120. I remember directions marked out in pink wherever you went. 121. I remember Nicola Adams’ smile. 122. I remember the radio-controlled cars which were used to retrieve javelins and shots. 123. I remember the Olympic posters designed by various celebrated artists, and how poor most of them were, showing how very little said artistsRead More
We are planning some grand project at my work place, and part of the inevitable procedure is to find out what people think about the idea. So we get some marketing firm to track down different types of people who use our services, or who don’t use them but might do, and other such categories,Read More
On 1 August University of Exeter Press is publishing my book, Charles Urban: Pioneering the Non-Fiction Film in Britain and America, 1897-1925. It is based on my PhD thesis, which I completed in 2003, but it has been updated with reference to new research in the field, though equally the word-length has been cut downRead More
I wear several hats. Some hats I have worn and now discarded; some hats I have tried to discard but they just won’t slip away. I have found this in my online life, where I have produced blogs on silent films, Shakespeare, poetry, film and media, and the moving image work I do at theRead More
89. I remember the Young Generation. 90. I remember Betty Stöve, who played in the women’s singles, doubles and mixed doubles finals at Wimbledon in 1977, and lost them all. 91. I remember Casey Jones a-steamin’ and a-rollin’ / Casey Jones you never have to guess / When you hear the tootin’ of the whistleRead More
I was wandering past some of the unlovely new homes being built on the Rochester riverfront with their regimented, office-like brick walls, and the idea of a post on bricks came to mind. I thought of the many kinds of beautiful bricks walls, from Jacobean to modern times, that can be found in this town.Read More
Time to return to the modest indulgence of reviving musical obscurities from the punk and new wave era which can can be found on YouTube and not really anywhere else. Previous posts, Where’s the New Wave now? and It was easy, it was cheap – go and do it, have revived happy personal memories ofRead More
60. I remember Persia. 61. I remember David Bedford lapping other long-distance runners, a mustachioed superman. 62. I remember deciding that when older I would fly in a plane, reach out to grab a piece of a cloud, and then report back to a grateful world what it was made of. 63. I remember florins.Read More
My walking is of two kinds: one, straight on end to a definite goal at a round pace; one, objectless, loitering, and purely vagabond. In the latter state, no gipsy on earth is a greater vagabond than myself; it is so natural to me, and strong with me, that I think I must be theRead More
I was in Stratford, London, the other day and went for a nostalgic look at the Olympic Park. You’re not allowed into the Park, of course, and a perimeter fence ensures that you keep your distance, but if you got to the top of the John Lewis store at the Westfield shopping centre, they haveRead More