Hussey and The Climate Road Show - Blog 2 'Between The Strap On and The Baton'
All Photos: Adam Sutcliffe at Amelia Magazine. Words by Patrick Hussey.
Continued from Blog 1: 'The Green Pilgrimage'.
Naomi's Style Tips: Sept
A Scandalous tea party//30’s glamour aboard the SS Atlantica// Babs’ Fab//Menu Fix chez David Carter.
This is something about September that that fills me with glee. Although it signals that summer is well and truly over (and frankly when did the lazy child start?) it has a crisp, freshness full of new beginnings. Did Aloysius Lilius get the calendar wrong? I think so. For me September really signals the start of a new year and it is with great satisfaction that I bring to you more new events than you can shake a Time Out at.
Hussey and The Climate Road Show - Blog 1 'The Green Pilgrimage'
I am going to take a journey. It will be, I suppose, a kind of green pilgrimage where the mind is opened and the toes bleed. This journey by the way has a name.
The Climate Rush Road Show
RR's Reporter in Afghanistan, Colin Kane. Part 2 & 3.
PART II: PAKISTAN & THE TALIBAN
The appearance of the Taliban in Kandahar in 1994 was the culmination of a decade and a half of armed conflict and social revolution. Although the birth of the Taliban was not part of a Pakistani machination, their development and meteoric rise was certainly the result of Pakistani support.
RR's Reporter in Afghanistan, Colin Kane. Part 1.
UNDERSTANDING THE PEOPLE, UNDERSTANDING THE CONTEXT
Theatre Review: 'Bourgeois & Maurice - Social Work' in Edinburgh. Words by Scottee
Bourgeois & Maurice - Pleasance Over the Road *****
Bourgeois & Maurice have long been my favorites, with lyrics like 'you don't like the taste of pooh, its just something you must do' what isn't there to love?
This year sees the dynamic duo hit the big time with 'Social Work'. After a sell out London run at Soho Theatre and critical acclaim, Edinburgh was a change to see if they 'worked' outside the M25.
Handel and the House of Homosexual Culture. Words by Fiona Haliday.
I must admit I’ve never been an out and out fan of the baroque. You say baroque and I see great aunts in fur wafting talcum powder. You say Handel and I see those who use ‘antiquing’ as a verb. There is, of course, beauty in Bach’s effervescing eddies. One can lose oneself in the great ormulu landscapes of Vivaldi and Pachabel and Scarlatti. But for me, the baroque is as soft and slippery and inane as Bambi slow cooked in baby oil. But to Handel I went. Reluctantly. Expected 20 Cantatas for the Happy Harpsichord.
Blame it on the Bruckner: the Ninth Symphony
It’s hard to describe a Bruckner symphony. Imagine a Vogon Spaceship: huge and awe-inspiring but there’s probably a planning office round the back where Scherzos are signed in triplicate and the adagio (as big and soaring as a hyperspace bypass) is awaiting council red tape. It’s a place where ostinatos hang in the air like bricks don’t.