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...

Been a bit quiet here of late, I know. There are reasons (not, I hasten to add, particularly bad ones, merely reasons) beyond the usual ennui, and, for once, I've decided to write about them. As for once I genuinely was being kept away by circumstance, as opposed to my own laziness  I'm normally reluctant to reflect too much on my own life and the meaning I derived from it or, God forbid, the lessons I've learned . It's the most tedious sort of solipsism,and, to my mind, requires one to think one is the centre of the known Universe. Which, thankfully, despite my manifold other faults, I don't. It's why I've never got a job as a columnist. But it is probably worth blogging about the reasons I've been quiet on here, and *spit* what I've learned from it, if only as an exercise in driving the truth into my own thick skull. I see that my last post here was the 30th of September, that tracks, because, I had  quite the October and, to my surprise (this is t...

 Look, I never claimed to be cool. As a a cliched middle aged male, I have a number of interests which, if not exactly niche, are perhaps not freighted with glamour. Not exactly ones to set the heart racing. I yearn not for wakeboarding, my cocaine with minor celebrities days are well and truly behind me, you are unlikely to catch me writing graffiti under a motorway bridge. I do cycle, but only as a way of getting from point A to point B, you are unlikely, you will be relieved to hear, to see me purchasing lycra and or/doing triathlons. I like going for a nice walk. I'm fond of a good book. I have a deep attachment to county cricket. Yes, that's right, county, not even the international stuff which briefly captures the nation's fleeting attention once in a blue moon. County cricket. Somerset CCC to be precise, though I'll watch / listen to any of it. The unpopular part of an unpopular sport. Well, that's the public perception, the much maligned two men and a dog. N...

I have bow, I think, entered the arena of Not Understanding The Kids. This is a profound relief. As a father of three, it is my role to be baffled by slang, wrong-footed by culture and perplexed by concerns. I am not supposed to understand what they're on about. It is my job to frown slightly from over the top of a newspaper and be amiably run rings round. But, until fairly recently, I was relatively on top of the whole thing, through no fault of my own. I work in a job where the average worker is quite young, I'm certainly the only one over forty, and there's only one other 30+. This, whilst undoubtedly annoying, has the effect of meaning you do keep relatively up to date, simply by failing to tune out the chatter around you. (You also get to laugh quietly to yourself as each new cohort imagines they're the first ones ever to try to phone in sick with a hangover, or the first ones to ever take drugs). I was also, until quite recently, Very Online. I do not mean Faceboo...

 There is an idea, much beloved if a certain type of politician, that you can get away with any old cobblers if you wrap it in a flag. This week, seeking to jostle his way clear of the roiling mass of mediocrity that is the Conservative Party leadership contest, it is previously fond-of-a-pie, now 24hr-Ozempic-guzzler Honest Bob Jenrick who's been trying his hand at a bit if the old racism. Bob has forn for this, of course  You will recall his performative cruelty when he ordered cartoon murals for children at migrant detention centres painted over. You will furthermore recall his most recent thought being loudly thunk that saying "Gid is Great" should, um, be a criminal offence. In case we hadn't already established this, the man's an arse. He's now making a bid for the sclerotic hearts and gin-soaked minds of what's left of the Conservative Party by claiming that "English identity is being erased", the unspoken subtext, of course, being that En...