In the late 90’s, when I was researching a never published piece on writers in Nottingham, Stanley Middleton suggested I read his friend Philip Callow’s first novel, ‘The Hosanna Man’. I’d never heard of it, which is hardly surprising, since most copies were pulped shortly after it was published in 1956. Stanley had a copy because Philip had given him his mother’s copy after her death. It’s a remarkable novel about working class bohemians in a part of Nottingham I know well. Stanley introduced me to Philip on his next visit to Nottingham. I told him how much I liked his first novel, but he wasn’t inclined to discuss it in any detail. I went on to read a lot more of his work, including…

Just back from a great holiday in Greece, where we spent ten days on Aegina with our friends, John and Pauline, also visiting Athens, Poros and, for a couple of spendid days, Hydra. I photographed the red steps on the left while getting hopelessly lost wandering round the back lanes of this car-free island, looking for Leonard Cohen’s home. I eventually found the place – not the one where he lived in the sixties – with the kind help of Apostolos, a local artist, but, of course, didn’t knock on the famous front door – although I’m told that plenty of tourists do, to the annoyance of the current occupant. Aegina was devoted to swimming, eating, drinking and conversation. And books. My highlights: Robert Harris’s…

On Friday night, I went to see Prince at the O2 arena, arrriving, after a horrendous journey, with a couple of minutes to spare. I was going to write about this long, long evening, but I was with a journalist and a blogger and my brother Paul who has his own, really interesting internet music list, and the sun is shining, so sod it, let them do it if they can be bothered (oh, just checked and Paul already has). Just two pieces of advice if you’re thinking of going: don’t expect to be able to get anything to eat at O2 after the show, and don’t expect Prince to show up to his own aftershow, even though that’s how it’s advertised (and priced). We…

I don’t tend to write about telly here. That’s not because of snobbery on my part. I suspect I watch as much TV as the next Sky+ user. Usually it’s less in the summer because we’re sitting outside until it gets dark, but not this rain soaked year. No, I don’t write about the TV I watch because my tastes tend to be pretty well reflected in the broadsheet type media that I read, and what’s the point of writing ‘me too, me too’ when there are so many more obscure things to bring to people’s attention? However, I was at the end of year party with some of my MA students last night and realised that none of them had even heard of ‘The…

I’ve got this cotton shirt that only comes out once or twice a year, for parties where there is bound to be dancing to really good music and very special gigs. I bought it at a shop called ‘Culture Vulture’ on Hockley about twenty years ago (and it still fits!). A “CHARLIE Boo Boo” short sleeved cotton shirt covered with insignias for early rock’n’roll legends, from Fats Domino to Clyde McPhatter to the Big Bopper and the Diamonds, Buddy Knox, Eddie Cochran, The Crickets and loads more in a fetching orange, red and blue. The Miracles should be on there – they formed in 1955, so they’re of the right era, but they didn’t have their first hit until 1960, so they’re not. The shirt…