His penis mightier than his sword, the seriously camp pseudo-homosexual Adrian Healey is not to be found on the school playing-fields. Healey, strangely attired, even for a 1970s English public schoolboy, in top hat, Astrakhan coat, lavender gloves and spats, appears in the changing rooms to tease the muddy, sweaty school XV. A wet flannel is flung at him: 'If there is the slightest possibility, Burkiss, that this flannel has absorbed any of the juices that leak from within you, that it has mopped a single droplet of your revolting pubescent greases, that it has tickled and
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'The trouble seems to be that we are not asked to read this author, reading being a thing of the past. We are asked to decode him.'
From the archive, Derek Mahon peruses the early short fiction of Thomas Pynchon.
'There are at least two dozen members of the House of Commons today whose names I cannot read without laughing because I know what poseurs and place-seekers they are.'
From the archive, Christopher Hitchens on the Oxford Union.
Chuffed to be on the Curiosity Pill 2020 round-up for my @Lit_Review piece on swimming, which I cannot wait to get back to after 10+ months away https://literaryreview.co.uk/different-strokes https://twitter.com/RNGCrit/status/1351922254687383553