To those of you who live in a region where you can't buy this newspaper I apologise, for you live a life of abject deprivation.
Apart from a couple of monthly magazines devoted to all things classic rock-esque it's the only periodical that I regularly read and what's really great about it is that I can share it with the Brunette. We each have our favourite sections and there is no crossover in terms of who reads what first. This is important as I have to read certain columnists in a specific order. So far, so OCD.
The Brunette always goes straight for the Home supplement whereas I have to get my AA Gill 'Table Talk' fix in the Style magazine before I even contemplate anything else. Not that I'm a fan of restaurant reviews per se. Gill tends to review London restaurants almost exclusively and since we left London over twelve years ago we're unlikely to ever visit the establishments he rapes, pillages and generally puts to the pen (it being mightier than the sword and all that).
I just love his preambles about...whatever he bloody well feels like waffling on about that week. When he finally meanders towards the eaterie in question, usually two-thirds of his column in at the earliest, I always find myself hoping against hope that he hated it as this is when his awesome (in the proper sense of the word) descriptive powers are at their most vitriolic, imaginative and hilarious, though he probably wouldn't thank me for saying so.
I always experience a little shudder of disappointment when I turn to his column and see the phrase 'AA Gill is away' at the end of it as I know that whoever has taken on the restaurant reviewer role that week - excellent yeoman journalists all - just isn't, well, him. But I understand that Gill needs a break now and again so I can forgive him his absences. However, God help the Brunette when it's time for the annual Style fashion edition as the whole magazine is dedicated solely to clothes, cosmetics and other girly stuff of no interest to me and Table Talk is nowhere to be found. She never hears the end of it for the rest of the day.
After I've read Gill and the tears of laughter and frustrated admiration have dried on my cheeks I next turn to the News Review section. For some reason I start with the back page (OCD again?). I scan the 'Nick Newman's Week' cartoons (always on the mark) first, followed by the 'Weird But Wonderful' snippets from around the world and 'People of the Week' before tackling Michael 'Winner's Dinners'.
I know, I know. Michael Winner is a name-dropping, ex-bad-film-directing, pretentious arse who spends most of his column telling his readers about how wealthy he is, was or will be (I'm never quite sure which it is as he always seems to be massively in debt and yet can afford to spend the GDP of a small African nation on private jets). But, either because of this or in spite of it, you just have to love him. Anyone who can laugh at themselves the way he does is fine in my book (if you're reading this Michael, a night out for the Brunette and I with yourself, Geraldine, Michael and Shakira would be lovely - on you, of course).
I then work my way backwards through the News Review, stopping off at any headlines that catch my eye, until I get to page 4 and India Knight. India is a fairly recent addiction of mine. I only started reading her column as she's on the same page as Jeremy Clarkson. She's fun. I don't always agree with what she writes (though I usually do) but I always like the way she writes it. And she's sexy (and, unlike a lot of feminists, I don't think she'd mind me saying that).
Which is more than I'd be prepared to say about Jeremy (again, I don't think he'd mind me saying that). I occasionally read his articles in the ST 'Ingear' section but I'm not a major petrolhead so I prefer his more generalist rants in the News Review. He never fails to make me laugh and - rightly or wrongly depending on your age, gender, politics, social standing and education etc - I find myself agreeing with almost everything he writes. In 2008 an internet petition sought to elect him Prime Minister. It attracted nearly 50,000 signatures so I'm obviously not alone in my views.
Gill and Clarkson are apparently good mates and they have both mentioned in their scribblings that they have dined together. I have a secret (not any more, obviously) desire to join them over a meal involving seasonal truffles, a bottle or two of something red and pricey (Gill can watch) and a packet of Woodbines. The thing is though, I worry that they'd think I was a bit of a twat. I'm Welsh for a start. I didn't go to public school and I still love Greenslade. Ah well, they say that you should never meet your heroes.
Now, once Gill, Winner, Knight and Clarkson have been devoured - in that precise order - the rest of the ST is a veritable tombola of pick 'n' mix articles. During the footie season I'll take a peek at the 'Sport' section to read the latest Everton obituary (they're creeping up the table now though - a top four place beckons, mark my words). I'll scan the ST Magazine and its often phenomenal 'Spectrum' photography section and I'll read the film, music and book reviews in the 'Culture' supplement.
Incidentally, is the reviewer suddenly more important than what's being reviewed? Has anyone else noticed the recent trend of putting the reviewer's name above that of the author being reviewed and in a bigger font size? What's that about? Hey, Mr or Mrs Editor, put them back at the end of the review, where they belong!
And on the seventh day I rest...just like every other day really,
oldblodger
No comments:
Post a Comment