The Mexile

I’m having a theoretical dinner party, to which six dead people of my choosing will be reanimated and invited to take a seat, to drink, dine and chew the fat. It’s an old concept that I occasionally give some thought to. Who to invite? Jesus would be a good call if the wine rack is looking a bit empty. But an unwashed, uber-judgemental bloke lecturing everyone? Total party pooper. How about Churchill or Hitler? I say you’d have to have them both, seated opposite each other. But the entire evening would descend into a continuous breach of Godwin’s Law. So, no. Besides, I’d rather keep this table a bit more up to date. People who’ve lived during my lifetime. Seated to my left will be Anthony Bourdain. I truly loved his shows. I still watch them, from time to time. Hopefully he will forgive my intruding on his peace when I resuscitate him for dinner, given the circumstances of his passing. Next to him, Lee Harvey Oswald. An intriguing life, an infamous end. I have questions. I’ve always b...

There are sounds that I like. Petrol engined lawnmowers on early spring mornings*. International football  commentary  from the 70s and 80s, tinny tones sent down international phone lines. The roar of the engines of an  Avro  Vulcan passing overhead. The  Thames  TV ident. And then there is this  wonderful  noise, which to my ear is the definitive ‘sound of America’. There are sounds I don’t like. All the usual ones, such as babies screaming on an aeroplane, nails on a chalkboard, the pin flying free from the holy grenade of Antioch. But more than any of them, my most hated sound, the noise that boils my blood, is a personal speaker being used in a public place.  I don’t care who it is, where or when, or why it is a despicable intrusion on my ear canal. And it is happening everywhere. Blokes screaming about Jesus on the high street. Young people blaring horrific, shite modern music in the town’s gardens. The local drunk who has affixed speak...

What was on the mind of the average Brit in the mid-to-late 1930s? Did things feel then as they do now—that an absolutely cataclysmic world war was on the horizon? And yet, did they, as most people seem to do today, refuse to believe their leaders could be quite so stupid? Were they confident a resolution would be found that didn’t involve tens of millions of corpses? I’m afraid I don’t share that confidence, if that is indeed what they were thinking. It’s a shame people weren’t blogging back then. But they were writing diaries. I came across the  Mass-Observation project  not long ago and must look into the content it produced. I bet most of it is dull as dishwater, but isn’t that what makes it interesting? Normal, everyday, boring life from a fascinating, increasingly distant time. Whilst it seems absurd now, I bet plenty of people thought Hitler had a point, or that he was Europe’s saviour. At that point in time, he hadn’t yet murdered millions; he was just on a bit of a ra...