Try a little linkspam (and tenderness)
Crime-writers names their favourite authors/shamuses: yay for Paretsky naming Georgia Strangeways!
It's a pity that the Guardian's crime reviewer seems to think a tired old trope that probably got name-checked in the Detective Club's list of don't along with mysterious arrow poisons, is a new hot thing: 'amnesia is set fair to become the crime novelist's new best friend'.
They are also all over comic books, with particular reference to Grant Morrison's Big New Book on the topic and superheroes (and not-so-superheroes).
Making up for this jaunt into the demotic fields of genre by having a swathe of litfic short stories in the Weekend Magazine.
Vauxhall Gardens: A History by David Coke and Alan Borg - review. Sounds charming, yet hard to imagine given that Vauxhall is now pretty much urban grot central.
Grace Dent compares Simon Hopkinson's cooking programme with, well, just about all the rest: 'He just made a pie very well and made me want to make it, too. This is a highly risky gimmick'.
As a clergyman with six children whose ages span 20 years, people always expect Paul Walker to be an expert on parenthood: well, at least he is not in a Yonge novel and expiring of consumption just after no. 13 makes its appearance, not, we consider, a shining exemplar to fathers everywhere.
Women and Science on the South Bank.
Stranded pilot whales prompt Highlands rescue operation
Poetry Society annual meeting ends in no confidence vote: doesn't sound as though 'shouts of rubbish and claims of incompetence' were even in rhyme.
German nudist groups see memberships shrink: Free Body Culture association claims immigrants and young people are more reluctant to bare all in public: or, of course, it could be down to people being a little more cautious about recklessly exposing their bodies to sunlight.
Another case for the Ponceyness Police! (via
whatistigerbalm). Their motto: 'Wherever there is affectation, find us there; in cases of higher codswallop, call us; dedicated to the calling out of ponceyness, pointing and laughing, wherever we find it'.
Laura Barton on Otis Redding's version of 'Try a little tenderness' might just be up for a caution...
I also feel Nicholas Lezard's enconmiumising of a novel about a necrophiliac might be in need of a stern warning ('Just don't let us see you doing it again'.)
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