The Bedside Crow

The Gift - Drums of Cheese.

Been very busy.

However, a couple of weeks ago, grateful that he will read it so that I don't have too I enviously sold my friend Roland a copy of the new novel by Roberto Bolano 2666 and now, in the spirit of the bestselling book The Gift; wherein the sharing of the creative gift is said to transform the world, I have stolen a film from his Facebook page of a man playing drums of cheese.

Man.

Little People in the City - The Street Art of Slinkachu

 

Excuse the thumb, but this is brilliant.

And with a local aspect.

and next week we will be knitting cats.

For true life, as Fred used to say.

 

K, knitted this one and there will be more, because we are delighted to say that Viviane Schwarz author of the wonderfull THERE ARE CATS IN THIS BOOK will be visiting the shop with her knitting needles next Saturday 29 November at mid-day -

    

Want to make something of it?

   

What it would make is a great Christmas present. It would.

Knit your own here.

Mrs Crow is at the market

 

If you are, perhaps, more SE22 than an SE19 then you will be pleased to know that Justine now has her own extra perfect nest here where she will be selling edited highlights from our eclectic range the like of which Lordship Lane has never seen the like of. And she will be blogging it.

Why not go and point at her.

That's the thing with mice.

 

They multiply.

Looking fantastic and coming to a bookshop Christmas window near you anytime soon!

Brilliant work from Al.

Proctology

Dylan Jones is a lad-mag editor who evidently has a sideline in advanced proctology. His surgical removal of several metres of Dave's bowel in order to accommodate his tongue, nose and entire bald bonce belongs more to the history of medical marvels than it does to that of mere sycophancy. We should be grateful. Cameron on Cameron: Conversations with Dylan Jones (Fourth Estate, £12.99) is a major work of entirely unintended comedy. And it's also a warning. Dave, given every opportunity to shine, reveals himself as gormless, platitudinous and even more vapid than Toni.

Jonathan Meades in the New Statesman Books of the Year 2008.

We love Jonathan Meades, not least because he loves Crystal Palace, set his last novel The Fowler Family Business here,* and once wrote us a letter. And if somebody wants to buy me his new DVD box set for Christmas that would be well kushty.

*Still waiting for the next volume though...

Am I ever in trouble.

Dad, eldest said in the kitchen this morning, do you like the two birthday cards that I've designed for my friends?

I do, I said. Very much, but why do they both say fifteen, I didn't realize that you had friends who were a year older than you.

I got the death-stare, the look that can only ever be passed between a thirteen and a half  fourteen-and-a-half year old girl and her father. I don't, she said.

Hey Roland!

 

It's the big one. 

Spotted on my cycle to work this morning.

Ten magpies, and a chap, hobbling up Gipsy Hill with his friend, who suddenly straightened up and threw the crutch he had been using for support into a hedge before striding manfully on.

We are visited by a man from Brooklyn

Hi-ya Jon, how 'ya doing? What do you call that piece of shit of a fucking website that you got, for fuck's sake. Twenty fucking seconds to download, what the fuck's all that about? I don't have twenty fucking seconds of my life to squander waiting for your fucking website to download. For fuck's sake. Did I ever tell you about Coney Island, the Belt Parkway, the ocean? Twenty. Fucking. Seconds. What were you thinking?

Anyway, how are ya?