I was meant to be on gardening duty until the Liverpool game this Sunday afternoon but foul weather has intervened, which means I’m about to curl up with the second half of John Lucas’s 92 Acharnon St, a beautifully written, hugely entertaining account of the author’s love affair with Greece. From finding that his new flat is on a street full of brothels, to ludicrous encounters with bureaucracy (especially in Greek universities) and numerous encounters with Greek poets, this is a terrific, often very funny read. I’ve been rationing myself, so haven’t got to the sections about the island of Aegina, where we’ve been lucky enough to stay a couple of times. But soon. While I hope that Liverpool give a good account of themselves…

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…