Anthony Bourdain. It’s that time again. Time to slip out early in the morning and deflate the pool floaties. “Mr. Crockie”, the crocodile, looks up at me accusingly as he shrivels on the chaise lounge. Two air mattresses wait for similar treatment behind him. I gather up the super-soakers, the water pistols, plastic sharks, two purple rubber octopi, the goggles, plastic treasure chest and shuttle them into the garage. It’s a rental property, so I’m not sure if I’ll see them again. Overcome with sadness, I actually wave goodbye to Mr. Later, I’ll take my wife and daughter down to the beach for a last look. It’s the death of summer.
This was my second “real” vacation of the last decade. Fair enough. For A COOKS TOUR, then NO RESERVATIONS and now PARTS UNKNOWN, I’ve been in near constant motion for most of the past 13 years. But since the birth of my daughter, I’d never, until last year, had a real family vacation. “Wake UP!! The lobsters will arrive with shells thoughtfully cracked ahead of time. Charlie Brooker. Warren Ellis. WillSelf. This will be the first major publication of one of my books in the US that I haven’t crossed the pond for – and so salutations to my American readers; I write to you from my London fastness, tucked up snugly at the top of my 1848 house in sarf London, looking across the rooftops to where Renzo Piano’s Shard upthrusts, a teasing A la recherche de priapisme perdu. I have mixed feelings about not making it over – I am, of course, a demi-American on the maternal side, and hold a US passport, so the States is not so much close to me as engrafted. On the other hand, if I have any nationality at all, it’s Londonish, and the older I get, the less I like to stray.
More... That William Empson should be there was, perhaps, less surprising than his demeanour, which was courtly yet randy, frayed but impressive. Up they come the man and the boys – up they come. A former candidate for the Tory leadership and I bare-knuckle box beside the Watts Towers in LA. AdamCurtis.