Archive for February, 2010

'I was determined to give as good as I got'

Denis Avey, even at the age of 91, cuts a formidable figure. More than 6ft tall, with a severe short back and sides and a piercing glare, he combines the pan-ache of Errol Flynn with the dignity of age. This is the former Desert Rat, who, in 1944, broke into — yes, into — Auschwitz, and he looks exactly as I expected. He removes his monocle for the camera, and one of his pupils slips sideways before realigning. It is a glass eye. I ask him about it. He tells me that in 1944, he cursed an SS officer who was beating a Jew in the camp. He received a blow with a pistol butt and his eye was knocked in. Read the rest of this entry »

'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 »