What DOES the Z stand for in "ZOMG" anyway?
After all that "ZOMG IT'S GONNA RAAAAAAAAAAIN AND BLOW!" forecastage I caught earlier, it was all rather disappointingly damp. Some nice blusteriness and blowsiness, but hardly Gale Force Winds, and the bit of rain I did see was more like a handful of flicked droplets than torrential downpour. Not that it's a bad thing that it wasn't worse weather, and I suppose tomorrow is when it's supposed to really turn nasty. I expect it's absolutely whomping down in Reading, as per usual.
I have just finished a novel by Christopher Fowler called "Disturbia" - his first non Bryant and May novel that I'd picked up. While Fowler's pretty much known as a horror writer, I only really knew him from some of his short stories and also from the Bryant and May novels (absolutely fantastic whodunnits, quite unlike anything else in the genre that I can think of offhand. I have yet to pick up The Victoria Vanishes.) which won't surprise anyone who knows me well. Christopher Fowler is quite possibly one of the best writers about London alive today - he has such passion, knowledge and a very palpable love for the city and all its minutae, the people, the environment. His vision of London is both marvellous and most, most terrible. I let loose a whoop of delight when I discovered he'd written the gigantic elephant and castle statue (the one that you pass as you head into Vauxhall via the landline train from Richmond) into his narrative - I had noticed that statue, it's bizarre because you only really see it properly if you're looking out of the train window and are near to that side of the railway tracks, and to find it actually playing a key part in the book was like meeting an old friend. Fowler really does write for those who absolutely love the history and idiosyncracies of London. And it was a bit of a surprise when Arthur Bryant (and his pockets of cats) wandered into the story halfway through, but a nice one.
This isn't so much a review as a cuber-nod towards a kindred spirit, a post to say how much I admire this writer and how much I love his work. And also a comment on the sheer unsuitablity of the cover, with its topless and rather buff young Spartacus cover-boy running away from a blurry Houses of Parliament. Completely cheesy, with promises of "Gay Fiction" (totally unsuitably so, as there isn't anything Gayfic about the book apart from its out-and-proud writer.) and truth be told, kind of boring. But kitsch, almost (but not quite) forgivably kitsch.
And before this post, I popped out in the rain to post something so tomorrow's post would pick it up. The street, which is so busy throughout the day, was nearly abandoned, except for the night buses. I love those night buses (in fact I love London buses in general, except when the 65 from Ealing is taking over a hour to show up and I'm getting cold and wet...) and could probably quite happily ride around London in them, back and forth, all night, just looking out of the window at the night-time capital. London without buses is quite inconceivable.
I have just finished a novel by Christopher Fowler called "Disturbia" - his first non Bryant and May novel that I'd picked up. While Fowler's pretty much known as a horror writer, I only really knew him from some of his short stories and also from the Bryant and May novels (absolutely fantastic whodunnits, quite unlike anything else in the genre that I can think of offhand. I have yet to pick up The Victoria Vanishes.) which won't surprise anyone who knows me well. Christopher Fowler is quite possibly one of the best writers about London alive today - he has such passion, knowledge and a very palpable love for the city and all its minutae, the people, the environment. His vision of London is both marvellous and most, most terrible. I let loose a whoop of delight when I discovered he'd written the gigantic elephant and castle statue (the one that you pass as you head into Vauxhall via the landline train from Richmond) into his narrative - I had noticed that statue, it's bizarre because you only really see it properly if you're looking out of the train window and are near to that side of the railway tracks, and to find it actually playing a key part in the book was like meeting an old friend. Fowler really does write for those who absolutely love the history and idiosyncracies of London. And it was a bit of a surprise when Arthur Bryant (and his pockets of cats) wandered into the story halfway through, but a nice one.
This isn't so much a review as a cuber-nod towards a kindred spirit, a post to say how much I admire this writer and how much I love his work. And also a comment on the sheer unsuitablity of the cover, with its topless and rather buff young Spartacus cover-boy running away from a blurry Houses of Parliament. Completely cheesy, with promises of "Gay Fiction" (totally unsuitably so, as there isn't anything Gayfic about the book apart from its out-and-proud writer.) and truth be told, kind of boring. But kitsch, almost (but not quite) forgivably kitsch.
And before this post, I popped out in the rain to post something so tomorrow's post would pick it up. The street, which is so busy throughout the day, was nearly abandoned, except for the night buses. I love those night buses (in fact I love London buses in general, except when the 65 from Ealing is taking over a hour to show up and I'm getting cold and wet...) and could probably quite happily ride around London in them, back and forth, all night, just looking out of the window at the night-time capital. London without buses is quite inconceivable.