Objet d'art: the ghost of the West Pier, Brighton. I have always loved living by the sea and I love it down on the beach when its stormy and lets be honest, this is the stormiest Christmas eve I have ever experienced. The day started dark and only graduated to grey before plunging us back into darkness. Its been a day for pulling up the drawbridge, getting the fire going and then settling down with a good book. I have just opened, The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri. Not sure what I think yet, it was a birthday present and I don't know much about it, except it was shortlisted for the Booker. I will let you know. But as Clive James said only today, in a discussion with Andrew Marr on Radio 4, a critic's job is not to tell his readers things but to open the door and ask them to take a look for themselves - and I rather like that. Clive James sounded very frail, I gather he has been unwell and that is a pity, for all his popularism, he is a very erudite man - and a fantastic poet. His Dante translation is fantastic, although I find his most recent poetry a bit too, 'sorry I have been a naughty boyish' but I can understand why. But Alan Turing has been given a royal pardon - about bloody time too, hard to believe that around the time I was born you could still be castrated for being gay, what a disgraceful idea for a civilised society. This is desk dancing music to bring some sunshine to a dreich day, I am dancing as I type, oh yay:
