I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking at.
Emerald Fennell whose name will always be attached to this monumentally embarrassing mistake of a project, is a person of wealth. Unfortunately though, not of taste. Both Jade and Emerald, seem somehow envious of the work of great writers and film makers, and have attempted to mirror their brilliance. The result, in both cases, comes over as no better than the vanity projects of well-funded, wannabee, amateurs.
It should be watched while reclining on deep velvet cushions, alongside someone with whom you have shared all the very best things in life. Either that or from a bath of warm crème anglaise.
... where a life littered with wrong choices at the wrong time, becomes a self-recriminating Hadron Collider of mental anguish, constantly circulating negative thoughts at neural speed.
In a fit of particularly low self-esteem, we have reluctantly accepted a request to host a football forum. The idea is to present innovative, perceptive and contrarian insights, in the most ridiculous and/or angry and unreasonable way possible, so that readers will find it difficult to take on board the actual ideas, however good they … Continue reading About this section
Ruinous in the sense that the game, in all its important moments, has been taken over by book-learnt, plodding, computer assisted pedantry, that is the ONLY skill that these natural-born bureaucrats bring to the game.
Now all we have to do, is create a movement, and go viral.
If three monkeys were left alone with single typewriter, between them they’d have produced the script of Saltburn within a week.
This news is current as I read the novel, We (Мы). Written by Yevgeny Zamyatin in Soviet era Russia in 1924, it is the least read of the Russian classics. It’s a dystopian novel describing an oppressive totalitarian state, in which its subjects are made the joyless tools of industry and the state machine. Sound familiar? George Orwell was commissioned to write a review of a smuggled copy in the 1940s, and within six months of doing that, guess what? Yes, that’s right, he was inspired to begin work on “his” novel, 1984. What a coincidence, eh? And even more spooky, the few good bits of his awful book, were identical to those in already set out in We.
He impressed us with his ability to conflate the dish puttanesca, the respected international statesman, and the French swearword for whore; whilst delivering the entire piece in fluent Trump.
We will poison the well of the documented human experience, in way that only sophisticated humans cannot be damaged by it.
Dickie White's Diary 