Stadium with its iconic neon frontage was a big part of my childhood, and C and I had our sten night there. Once we finally retire and are able to welcome a dog or two into the household, there’s a very good chance they’ll be rescued greyhounds. Cat software on canine hardware.
Very much looking forward to Mark Gatiss’ new adventure in detection, Bookish. I can’t help but think there’s an element of Doctor Who to the whole approach, which I have no problem with whatsoever.
Leland Nally got hold of a copy of Jeffrey Epstein’s black book from the dark web and, as a journalist, saw no problem in calling every single number in there. This is an illuminating and un-nerving read which raises an awful lot of supplementary questions, especially in the wake of The White House’s refusal to release the Epstein Files.
More Than Just A Number In My Little Black Book
Sheer artistry. I cannot get enough of Gregg’s beautiful penmanship.
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One last thing.
Indie music has started to embrace pointy metal guitars, and I couldn’t be happier. Rhian from Wet Leg was rocking a lime-green see-through BC Rich at Glastonbury, and the Turnstile influence is writ large across the landscape. Even pop is going metal. I present Olivia Rodrigo, whose lead guitarist Arianna Powell cites them as an influence and offers a proper face-melting solo on her snow-white Jackson in this version of bad idea, right? In practical terms, these lighter, shorter-scale guitars make a lot of sense for female guitarists, plus their thin necks and flat fretboards just make them easier to play! Hey, if they’re good enough for Eddie Van Halen…
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
