On F's instructions, I actually bolted all the four floors up to Basheer at Bras Basah Complex (isn't this the most old school of names for a building?) on Bain Street, to buy Fantastic Man and Vogue Homme International. The whole building smells of musty books and yellowing paper which is such a nice smell, redolent of my schooldays spent in second-hand book stores. And then home, and with a tub of strawberry ice cream, I settled down and studied the mags and couldn't wait to discuss every picture and page with F. I don't know anyone who's as crazy about models, mags and photography as F and I can't think of a nicer way to spend an hour (or two!) chatting away about the images and words and stuff that moves us, on the hottest of afternoons (aren't the days fever hot now?).F and I don't always agree on everything, but that's part of the fun.
As you already know, I love detective stories (with a clinking glass of Ribena and the ceiling fan whirring) so I'm thrilled to discover the enigmatic Father Brown, created by the eccentric G K Chesterton.
I'm now reading the superb collection of short stories Father Brown: The Essential Tales. These would be great on a flight. On a slightly more serious note, my bedtime reading is now A Scream Goes Through The House, by Arnold Weinstein, in which Professor Weinstein explores how great works of art, especially literature, illuminates what human life actually feels like, the human cry that echoes in the dark of existence.
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