Lost Horizons

This is quite amazing – a haunting, floating thirty-five minute soundscape reminiscent of early Sigur Rós work, particularly their weird, ambient first album. The track is by Shamantis, an American music producer.

It’s currently viral on Twitter, because it is not just any soundscape masterpiece – it’s Canadian pop singer Justin Bieber’s song “U Smile”, slowed down 800%.

I hope my view that it’s a gorgeous reworking in its own right, never mind simply being notable because of its origins in teen-pop, is persuasive given that I’d never actually heard of Justin Bieber until just now.

No, honestly, I’d not. Maybe I’d heard the name somewhere before, but I had no idea who he was when I stumbled across the Shamantis track on Twitter earlier and had to google him to remind myself of exactly who he was.

Only after did I listen to the Shamantis reworking did I listen to the original “U Smile” on YouTube.

And I really, really wish I hadn’t.

I promise I’m getting to the end of my list of book reviews.  The other night I finished the last item in my current “to read” pile, so I’ll have to find something else to blog about soon.

My penultimate review for now is Yin Yang Tattoo by Ron McMillan.  Now I must declare an interest here: Ron is a fellow Sandstone Press author with whom I have frequently corresponded (he lives in Bangkok), and it’s actually because of his previous book that I got Up The Creek Without a Mullet published in the first place (read how that happened here).

But if this review makes scant criticism of Yin Yang Tattoo it’s not a response to any camaraderie with Ron or the knowledge that he will read this review – I am sure he can take criticism on the chin! – but rather that there is little to criticise in this fast-paced, entertaining thriller.

The story’s main character is Alec Brodie, a hard-drinking Scots photographer who is invited to South Korea – where he previously lived and worked – for an assignment that turns out to be a cover for all sorts of dodgy shenanigans.  Framed for a murder he did not commit, Brodie is forced to unravel the truth of what’s going on while on the run from the authorities, relying on his wily intuition, his knowledge of the country, and not a little grit, determination and luck.

Gritty crime novels like this with a range of rough and curious characters and numerous twists and turns in the plot are not normally my cup of tea, but I certainly found Yin Yang Tattoo to be engaging, with each chapter ending compelling you to read on, and the story kept vibrant by the exciting plot, great characters and vivid portrayals of South Korea’s highlife and lowlife.

For sure, some of the characters seem almost pantomime-like, because it’s easy to know who you should be cheering and booing as there’s little to hate about the good guys and little to like about the bad guys.  But that didn’t bother me, because the book as a whole, including for instance the South Korea that Ron portrays, is full of the extremes of good and bad too.  And the book really does give a rich description of the country - all sorts of seedy nooks and crannies as well as plush, rich areas in Seoul, the countryside, far-flung rural corners… this is a book that gives us a good sense of what the country is in terms of its diversity, its beauty and its relationship with its odd neighbour to the north.

In that sense, the book is a packed and diverse one – we have romance, sex, detective work, violence (I did wonder why in one dramatic martial arts fight scene nobody just thought to bring a gun, Indiana Jones-style), humour, and much more.

Our central character, Brodie, is likeable and much of his past, his attitudes and motivations are explained, but not so much so that the reader is fully satiated at the end.  Brodie has either unfinished business or a motivation to keep exploring the region at the conclusion of the book.  So I’m guessing that means there’ll a sequel or two in the future, and I am looking forward to seeing them.

I’m increasingly coming to the conclusion that there are two Christianities.

Cue sharp intake of breath from hardline evangelical readers who think I’m about to reinterpret God in a heretical, post-modern way; and sigh of boredom from hardline atheist readers who’d rather move on and browse something else.

But read on, please, hardline evangelical readers and hardline atheist readers alike – what I am about to say is about and for both of you.

I picked up recently via Twitter on this article by Johann Hari – “The slow, whiny death of British Christianity” it’s called.  It talks about how new statistics say that Britain is now “the most irreligious country on earth”.  This, Hari surmises, is cause for celebration because it will help undermine the case for the privileged position Christianity and other faiths have within our society.

The problem is, however, that Hari’s ire is stoked by a narrow, potentially even lazy, view of Christianity – one which holds or seeks a privileged position in law, education and politics, which holds prejudiced views about certain minorities, and will regard any criticism of it as an assault on freedom as a whole.

Of course, the thought occurs: should we blame Hari or any other committed atheist for judging Christianity on what they see?  Maybe the only Christianity they see in political and social discourse, in the pages and screens of the media or with their own eyes is the Christianity that abuses children and covers it up; that wishes to deny homosexuals – and, sometimes, women – equal rights; that seeks to determine what healthcare or education people including non-believers receive; that greedily protects its ex-officio parliamentary seats; that thinks it has the right to stop people watching whatever films or theatre they want; that confuses the right to evangelise with the right to impose the consequences of belief upon those that do not share that belief; that maintains it has the right not to be insulted or intellectually confronted; and so on.

Maybe such hardline atheists do not see a different Christianity: one which practices charity, selflessness, humility and modesty, which fights against poverty, injustice and war, which offers unjudging, caring comfort to the weak, the dying, the sick, the lonely, the depressed, the despairing, the angry and the hopeless… all often quietly, and under the radar of the media.

Maybe such atheists just don’t see these things, and if so, you can’t blame them for only judging Christianity on the aspects they see and hear about.

But frankly it doesn’t take too much searching to find evidence of a Christianity that is like that – and remember that atheists rightly pride themselves on their commitment to rationality, logic and evidence in their considerations.  So to tar all of Christianity with the same brush as you tar a number of nasty, warped manifestations of it, is lazy and unhelpful in resolving the issue of how faith, society and politics interact.  And even if – perhaps with some justification – critics might say that the line is blurred between those two Christianities, that doesn’t excuse the inability to distinguish between the two extremes.

Let’s consider a couple of parallels.  For instance, were the British Humanist Association to be found to be engaging in corrupt financial practices, to be operating illegally, or for some of its staff to be found committing crimes using BHA premises or resources, should I assume that atheism is consequently an evil of society?  Of course not - I should just assume that this one organisation is rotten or negligent.

A second parallel can be found in a real and famous example: should the declaration a few years ago that the Metropolitan Police was “institutionally racist” validate the view that the police should be abolished?  Of course not - the problem is the institution, not the cause.

So why can’t arguments like those in Hari’s article not make the same distinction between those institutions, structures and individuals who are arguably (or demonstrably) contrary to equality and justice, and those that aren’t?  Why do criticisms like those in Hari’s article lead to the scattergun conclusion not that the perpetuators of bigotry, privilege, abuse and so on should be opposed, but that the entire faith should be opposed?

To tangle up a movement or cause with the rot within an institution that embodies it, is perhaps easy to do but careless, and the consequences are counter-productive to the atheist movement, because it loses a huge number of potentially very influential allies: those moderate Christians who agree with them.

And this is where I start to get to my point.

There are Christians out there who believe that those responsible for child abuse in the church should be investigated and where guilty prosecuted: no matter how high up the chain of command they are or how infallible they believe themselves to be.

There are Christians who believe that our children must learn in school about religion and faith as influences on human history and society, but who do not believe that school is an appropriate environment for prosletysing or religious instruction.

There are Christians who believe that to reserve parliamentary seats to senior officers of one organisation (the Church of England) within one tradition (Anglicanism) of one denomination (Protestantism) of one religion (Christianity) is an affront to democracy; who believe that the head of state being the head of that same organisation is a disgustingly theocratic anachronism.

There are Christians who believe that to hold prejudice against or deny full equality to homsexuals, women or indeed any person either within or beyond the church is both immoral and Biblically baseless.

There are Christians who believe that churches should not receive public funds to spread their message.

There are Christians who do not believe that in a fair, inclusive democracy religion should be exempt from the law.

There are Christians who believe that their faith is strong enough to face scrutiny, criticism and even insult, and in fact know that the strength of their belief depends on this happening (see this post from a while ago for more on this topic, including a link to a fascinating article by Frank Skinner).

And there are Christians who believe that a secular democracy doesn’t mean one where Christianity is oppressed, but where it is simply disestablished from the machinery of government and public administration.

And they’re not a fluffy, liberal, fringe minority.  They’re normal, mainstream Christians, evangelical in zeal if certainly not in doctrine and dogma.

When the Christian viewpoint heard in the media is frequently that from bigoted and conservative organisations like Christian Voice or CARE, or privileged, antiquated church leadership like that of the Church of England, it frustrates me that there is no pan-denominational organisation out there that is recognised as a mainstream Christian voice and quoted as simultaneously upholding both the Christian message and a belief in secular democracy: an entirely uncontradictory stance.

If such an organisation exists, I’ve not heard about it, and I’d probably throw myself into it.

And yet atheists who call for the secularisation of our democracy rarely seem to acknowledge the existence of such mainstream Christians, let alone seek to form coalition with them.  In Hari’s article, he shouts down a call from the Church of England for certain exemptions from laws concerning gay equality by quoting the criticisms of “Lord Chief Justice Laws, who is a Christian himself”.

Aha, so Hari’s ire isn’t about Christianity, it’s about the actions of some within it…?

…Sadly, no.  He appears not to think for a second that there might be many Christians out there who do not hold the views of the bigoted end of Christian leadership, and he ignores the capacity or potential that such a voice might represent.  It seems that for many (though I am sure not all) atheists such a moderate Christian view simply doesn’t exist (and if my perception is wrong there, I’d love to hear otherwise).

Again – such a voice should organise.

But just imagine.  How much more powerful would the debate be if it wasn’t simply perceived rightly or wrongly as an atheist assault on Christian belief, but instead seen as a popular, diverse movement for free and inclusive democracy versus an out of date and confused establishment?

When it’s only atheists calling for these things, it becomes a war about faith, which misses the point the atheists are trying to make; when atheists and Christians call for them together, it would become about the kind of liberal democracy we want to live in.  And that’s a much more powerful, relevant and productive conversation.

Of course, as something of an aside, there are also Christians out there who believe that these changes would be good not just for society, democracy and government, but would be good for the church and the advancement of the Gospel too.

Hari writes:

As their dusty Churches crumble because nobody wants to go there, the few remaining Christians in Britain will only become more angry and uncomprehending. Let them. We can’t stop this hysterical toy-tossing stop us from turning our country into a secular democracy where everyone has the same rights, and nobody is granted special rights just because they claim their ideas come from an invisible supernatural being.

But far from dying a “slow, whiny death” as Hari puts it in the title of his article, these other Christians that he ignores will not become more angry and uncomprehending – for they, and this includes me, believe that a church that is free of the baggage of establishment and that is unencumbered by the weight of privilege would not crumble.

Instead, it would be a liberated, light-footed and socially radical church focussed purely on the spirit and message of Jesus.

It would be a church in the mould of the early Christian movement as described in the Book of Acts: a church that would focus on the gifts of the spirit because it has no other gifts to rely on.

It would be a church that, like in many parts of the world where Christianity is banned, discouraged or warped, would flourish like unstoppable wildfire.

Which is maybe what some atheists fear and why they refuse to see common ground with such mainstream Christians in the advancement of secular democracy.

Which leaves this question for hardline atheists like Johann Hari and others: which do you most fear – a church like today, seemingly drunk with privilege; or a disestablished Christian movement consistent with the ethos of a secular democracy?

If the answer is the latter or both equally, then that would demonstrate a theophobia unbecoming a good, rational atheist.

If the answer is the former, then let’s talk.

Right, it’s competition time.

I have a signed copy of “Up The Creek Without a Mullet” to give away, and have been racking my brains recently for a fun format for a competition.  Should I encourage some sort of challenge of creativity or silliness, such as the weirdest photo of a copy of the book, or a 10,000 word essay on why you should get a copy, or…?

It would have to be a fun, eye-catching and appealing competition that folk would want to enter, but I really don’t know what that competition should be.

So, I thought I’d have a competition to decide.  A “competition competition”, if you like.

What competition or challenge do you think I should run to give away a free copy of the book?  What should the rules be, how should people enter, and what might be the criteria for winning the signed copy?

The winner of the best suggestion for the competition wins… well, a signed copy of “Up The Creek Without a Mullet”. And of course their competition idea is carried out.

Entries close on Sunday 13th September, and you should email your suggestions to competitioncompetition@simonvarwell.co.uk.  Full details on the events page.

As announced the other day by my publisher, “Up The Creek Without a Mullet” is now available as an ebook.  It’s all rather exciting, not only in terms of the increased focus in the media on the ebook format, but in helping the book’s profile overseas, something I’ll be focussing on in the coming while.

Hop over to the writing page and the link has been added alongside those for paperback.  The good news is that it’s considerably less than the paperback RRP, and there will soon be availability through Apple’s iBooks and the Amazon Kindle.  The downside is that I won’t be able to sign your copy.

Do tell all your friends and family around the world!

A book that really grabbed me as I dawdled around Amazon in search of holiday reading material was “The Newsagent’s Window” by John Osborne; the tale of one man who decided in an era of eBay and global trade to live his life through the notices in local newsagents’ windows. It struck me as a refreshingly old-school way of looking at the world, not to mention a fun mission to pursue, so I gave it a go and was incredibly glad that I did.

Freshly returned to Norwich, his old university city, having gone on from studies to some time teaching English abroad, we join John Osborne as he tries to eek out a new life for himself. But as he finds a flat and turns his mind to equipping and furnishing it, the idea occurs to him to buy things via adverts in newsagents’ windows. He then goes on to respond to other notices selling things for which he has no ostensible need – a car, massage services, a Beaver’s uniform – purely to find out what sort of people use this medium of sale and why they do it.

The admittedly amusing results of his early escapades left me thinking for a very brief moment that “The Newsagent’s Window” was going to be a simple book – just a madcap adventure, some hilarious interactions, and some outrageous and entertaining outcomes. But quickly, and really quite beautifully, the writer moves the book on to do two much more compelling things.

Firstly, he realises that through his experiences of using these adverts, he begins to discover more about himself in the post-university, pre-career void. He is moved to think about his aims in life, his connection to his local environment, and what makes him tick. While he does achieve his objective of discovering what sort of people advertise through newsagents’ windows, we – and the writer himself – end up discovering an awful lot more about him.

Secondly, by investigating the people, the streets and the events of his hometown through the medium of the adverts, Osborne paints a compelling picture of modern, small-town Britain – away from the high streets and the financial centres and in what one might call “real” communities. For instance, when a notice leads him to attend a highly-charged public hearing about a proposed new Tesco in the area, his account of the meeting paints a poignant picture of a kind of Britain that might just be about to die and in other parts of the country has actually done so.

Meanwhile another chapter describes how he as a “woolly agnostic” goes to a church service for the first time in many years, again of course as a result of a notice in a window. His description of the panic, uncertainty, confusion and (eventual) reassurance and comfort that he as a stranger experiences in the church is, in my view, highly recommended reading for any Christian.

Overall, the book is a beautiful portrait of modern Britain, and a great example about how a “silly idea” book can develop a bigger, broader and more interesting purpose. It is heartwarming, entertaining, thought-provoking and definitely one of my books of the year.

Alerted to this unusual tale earlier this year by Futility Closet, I kept “An African in Greenland” in mind, and finally bought it to read on holiday in Spain. It’s an astonishing story of a young boy in Togo, Tete-Michel Kpomassie, who is about to become an unwilling disciple of a snake cult but reads a book about Greenland and is astonished by the world it describes: so much so that he decides he has escape his impending fate and go there.

Over eight years he works and travels his way north through west Africa and Europe, eventually spending around a year in the frozen wastelands of the Arctic, living among the Greenlanders as its first African visitor and finding out about their ways of life. Incredibly, he studies along the way by correspondence and by immersing himself in the strange, unfolding world around him, learning Danish and Greenlandic seemingly with ease.

Three things are astonishing about this book. Firstly, the adventure takes place in the 1960s. This is an age before the internet, before the concept of the global village, and before the forces of globalisation have “modernised”/destroyed (delete as applicable) many of the traditional customs, pursuits and skills of both his home community and Greenland. Perhaps this was the last-ever time that someone might have a genuinely “other-worldly” experience on this earth, finding another corner of the planet that is so unknown, so alien and so utterly fascinating. That Kpomassie’s story would be very different and much less dramatic today means that Kpomassie’s book is a gem for capturing something that could probably never again be done.

Secondly, this is not the kind of travel writing I have read before. Often, a travel writer is a form of interpreter: relating events in a way that is culturally relevant or in a context that would be understood by readers. But this is not someone from a familiar culture to me writing about something unfamiliar or exciting in a way that a reader like me can relate to.  This is not a Scot or an Australian in Greenland – the writer is an alien voice, both in the way he writes and also the cultural norms that are his starting point. Rather than moving from the known to the unknown, this is someone moving from – to a white, westernised European – one unknown to another. The story is, consequently, fascinating. While we are given some cultural context so we know a little about where Kpomassie is coming from in some of his observations, his refreshingly different starting point (culturally, geographically, terminologically) lets us (Europeans) see Greenland through a very strange but wonderful pair of eyes.

For instance, he frequently – both in Greenland and en route – knocks on doors to seek hospitality. In a credit to his boldness and charm, he usually receives it. But while a European observer might be tempted to dwell on this unlikely kindness from strangers and the audacious courage of the man asking, Kpomassie frequently (but not ungratefully) glosses over this, perhaps a reflection of Togo’s very different cultural attitudes towards the treatment of visitors.

Thirdly, Kpomassie pulls no punches in his descriptions, particularly of people. This is not a romantic, idealised portrait of a wilderness, nor a determined attempt to make the reality live up to the dream, and nor does he demonstrate any sense of obligation to the Greenlanders to dress up the truth in a polite way.

While he is quick to praise the good, for instance the hospitality he receives and the central role that he sees children play in the family, and he is keen to mention the warmth in the friendships he makes, the writer is also not slow to criticise. He sometimes scornfully questions Greenlanders’ lack of hospitality to each other (and very occasionally to him); he condemns their frequent drunkenness and loose sexual morals (despite himself occasionally indulging on both counts); and he is not wholly positive about the food, the work ethic, the treatment of animals and many of their customs that he experiences.

Perhaps it is a characteristically African bluntness, or perhaps the writer feels that honesty is the best policy in describing a people he has dreamed for years of visiting; but either way it is refreshing. In the end, the numerous positive experience he has, the friends he makes, and the engaging way in which he describes his journey and the beautiful landscape, altogether does paint Greenland in a broadly good light, and leaves the country a demystified yet still compelling place.

In many ways a perfect holiday read, “Awkward Situations For Men” is short, snappy, entertaining and easily-digestible. The latest book by journalist, TV and radio presenter, writer, actor and cult leader Danny Wallace is a light-hearted look at the kinds of awkward situations he finds himself in at work, among friends and in everyday life. From accidentally following young women down dark alleyways to finding himself suddenly unable to pee at a public urinal, the book’s short chapters – many originally columns in Shortlist – are the sorts of cringeworthy and later humorous situations we can often tend to find ourselves in.

Danny Wallace is capable of a rich and often biting humour, not to mention very powerful writing of a more serious nature. “Awkward Situations For Men” is slightly different – he writes in a way that is a bit more self-deprecating, a bit more accessible perhaps to younger audiences, and it is a book that is almost over before you have started. That’s a shame in a way, but as a collection of columns and short anecdotes it perhaps inevitably won’t have the depth of his other outstanding tales like “Are You Dave Gorman?“, “Join Me” or “Friends Like These”.

Moreover, many of the situations are ones that not just men will be able to relate to, and as such “Awkward Situations For Men” is a great book to dip in and out of and generate some good laughs.

A few months ago, Four Lions hit the cinema screens, and it’s taken me until now – and a late run at Eden Court – to catch it. I’m sorry it took such a long time, because I have really wanted to see it firstly because it is by Chris Morris and secondly because by all accounts it was truly excellent.

Chris Morris is the controversial brain behind spoof news show The Day Today and the much-lauded and much-complained about satirical documentary series Brass Eye.

It’s no surprise, then, when you hear he has created a comedy about a hapless group of Jihadist suicide bombers from Sheffield.

The film’s key characters are five young, disillusioned and angry men who want to engage in spectacular acts of martyrdom to protest against the decadent capitalism they see in the West. The problem for the gang, however, is that far from being criminal and theological masterminds, they are a collection of buffoons with infinitely more anger than intelligence.

The two leaders – who are clearly in something of a power struggle and personality clash – are Omar, a highly-driven idealogue despite being a family man in a stable job, and Barry, a zealous white convert who is arguably the most determined of the group.

The gang’s plans are dogged by internal feuds (mostly between Omar and Barry); pathetic contradictions in their attitudes towards both “true” Islam and British culture; a complete lack of direction or deep roots in anything like real faith… not to mention an inability to handle explosives carefully.

This is where the film’s real strength, its script, lies: with both cunning subtlety and biting brutality, the comments and asides about the West (for instance one man’s identification of mini Babybels as an icon of materialism), the hilarious dialogue as the leaderless bunch fall apart, and their arguments over what target they should attack, all combine to betray their hapless and disorientated approach to their mission. Indeed, such is the quality of the packed script, I am sure I’ll need a second or third viewing to really appreciate it. You can only laugh at their pathetic approach, for instance, when you learn the would-be bombers are using a children’s networking site to discuss plans online, posing as cartoon penguins while they discuss terrorist attacks.

Perhaps the strongest portrayal of the team’s incompetence lies in a trip Omar and another take to Pakistan to train at a terrorist camp. Their abstract dogmatism and their poor handling of weapons – not to mention the disdain that local fighters have towards them – leads us to see that these guys are not just pathetic examples of Muslims but pathetic examples of soldiers too.

But more serious, and often more sinister, undertones appear when we see the interaction of the group with their friends and family. We see a lot of Omar’s family, for instance: him telling bedside stories to his young son that are metaphors for Jihadist attacks, or discussing his plans with his entirely supportive wife. Indeed, when Omar sees his wife for the last time, in public at her workplace, he tells her in code that he’s off to commit his attack. As she struggles to hold back tears that are clearly more of pride than sadness, you realise her support is as evil as her husband’s deed.

And deeds there more certainly are at the end, as the team target the London marathon, their explosives hidden under fancy dress costumes. Dressed as characters like the Honey Monster and a Teenage Mutant Hero Turtle, the team is both clinically evil and unintentionally absurd: a brutal juxtaposition that in many ways sums up the whole film and echoes throughout it.

Without fully giving away the poignant ending, the plans result in tragedy – both for the innocent victims and for the bombers themselves, none of whom properly achieve the blaze of glory they seek.

But this is not just a film that has a tasteless laugh about suicide bombers: others are equally lampooned, such as the unprepared police, the widely off the mark intelligence services, and the ignorance of the group’s non-Muslim acquaintances who clearly have no idea what their neighbours or colleagues are planning. As such, we are left with the message that everyone is a fool, the film blaming everyone for not taking the chances they were presented with.

Four Lions, for me, makes a powerful point that while we must hate the evil of terrorism, we can also lampoon its idiocy. As you’d expect from Chris Morris, Four Lions is hysterically funny and uncomfortably, uncompromisingly dark. But it is only because it is both of those things at once that it is able to be so effective.

I’ve been quite a voracious reader of late. Partly, it’s an easy way of avoiding the writing I need to do while still feeling somewhat intelligent and literary. Especially when the internet is not yet sorted in our new house.

Being in Spain last month also helped me get stuck into my reading pile. Not being a siesta person, even in forty degree heat (that’s about a hundred and twenty for those reading in black and white), I found the best way to spend that couple of hours in the afternoon while more sensible people were snoozing was sitting in the shade reading. There are still some titles I have still to get through, but I’ve been making progress and the next few posts will review what I’ve been reading.

Among those I’ve read of late are three Stuart Maconie books that were given to me some time ago, and while in Spain I finished the third, “Cider With Roadies”. Clearly one to regard a pun as a central tenet of a book title (always a good thing), The first two Maconies I read were travelogues that attempted to explore the idea of what makes England tick.

“Pies and Prejudice” was an exploration of that often obscure and vague term “the North of England”, while “Adventures on the High Teas” an investigation of the equally hard to define land of “Middle England”. Both were great books, well-written, deeply-researched and informative yet also highly entertaining and accessible. By exploring the places, histories and people of various nooks and crannies of England – some well-known, some less so – Maconie leads us, I think, very close to the essence of our large neighbour to the south. From the industrial heritage of England’s later-abandoned cities, to the travesty that was Beeching, to the food, music, sport, ethnic groups and values that shape English life, his books are broad in scope and all the richer for it.

“Cider With Roadies”, however, sees Maconie on what is probably his more natural territory – writing about music. Essentially an autobiography through the medium of music, the writer takes us through his life from a toddler at the height of Beatlemania through to his spell as Assistant Editor of music magazine NME.

I have to say I like themed memoirs. I remember a few years ago reading “Toast” by Nigel Slater, for example, the writer describes his life through the food he ate – you don’t have to have much interest or knowledge of the individual telling the story, because themes like food or music are what can easily draw you in. And “Cider With Roadies” is an excellent case in point, as Maconie sets the age of discovery as a teenager in the context of the music of the time, and his forays as a young man into fronting a small, struggling band fitted well against the backdrop of Thatcherism and the debate it brought to Britain about who we are as individuals and a country.

To be honest, though – and I think this may be the case with most readers of “Cider With Roadies” – the book really sprang to life during the spells that matched my own peak of musical interest. His discourse on the rise of Madchester is fascinating, coming just as his own career in the music industry appears to be taking off, while his documenting of a horrific experience on tour with metal band Napalm Death is hilarious as Maconie describes his hatred of both the music and the cretinous band members he has to put up with.

I’ve rarely listened to Stuart Maconie on Radio 2, and because he comes over as such an entertaining, intelligent and perceptive person, I really feel I ought to tune in some time.