Slam in The Lamb

Anyone who knows me will tell you I do like a couthie bar. And it was in one such establishment that my friend Steve and I found ourselves in yesterday: The Lamb on Holloway Road, London N8 - less than five minutes from where Joe Meek shot himself and his landlady in 1967 - is a thriving independent pub with welcoming staff and a fine selection of locally brewed beers. As well as the craic yesterday afternoon (every bit as good as it was in Cricklewood) we were also joined by Charlie the spotty dog. What more can you possibly ask for?

Except, perhaps, the most impressive gallery of rock and roll ephemera I've ever seen in a pub's Gents; one of the few times I've reached for my camera in a public lavatory.

To Heron back (#6)

It may possibly have escaped your notice but on Monday of this week the earth spun off its axis. And I'm afraid to say, it was my fault. Let me explain: whenever we visit our friends Matthew & Sam in Dumfries & Galloway (and we've been going there ever since they moved north of the border in the early 90s) we always break the journey in Penrith. Without fail. Whatever the time of day or night we always have a leg stretch & grab a cup of java in Cumbria's sixth largest town. But not on Monday: ''Why don't we scope out Barnard Castle for a change?'' said I, just as we'd passed Scotch Corner on the A66. Expecting to be blown out of the water for this outlandish question, bordering on heresy, I waited for the rebuttal. ''OK, why not?'' came the (unexpected) reply. And so, 10 minutes later, we're passing the castle ruins and looking for a parking space on one of the widest high streets I've ever seen. Turns out parking's free (that's how you encourage tourism) and we're but a stone's throw from a myriad of tearooms. Three quarters of an hour later we're suitably refreshed and, after having made a mental note of who's coming to play the lovely Witham Arts Centre, we head back to the jam jar (via the Heron) and continue on our way.

From the beginning

I'm currently immersed in Colson Whitehead's excellent Harlem trilogy. Not only a trilogy but each of the three books are also broken down into three parts and tells the story chronologically of New York hustler, Ray Carney - a very likable furniture store owner & parttime crook. Harlem Shuffle (which I've nearly finished) takes Carney from 1959 to 1964 and rolls the pitch perfectly. In a city still struggling to find its post war prosperity, we're treated to  a very hardboiled (and vey noir) New York - a metropolis awash with jazz bars, gin joints, violence and segregation. The follow-up (which I can't wait to start), Crook Manifesto, picks up Carney's story again in 1971, closing out in '76. And the concluding novel, Cool Machine (published July 2026), is set against the backdrop of the 1980s. Whitehead's narrative technique is superlative throughout (you won't be surprised to learn he's a two times Pulitzer Prize winner). It may not be a life he's lived, but his research, you can tell, is meticulous; you can see these streets in your mind's eye. These are mean streets occupied by hoodlums and chancers. Rich men and poor men. Whores and pimps. Saints and sinners. And I love it. Highly recommended.

Incoming

I went to see a delightful little film yesterday; very idiosyncratic, very quirky. Imagine Bill Forsyth had directed The Wicker Man and you'd be getting close. A brother and sister are the only occupants of a remote Scottish island where they have lived all their lives and where their patents died thirty years ago. And then an 'incomer' arrives: a council underling has been sent by his sadistic manager to evict the siblings with immediate effect. (Mild) horror ensues coupled with humour, warmth and not a little pathos. A story about storytelling. Very meta. Very uplifting. Great performances from Domnhall Gleeson as Daniel the incomer, Gayle Rankin as Isla and Grant O'Rourke as her brother, Sandy. No surprise it's already scooped an award at Sundance. More will surely follow.

The Incomer - Trailer (2026)

The road is long, with many a winding turn

Not for a long time has a work of fiction clocking in at 400+ pages carried me along quite like Beneath the Trees of Eden by Tim Binding. It follows the story of Louis and Alice, an itinerant couple: Louis is a road builder (he worked on Britain's first motorway in 1958), and Alice, his moll - and so much more) from 1967-1984 as they crisscross the country in a succession of suboptimal British cars (Zephyrs; Rovers; Cortinas; Granadas) following the work, following the roads, following the drink. Louis is 25 years older than Alice at the start of the novel; though by the end that number has easily doubled. They live off the grid and are known by name only (no bank accounts, no National Insurance numbers, no nothing). But then they have a baby and everything changes. Or does it? Chester is more man cub than child and it isn't long before he's left to his own devices. As Louis ages (rapidly) he continually seeks redemption and Alice, now demoted from lover to carer, tries to make sense of the changing landscape (literally and figuratively). It's a love story on many levels - Louis & Alice, Louis & the A1 (''the backbone of England''), and Louis & the past). By the end you too will have fallen in love with the Baldock bypass, Scammonden, Scotch Corner and all the caffs and truck stops in between). An ode to the road. And brebis.