Coastalblog

It's the most magical time of the year again. Yes, the liminal, soft-edged space between Christmas and New Year is here once more. It's almost as if calendars were a thing. And, once more, we get to see the wonders of the season, a million columnists writing the same column that they do every year: "how does any one know what day it is?" they chorus, ho ho "how can anyone one tell what time it is? I've had too much chocolate ha ha". It seems that over-consumption of food has a direct effect on one's ability to, I don't know, look at that supercomputer in your pocket which devotes an infinitesimal fraction of its power to displaying the date and the time at all times. No, I don't have a lot of time for that particular trope, I understand it, I spent a pleasantly fuzzy day yesterday not doing a great deal, but, y'know, as an observation I feel it's somewhat run its course, even the Today programme was at it today (which, I appreciate, i...

Well, I sort of had to, try as one might, it's been impossible to escape the fucker. Turn on the news, Gregg Wallace, look at your phone, Gregg Wallace, strike up a conversation with a complete stranger, Gregg Wallace. I'm pretty sure he just served me this frankly mediocre tea I'm currently drinking, sat in Starbucks (look, it's the only place open that's not booze, alright) while I while away the time that my youngest is at tutoring, thinking about Gregg sodding Wallace. I am, fairly obviously, not going to go into the details of the story. You, presumably, already know all about it, because it's been nigh on impossible to escape it. That is more what concerns me regarding this whole sorry farrago. That a middle aged man has spoken inappropriately throughout his career is, to my mind, not exactly news. I do not wish to downplay the importance of this story, to be clear, I find his actions deplorable, and his defence even more so. But I am somewhat nonplussed a...