Mr. Bsag and I went to London today to visit the Royal Academy Summer show (more on that story later1). On our way back on the Oxford Tube, we saw half a dozen inline skaters weaving around Park Lane, looking like toreadors taunting the taxis and buses, touching the cars then sweeping away. They must do it for the adrenaline buzzâI don’t fancy even driving a car around that chaotic race track.
1Said in my best ‘Dead Ringers doing Michael Buerk’ doom-laden voice.
This year’s Tour de France is turning into a cracker. Most of the stages have been really exciting, with brave break-away challenges being pulled back at the very last moment. Watching once such recapture a few days ago, it occurred to me to wonder what the peloton sounds like. You don’t get any sense of the sound from the TV coverage, but I imagine that if you are desperately clinging to a slender lead, the metallic hiss of chain on chainring and rumble of tyre on tarmac of the 200-odd bikes bearing down on you must feel like being pursued by a huge and hungry python.
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A bizarre but gripping story about a taxi driver who accidentally founds a religion in the distant future.
A preposterous idea, but it makes for a funny film.
Beautiful, political modern folk with its feet rooted in the past.
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