pfgpowell
Book reviews
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Nobody Hurt In Small Earthquake – Michael Green
Towards The End Of The Morning – Michael Frayn
A Crooked Sixpence – Murray Sayle
Monday Mourning – Kathy Reichs
The Group – Mary McCarthy
Fear And Loathing In Fitzrovia – Paul Willetts
The Daughter Of Time – Josephine Tey
The Man Who Wasn’t There: A Life Of Ernest Hemingway – Richard Bradford
The Maltese Falcon — Dashiell Hammett
Hemingway: The Postwar Years And The Posthumous Novels – Rose Marie Burwell
To Have And Have Not - Ernest Hemingway
Hemingway: a biography — Mary Dearborn
The True Gen - Denis Brian
For Whom The Bell Tolls - Ernest Hemingway
Running With Bulls — Valerie Hemingway
The Sea — John Banville
Mrs Hemingway — Naomi Wood
Saturday — Ian McEwan
Berlin Game — Len Deighton
Decline And Fall — Evelyn Waugh
The Colour — Rose Tremain
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Film reviews
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Once Upon A Time In The West
Mulholland Drive
The Gentlemen
A Time To Kill
The Irishman
The Revenant
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Random images
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Random images
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Friday, 25 June 2010
Welcome to Cornwall, home of the gratuitous diatribe by disaffected sixtysomethings
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The obscure website to which I subscribe which claims to ‘monitor’ traffic to this blog — and I don’t even begin to understand how it works ...
Thursday, 3 June 2010
Hello again, and please buy my novel because no one else is. Pearls before swine? Or just another piece of cack?
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Not posted anything here for a while, and I don’t know why not. There’s no particular reason, it’s just that from scribbling here about once...
Sunday, 18 April 2010
Hacks are self-centred, self-regarding pillocks, and I shall be glad eventually to see the back of them
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I’ve worked as a hack since 1974, which makes it 36 years man and boy, and I have met and worked with quite a few other hacks (a disproporti...
Monday, 12 April 2010
What to do when friendship has run its course? Nothing, really, just don’t pretend
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Is this familiar? You have known someone for many years, and in those early days you both regarded each other as friends. But latterly, in t...
Thursday, 8 April 2010
Pretentious? Moi? Or why romantic self-regard has made of me a philistine
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I have once or twice in the past alluded to my pretensions to wanting to be ‘a writer’. I have also confessed that for someone with such pre...
Friday, 2 April 2010
I admit it: I am, apparently, a glass of absinthe away from a life and death of meths drinking. Or why it is advisable not to believe the bullshit
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I am, apparently, just a pair of piss-stained trousers away from lying in the gutter and drinking meths. That, at least, is my wife’s opinio...
Thursday, 1 April 2010
What’s sauce for the goose, or how revenge is still the sweetest dish
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I am about to recount a tale of an act of revenge which, unfortunately, has not yet been concluded and cannot so far be regarded as successf...
Saturday, 27 March 2010
If you’re really bored, read on. And on. And on . . . Fuses, an insightful trip to Halfords and seafood medley beats the paté on toast.
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I’m a great one for sneering at other people, even though as a well-brought up, middle-class sort of chap, more often than not I keep my tho...
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
All things to all men: philosophy, Darfur, self-help and why meaning is not so important
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The website which religiously informs me of these things has reported that this blog has again been sought out by the guy (or gal) attracted...
Friday, 12 March 2010
Fucking newspapers, fucking execs and a few more choice observations. If you are of a sensitive dispostion, do the honourable thing and fuck off.
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I’m in a bad mood, my wife and the two little kiddiwinks have buggered off somewhere (Elsie has football training, I think), it’s 7.15 at ni...
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