From the Boston Public Library’s Flickr set of vintage travel posters. Beautiful. I like Palestine and Japan best. Manchester’s weren’t bad either. Or these from the 1950s, uncovered at Notting Hill Gate Tube in 2010.
There is a tradition in the office: when you come back from holiday/weekend break, return with some sweets or cakes. Ian went to Berlin and came back with Katjes Salzige Heringe – at first salty, then licoricey, then fishy, then overwhelmingly salty. A full house of unsweetlike tastes. They remain uneaten.
And 40 more common cooking mistakes. On it
In 2007, editing a magazine that didn’t really exist, I was flown from Dubai to Cape Town to spend two days taking photographs with a new cameraphone from Nokia. I took a picture of a green plastic chair in a market in Franschhoek.
It was a very nice press junket, we stayed in a smart hotel near the V&A Waterfront and ate in some lovely resturants. I also managed to squeeze in a round of golf before lunch at Camps Bay. Nokia’s market share was around 39% at the time; today it’s less than 30% and falling. I use an iPhone 4 and don’t know anyone who uses a Nokia.
My daughter, Rae. I don’t post much about her, because she’s family and that’s private. But once in a while it’s worth committing to record: I love her and she is wonderful.
piss proud. Having a false erection. That old fellow thought he had an erection, but his—was only piss-proud; said of any old fellow who marries a young wife.
– from the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, ‘a dictionary of buckish slang, university wit, and pickpocket eloquence’
crap nap n. An alcohol-induced siesta taken in a pub gents cubicle, when one is overcome with sudden tiredness at the effort of pulling down one’s trousers and sitting on the throne. Shitwinks
– from Roger’s Profanisaurus, c/o Viz, ‘the magazine that’s better than nothing’.
Pic predates both: A Rake’s Progress, William Hogarth (c/o Tate Britain)
I don’t need to see a list of everyone involved in the production of my shoes – the guy that shaped the last, skinned the leather, put the Sellotape on the end of the laces. I don’t need to know who prepped and cooked my resturant meal, or the team involved in the efficient running of my local supermarket.
So why do TV shows need to show me everyone involved in the making of their product? There’s a slight chance I might be interested in getting the actors’ names, but the hair and make-up? The cameraman? No need.
If they want to play some music before the next show starts, fine. Drop the self-indulgent name checks, please.