Black Earth, Still Water
This book is about the fens. I live on the edge of the fens, a flat place. When the wind blows it stops for no one. But the fens are not about wind. They are about earth and water. Black earth.
The rest of the blog
This book is about the fens. I live on the edge of the fens, a flat place. When the wind blows it stops for no one. But the fens are not about wind. They are about earth and water. Black earth.
Whipple’s Uncharted is less a chronicle of Trump’s comeback than an unflinching autopsy of a decaying liberal order that mistook gerontocracy for stability and denial for strategy
On the Supreme Court ruling in For Women Scotland v. Scottish Ministers
A ruling on the definition of “woman” risks codifying exclusion into law, leaving trans women even more vulnerable in the name of protection.
The Trump–Starmer trade deal and the culture war as foreign policy
Farage’s tanks aren’t new, they’re the tanks of the 1970s, steered by mad generals and aimed squarely at working-class power.
Why were we laughing? From the crumbling walls of Rising Damp to the locked gates of Porridge, from the clenched class tension of The Likely Lads to the surreal paranoia of Reggie Perrin, the golden age of the British sitcom was never just about gags. It was about containment. These were shows about men—white, working class, often thwarted, trapped in rooms they didn’t build but could never leave. They weren’t sitcoms so much as comedies of decline.