I’ve just read the obituary of Martin Amis, who has died at the age of 73. For a few hours the news was the lead story in the Guardian. Though I was never a fan of his books, my opinions were formed without actually reading any of them. The apparently humorous quotes, lifted from his novels and essays, never made me laugh. His literary stylings, however highly polished, seldom seemed profound. He seemed a minor talent, hoisted to literary heights by celebrity and nepotism. I can’t pretend to be an objective observer. Many years ago I had a small – but very personal – gripe with him (the details of which I will take, undivulged, to the grave).
Shot a couple of hours ago: cyclists taking the slow road from Wressle to Breighton...
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