Arts
In Chaos there is Fertility
I would be very surprised if any of you good Going Postal readers would say of Sir Malcolm Arnold “never heard of him” when I tell you that he was the composer of film scores [more…]
Roger Ackroyd
Going Postal
Requiem for a Puffin
I never knowingly crossed comments with Roger Ackroyd and Old Trout was just before my time, or others that have died in between for that matter; but Roger’s death has got my creative juices flowing. [more…]
20th Century
The Thin Red Line
A fellow poster suggested that I should write a piece about the art of…er…writing since it has become, rather later in life than I would have liked, my profession. Flattering as this suggestion is – [more…]
Book Review
Stories from the Shelf, Volume One
Browsing secondhand bookshop shelves has been one of life’s delights, from the time I was barely in my teens and visiting the Croydon Bookshop in the Old Town (now long demolished to accommodate the flyover) [more…]
Arts
THE FINAL HONK
Yesterday, I spent some time with the dead. I hadn’t intended to visit the natural burial ground set just below the Jack and Jill Windmills on the South Downs but the weather was good and [more…]
Arts
Three Men on a Bike, Part Four
Two weeks after setting forth from Croydon we finally free-wheeled into St.Nazaire on the southern coast of Brittany, somewhat short of our initial target of St.Tropez. The tandem and single bike had survived various alarms [more…]
Arts
Three Men on a Bike, Part Three
Having recovered from the ravages of what we thought was pilchard food poisoning but was more likely some dodgy Camembert, and rested sufficiently at the Rouen youth hostel we ventured forth on Day 5 and [more…]
Arts
A Life in Three Honks, Honk the Second
At the end of part 1 we left our intrepid teenager entering the portals of the famous Foyles Bookshop in the Charing Cross Road, London. Founded in 1903 initially selling secondhand books from a small [more…]
Arts
Three Men on a Bike, Part Two
You will recall that we three intrepid cyclists, Cough, Pat and my good self, had landed in Blangy sur Bresle, a small village on the border of Picardy and Normany on the second night of [more…]