Read this on the Times website

'the men of happiness'

It is a most unlikely scene. I am in an elegant sitting room in the Royal Society of Arts. Opposite me, sitting uncomfortably side-by-side on a too-low leather sofa, are an English peer and a French Buddhist monk. The contrast is striking. Lord Layard is white-haired, well-dressed and unobtrusive; the Venerable Matthieu Ricard is larger than life in flowing, burgundy robes. Yet despite their differences, these men have a common denominator: both have devoted their lives to the study of happiness. Read the rest of this entry »

'You don't have any bananas, do you?'

First performed at the Literary Death Match Oxford, 4 November 2009

Spotlight on SPEAKER, dressed in smart suit, standing impassively. SPEAKER reaches into inside pocket and takes out a pair of sunglasses, puts them on, clearly impeding vision. SPEAKER delivers monologue in the rhetorical style of a preacher or a politician, without showing any sign of humour, whilst walking amongst the audience. SPEAKER returns to the stage for the final lines. Read the rest of this entry »

'a bit of a banker'

When the Chilcot Enquiry came on the television last week, I was in the waiting area of an office complex. Blair was on, and the volume was off. Not being able to hear what he was saying, I found myself focussing on how he looked. His body language was assured and domineering, with the trademark broad shoulders, floodgate hands and zipping-up fingers. But most striking of all was his complexion. Gone was the slightly grey, rather haggard face that had graced our screens daily until it was replaced by the loose-hung Brown visage in 2007. In its place was a Blair with a tan. Not a sun-bed tan, or a makeup tan, or an artificial spray-tan. A genuine, skin-pigment tan. It made him look smug, and insincere, and tremendously rich. He looked like a bit of a banker. Read the rest of this entry »

Read this on the Guardian website

'The masterful literary photographer'

“I’m crazy about Chekhov”, Woody Allen once remarked. “I never knew anyone that wasn’t.” Today, on Chekhov’s 150th birthday, that statement rings more true than ever. Much has been written about the enduringly modern quality of Chekhov’s work, and with good reason. He is one of the most frequently cited influences of contemporary writers, and it is possible to argue that echoes of his brevity, impressionism, and disregard for traditional plot resonate through the majority of modern literary fiction and drama.

Chekhov’s genius is not limited to his plays and stories. He was a prolific letter-writer, and his correspondence offers a tantalising glimpse into his revolutionary approach to aesthetics. He often offered pieces of advice to other writers, and several have since hardened into accepted principles of writing. The most famous of these is commonly known as Chekhov’s Gun, which he defined in a letter to Lazarev-Gruzinsky, his one-time co-writer, in November 1889: “one should not put a loaded rifle onto the stage if no one is thinking of firing it,” he wrote. “If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one, it should be fired. Otherwise don’t put it there.” The essence of the metaphor is clear: economy is everything. Read the rest of this entry »