Marking Geoff Dyer's Homework (Part One: I-XII)

Canongate (2025) [a]

 

If I close my eyes I can see it now, that dear old house on Memory Lane ... [b]

 

I.

 

Longtime readers will recall that whilst I might not particularly care for all of his books, or share all of his passions, I have in the past expressed admiration for the English writer Geoff Dyer and recognised that there is even a degree of kinship between us: see, for example, the post dated 19 July 2014: click here. 

 

Dyer has written several books that I would have been proud to have written - not least of all his study of D. H. Lawrence, Out of Sheer Rage (1997) - though that's not to suggest for one moment that I could've written any of them with the same casual brilliance as the author not only of numerous award-winning works of non-fiction, but four novels to boot. 

 

And now, with publication of a memoir entitled Homework (2025), there's another one to add to this list of books by Dyer that I wish I'd written ...      

 

 

II. 

 

Five years older than me, Dyer and I were basically born into the same world and were shaped by many of the same experiences, games, toys, and comic books [c]. And so it's hard to read and reflect upon this memoir without projecting oneself into it. 

 

That's not something I would normally want to do or encourage, but, on this occasion, I think I'll just surrender to the urge to see this book not only as a window into the soul of the author, but as a looking glass in which I can see my own self reflected (albeit slightly distorted, as in one of those crazy funhouse mirrors). 

 

Apologies in advance if this soon proves wearisome.      

 

 

III. 

 

Dyer was born in 1958, in the historic spa town of Cheltenham - not far from the Cotswolds - which might suggest that he had a posh and privileged upbringing in a Regency townhouse, but, actually, he was the only child of a dinner lady and a sheet-metal worker living in a two-up, two-down terraced house; so I think that qualifies him as working class (in England, as the book makes clear, class matters a very good deal indeed).  

 

Dyer's early years were characterised by wargames, waterfights, and worn out tennis balls: like Dyer, I remember these things well. 

 

But I don't recall taking the first of these things as seriously as Dyer and his chums seem to have taken their re-enactments of World War II - even if I did have a childish fascination with Nazi Germany, not only dressing my favourite Action Man [d] as a Stormtrooper, but giving pride of place on my bedside dresser to a cast metal model of a Luftwaffe plane - I think it was a Fokke-Wulf - that dropped a single cap-loaded bomb.    

 

Nor do I recall ever wanting to trap and kill birds, or shoot them with an air rifle, as Dyer claims he attempted to do. As a child, I had no qualms about violence inflicted on other children, but hated even the thought of cruelty to animals (with the exception of certain insects; like Dyer, I remember killing ants with boiling water).  

 

 

IV.

 

Dyer's parents, like mine, pinned their hopes on winning the pools or perhaps ERNIE doing them a favour; much the same as people today dream of winning the National Lottery. Of course, those eight score draws never came up and neither did they ever win big on the Premium Bonds. 

 

I don't know about Dyer, but I rather resent how working people have to rely on luck (and prayer); there's something humiliating in checking numbers every week when the odds of winning a significant sum are infinitesimally small. [e] 

    

 

V.

 

Playing cards for pennies with your parents ... Eating John West salmon sandwiches ... Buying sherbert flying saucers ... Carrying around handkerchiefs that were "routinely stiff with yellow snot" [21] ... etc., etc. 

 

Dyer has an almost devilish knack of inserting the right detail, the right turn of phrase, into his text at the right time; which is why he's so admired as a writer and why his publisher can persuade so many famous literary names to provide advance praise for the dustjacket: although my dislike of this smoke-blowing practice remains second only to George Orwell's [f].  

 

 

VI. 

I really like these lines about the excitement generated by the "swirling tune of an ice-cream van wending its way through the streets" [23] on a sunny afternoon:

 

"As soon as we heard that innocent ice-cream music there would be a scramble for money, for change, and we - the neighbourhood kids, rarely accompanied by adults - would flock to his open window." [23]

 

"Even now, sixty years later, Keats's line, 'Fled is that music', makes me think not of a nightingale but a gaggle of kids standing, waiting, listening." [23]

 

When I was a child, in the 1970s, there were at least three different ice-cream vans regularly cruising round Harold Hill: Tonibell, Mr Whippy, and - my favourite - Rossi's. Now, there's only one van which visits once a day, in the summer months only, and which rarely attracts any children.

 

And of course, taking along a handful of pennies isn't going to buy you a 99 or even a small wafer today - as that outraged little girl and her twin sister in Burnley discovered to the amusement of the world back in 2024: click here.   

 

 

VII. 

 

I'm so happy Geoff loved conkers: I can't love anyone who doesn't love conkers and appreciate their gleaming quality when they emerge out of their spiky green shells like "the newest things in creation" [26]. 

 

But I have never in all my life heard the words: "Obbly, obbly onk, my first conk / Obbly, obbly ack, my first crack" [27] - is that a Gloucestershire thing?

 

I'm also very pleased to know how much Dyer loved collecting Brook Bond tea cards: me too. Not that I remember learning much from them (not sure I even read the backs); it was possessing images that I loved. 

 

Like Dyer, I do wonder if children still collect things with the same innocence and enthusiasm he and I shared: I'd like to think so, but I doubt it. 

 

 

VIII. 

 

So far, I have only mentioned the things Dyer and I had in common as youngsters. But when it came to our favourite television programmes, an important difference opens up; he was under the spell of the BBC whilst I was very much an ITV watching child.

 

This might seem a relatively minor or insignificant thing, but it isn't. In fact, it helps explain Dyer's smooth class transition via grammar school and Oxford University. Blue Peter and Jackanory pave the way into the bourgeois world [g].   

 

And while we're mentioning differences ... Dyer loved "everything about the undersea world" [53], whereas I hated the thought of putting my head under water even at the local swimming baths - of not being able to breathe - which is the main reason I never learned to swim (that, and my failure to see the point of swimming from one side of a pool to another when one could walk around with less effort and without having to take one's clothes off and get wet. This kind of implacable logic would often put me at odds with parents and teachers; if I couldn't see the sense of doing something, I wouldn't do it).            

 

IX.

 

Not only did I not want to deep sea dive, I didn't want to parachute from a plane either. Perhaps this made me a boring child - one who lacked the spirit of adventure - but, there you go! 

 

This even extended to a dislike of funfairs and here, I'm pleased to say, Geoff and I are on the same page once more: "The din and lurch of lights and noise had the quality of nightmare rather than treat ..." [57]  

 

 

X. 

 

Dyer is right to acknowledge the huge debt his generation (and my generation) owe to Gerry and Sylvia Anderson; without them, the "fantasy and reality of space travel" [59] wouldn't have so permeated childhood in the 1960s and '70s. 

 

Thanks to shows such as Thunderbirds and Space 1999, the future arrived on our TV screens and, whilst it wasn't all that different from today, it was certainly sexier and more silvery. I may not have wanted to voyage to the bottom of the sea, but I wouldn't have minded a trip to Moonbase Alpha to meet Catherine Schell (Maya).    

 

 

XI. 

 

Another important difference between young Dyer and my childhood self: I would never ever have considered joining any organisation such as the Scouts or Boys' Brigade that required one to wear a uniform and acknowledge the authority of either the Church or Crown or both (much to my mother's disappointment, as she had been a proud Brownie). 

 

I may not have had the vocabulary as a six-year-old to articulate my position, but I was a natural born anarchist and atheist and so I find Dyer's willingness to join the Junior Training Corps - a subset of the Church Lads' Brigade - if only so he could march in the streets and go camping in Wales, a bit depressing to be honest. 

 

However, thankfully, he redeems himself by confessing that he soon found it to be "a bit of a bore"; just like many other things "eagerly embraced as a child", including Sunday School, which "after about four weeks" [79], put him off religion for life. 

 

The fact that his dad had no time for the Royals, probably laid the foundation for Dyer's own "subsequent loathing" [79], which has intensified in adulthood.      

 

 

XII. 

 

Eighty pages or so into the book and Dyer takes us out on to his father's allotment. It's one of my favourite parts, particularly these lines in which Dyer reflects on walking with his wife to the allotment many years later, in September 2022:

 

"It was all the same as it had been when I was a kid, just a little more hemmed in by houses. [...] 

      I couldn't remember exactly which plot had been ours. It's possible that the plots had been slightly redrawn, but that didn't matter. The trees, I suppose, were the same trees that had been there when I was a boy. The sky overhead was as it had always been, and there was a strong sense of ... not permanence - that's a quality associated with monuments - but of protected and unchanging continuity. [...]

      What I would like to say, to claim, to believe, is that I felt like the boy I had been, but I didn't; I felt like who I  am now, conscious of a straining for the passage of time to dissolve." [85] [h]

 

That, I think, is a lovely note on which to close the first part of this post ...       

 

 

Notes

 

[a] All page references given in the above post are from this hardback UK edition. 

 

[b] Dyer places this line - then scribbles it out - at the front of Homework beneath a charming black and white photo of himself, dressed in a cowboy suit and probably aged about 4, pretending to push a heavy-looking lawnmower in his front garden.

      As for the colour photo of a grumpy little fella with his parents on a day trip which is reproduced on the book's cover, see pp. 73-78 where Dyer provides a lovely reading of the image (with an almost obligatory nod to Roland Barthes).     

 

[c] Having said that, Dyer is a child of the 1960s; whereas I regard myself more as a child of the 1970s. 

 

[d] Dyer writes at length about Action Man, which he describes as the ultimate toy: see pp. 45-48. Like him, I owned four of these dolls, including the one who could talk. 

 

[e] Funny enough, one of Dyer's aunties won "a quarter or perhaps even half a million quid on the Football Pools" [71] sending shock waves through his entire family. 

 

[f] In his 1936 essay 'In Defence of the Novel', Orwell famously described hyperbolic book blurbs as disgusting tripe; not only exaggerated, but often misleading and a sign of declining integrity amongst those in the world of letters. Readers who wish to do so can read Orwell's essay online by clicking here.  

 

[g] I'm not quite sure how Dyer identifies in terms of class. Perhaps, as the kind of nomadic writer and thinker that he is, he's now without class or, more precisely, one who moves freely outside of class. Interestingly, at one point Dyer speaks of himself as a son of the Gloucestershire peasantry - i.e., a man who has been significantly determined by the fact he is descended from generations of rural labourers. See p. 69.  

 

[h] Readers familiar with Torpedo the Ark might recall some of the posts in which I have spoken about this desire for the passage of time to be rendered meaningless; see, for example, the post 'Temporal Reflections Whilst Sitting in My Back Garden' (11 May 2025): click here. 

 

 

Part two of this post can be read by clicking here.  

 

 

From Railway Child to Girl About the House: In Praise of Sally Thomsett

Sally Thomsett as Phyllis Waterbury in The Railway Children (1970)

and as Jo in Man About the House (ITV 1973-76) 

 

I. 

 

Even though the seventies British sitcom Man About the House remains one of my favourite shows, there are several things about it that I find problematic; not least of all that Sally Thomsett's character, Jo, is outrageously underdeveloped by the writers, Brian Cooke and Johnnie Mortimer.  

 

Indeed, unlike the other lead characters, she's not even given a surname!    

 

Whilst I understand and appreciate that the show essentially concerns the quasi-romantic relationship between Robin and Chrissy (played by Richard O'Sullivan and Paula Wilcox), in my view Cooke and Mortimer missed a trick in not doing more with Jo who had a unique charm of her own and much untapped comic potential beyond the stereotype of the good-looking dumb blonde.

 

If I'd been writing the show, I would've hooked Thomsett's character up with Robin's mate Larry, a cheeky Jack the Lad (played by Doug Fisher) who rents the attic room above the flat. I would have also much reduced the role of the landlord, George Roper, and his wife Mildred (played by Brian Murphy and Yootha Joyce).  

 

Obviously, this would have changed the show's structure, narrative, and comedic dynamic, but would have done so in a positive and interesting manner; for me, George and Mildred as a bickering married couple - he the hen-pecked husband and she the long-suffering sex-starved wife - are simply too rooted in cliché and old-fashioned humour [1].

 

If Man About the House had been the story of two young couples - Robin and Chrissy and Jo and Larry - and what it was like to be a twenty-something in the mid-70s, I think it would now feel less dated than it does today. And, who knows, it's possible that the audience may even have come to love Jo and Larry more than George and Mildred (or even Robin and Chrissy).         

 

 

II.  

 

Sally, of course, was already held in great public affection due to her role as Phyllis Waterbury in The Railway Children (dir. Lionell Jeffries, 1970). 

 

Amusingly, Thomsett was cast as an eleven year old girl despite being twenty at the time of filming and contractually forbidden not to give the game away during production by smoking, drinking, driving, or being seen in public with a boyfriend on her arm. Even many members of the film crew were unaware of her true age and would often arrive on set with sweets for her. 

 

A year afterwards, Thomsett appeared onscreen opposite Dustin Hoffman and Susan George in Sam Peckinpah's controversial and violent thriller Straw Dogs (1971), playing the role of flirty village girl Janice Hedden (who isn't brutally raped, like George's character, Amy, but still meets a grisly fate; inadvertently strangled by a retarded paedophile).  

 

It wasn't either of these roles, however, that brought Thomsett to the attention of Cooke and Mortimer when looking to cast the character of Jo in Man About the House. Rather, they had spotted her in a 30 second TV ad for Bovril (1972), playing the character of Jill, who is stood up by her boyfriend and returns home, cold and upset, where her mum makes her a nice hot drink using a spoonful of the nation's favourite beef extract [2]. 

 

The ad's humorous punchline - He's got big ears anyway - is repeated by Thomsett (as Jo) in the first episode of series two of Man About the House, much to the amusement of the live studio audience [3].

 

 

III.

 

After Man About the House ended (in April 1976), Thomsett continued to act in this and that and to appear in TV ads - including one for Crunchie bars in 1979 - but, in terms of her professional career, I think we can say her golden days were behind her and it's in the roles of Janice, Jill, and Jo that I'll always remember her with great fondness.  

 

 

Sally Thomsett as Janice Hedden in Straw Dogs (1971)

and as Jill in a TV ad for Bovril (1972)  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] In spite of this - indeed, probably because of this - the Ropers were hugely popular with the Great British Public and the spin-off series George & Mildred (ITV 1976-1979), written by Cooke and Mortimer, ran for 38 episodes over five series (just one episode less than Man About the House). 

      Murphy and Joyce also starred in a George and Mildred feature film, directed by Peter Frazer Jones (1980), though this was not well-received, either commercially or critically, as everyone finally tired of this type of lame and lazy comedy.  

 

[2] For non-British readers who might not know what I'm talking about, Bovril is is a brand of beef extract which has been enjoyed in the UK since 1886 - particularly by football fans standing on the terraces in mid-winter conditions. Three-and-a-half million jars are still sold in the UK every year. As well as being enjoyed as a hot drink, Bovril can also be spread as a paste on toast, or added to soups and stews for a rich beefy flavour. Vegetarians might prefer its yeasty plant based equivalent, Marmite. 

      The Bovril ad starring Sally Thomsett can be watched on YouTube by clicking here.   

 

[3] Man About the House [S2/E1]: 'While the Cat's Away', directed by Peter Frazer-Jones, written by Johnnie Mortimer and Brian Cooke (Jan. 1974). This episode - co-starring Ian Lavender (as Mark) and Jenny Hanley (as Liz) - can be viewed on YouTube by clicking here. Go to 15: 16 for the big ears line, which arguably gets Thomsett her biggest laugh in the entire series. 

      Interestingly, Lavender's character is supposed to be an actor and, at one point he tells Chrissy - who wants to know if the dress she's wearing gives her a sexy look, a bit like Susan George - that he auditioned for a crowd scene in Straw Dogs (but didn't hit it off with Peckinpah). Surely this can't be coincidental, and is rather another example of the writers teasing Thomsett about her acting history. Go to 12:25-44.

    

 

On the Law of Inertia and the Principle of Evil

Portrait of Isaac Newton by Godfrey Keller (1689) 

with the addition of Newton's Law of Inertia

  

  

I. 

 

Like many people who possess a limited knowledge of physics, for a long time I thought inertia only referred to the tendency of objects at rest not to move unless acted upon by some external force or agency; that tumbleweed doesn't tumble unless blown by the wind, for example, and Phoevos the cat doesn't get off my chair unless physically encouraged to do so. 

 

It wasn't until quite recently that I discovered that inertia also refers to the fact that objects in motion will keep on moving in the same direction and at the same pace unless something causes them to divert, slow down, or come to a halt. 

 

Inertia, therefore, doesn't mean unmoving so much as unchanging; it essentially guarantees that the existing state of afffairs will remain the existing state of affairs - whether that state is at rest or in motion - until disrupted [1]. 

 

 

II. 

 

I'm not sure this permits us to describe existence as naturally idle or metathesiophobic, but it does seem to suggest that change ultimately requires forces that are, in some sense, artificial, alien, and demonic.

 

In sum: whilst we may no longer need a creator god to guarantee the status quo and preservation of all things, we still need a principle of evil to shake things up and send them spinning in a new direction [2].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] D. H. Lawrence challenged the classical idea that objects are ever truly at rest, arguing that a thing that appears at rest to us is either moving at the same velocity as us, or is simply travelling at its own rate of motion, slower than we can recognise. Even the desk on which he writes or the chair on which he sits - which seem solid and stable and not going anywhere - are really in motion, says Lawrence. See 'Study of Thomas Hardy', in Study of Thomas Hardy and Other Essays, ed. Bruce Steele (Cambridge University Press, 1985), p. 60. 

      Interestingly, this aligns Lawrence's thinking with quantum physics which says that, at a quantum level, particles don't have definite positions or states of rest, but exist rather in a superposition of possibilities, described by probability waves.   

 

[2] I'm aware of the fact that for modernist writers - including critical theorists like Adorno - it is the principle of inertia that is identified with evil, with the latter still conceived in conventional moral terms. But my thinking owes more to Jean Baudrillard, for whom evil is an inhuman form of intelligence that operates outside of the traditional moral frameworks; a principle of change and reversal that destabilises and disrupts the established order.   

 

 

For a post on the art and politics of triviality (20 July 2025) which anticipates this one, click here. 

 

 

On the Art and Politics of Triviality (Wilde Vs Adorno)

Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900) / Theodor W. Adorno (1903 - 1969) 

 

I. 

 

The narrator of Lady Chatterley's Lover identified the modern era as an essentially tragic age; one in which the skies have fallen and we are left among the ruins, with no smooth road into the future. Nevertheless, we are encouraged to live and learn, rather than weep and wail; to scramble over the obstacles and build new little habitats, have new little hopes. [1]

 

However, this post-cataclysmic emphasis on the small scale - on being more modest in all things, including our architectural ambitions and personal aspirations - does not mean a fall into triviality, as I very much doubt that Lawrence wants us simply to peel potatoes and listen to the radio, even if this is arguably a preferable alternative to tragically wringing our hands [2]. 

 

That said, Lawrence is surprisingly ambivalent when it comes to this subject: one might have expected him to be strongly opposed to things lacking significance or a certain grandeur and, at times, he is; often contrasting the elemental beauty and primeval darkness of a natural landscape with the ugly triviality and falsehood of modern life [3]. 

 

But, at other times, Lawrence criticises those who hold themselves aloof from small talk and playful banter, suggesting that it is this refusal that hinders their ability to develop more meaningful relationships: 

 

"They wanted genuine intimacy, but they could not get even normally near to anyone, because they scorned to take the first steps, they scorned the triviality which forms common human intercourse." [4]

 

 

II. 

 

Unlike Lawrence, some people are not so ambivalent on this question: they aggressively condemn those individuals who devote themselves to activities regarded as trivial pursuits; i.e., childish games, old-fashioned hobbies, pointless pastimes, amateur undertakings, etc. 

 

Doubtless, this includes blogging ...   

 

In fact, I recently received an email from an anonymous reader informing me that blogging in the almost obsessive manner that I blog - about what are trivial personal concerns disguised with philosophical or literary references in order to appear of import or possible interest to others - reveals me to be an affected narcissist who, in avoiding the serious challenges of the real world is effectively part of the problem. 

 

They close their email thus: 

 

I'm sorry to say, but you're essentially a complacent conformist who blogs more as a coping mechanism, rather than to bring about much needed social and political change and I would remind you of these lines from Adorno: 

 

"Triviality is evil - triviality, that is, in the form of consciousness and mind that adapts itself to the world as it is, that obeys the principle of inertia. And this principle of inertia truly is what is radically evil." [5]    

 

 

III. 

 

Now, appreciative as I am of such criticism, I can't say that I'm persuaded by Adorno's identification of triviality with evil (nor of evil with inertia, when the latter is not merely the negative ideal that he would like us to believe, but a vastly complex state) [6].      

 

Ultimately, as with his broader critique of the Kulturindustrie, I find Adorno's thinking on this question somewhat exaggerated and overblown; no one, as far as I'm aware, is attempting to consummate triviality and thereby lead us into absolute horror. 

 

The fact is, being trivial does not make you evil; it simply means that you prefer to linger at the crossroads, uncertain of which way to head, but happy to chat with others you may encounter rather than forge ahead on a single path leading you to the mountain top.  

 

And so, push comes to shove, I'm more inclined to side with Oscar Wilde rather than Adorno, who advised: 'We should treat all the trivial things of life seriously, and all the serious things of life with sincere and studied triviality.' [7]  

 

It seems to me that it is this mode of thought - more comical than critical - that offers us the best chance of surviving among the ruins; for it allows us to find something more important than meaning and that's humour. Refusing to take things tragically, means learning how to laugh in the face of adversity, which might not make us better human beings, but it will almost certainly make us less earnest and the enemy of ascetic idealism [8].       

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I'm paraphrasing (and quoting words and phrases from) the opening paragraph to D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928). I have written about this opening in a post dated 21 September 2019: click here.  

 

[2] In the second version of Lady C., the narrator of the tale says: "We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen. Having tragically wrung our hands, we now proceed to peel the potatoes, or to put on the wireless." How we read this line is very much open to interpretation.

      See The First and Second Lady Chatterley Novels, ed. Dieter Mehl and Christa Jansohn (Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 223.  

 

[3] See, for example, the letter to J. D. Beresford (1 February 1916), in which Lawrence contrasts the Cornish coastline, with all its heavy black rocks, to the "dust and grit and dirty paper" of the modern world in all its non-elemental triviality and shallowness. 

      The letter can be found in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence Vol. II., ed. George J. Zytaruk and James T. Boulton (Cambridge Universty Press, 1982), p. 519. 

 

[4] D. H. Lawrence, Sons and Lovers, ed. Helen Baron and Carl Baron (Cambridge University Press, 1992), chapter VII, p. 178.

 

[5] Theodor W. Adorno, Metaphysics: Concept and Problems, ed. Rolf Tiedemann, trans. Edmund Jephcott (Stanford University Press, 2001), p. 115: 

 

[6] I know this because inertia became a key term in D. H. Lawrence's understanding of energy and materiality. Unlike other modernist writers - including Adorno - who disliked inertia and always wrote in praise of dynamism, Lawrence contrasted negative inertia (associated with industrialism and the ideal of limitless production) to positive inertia (associated with the limits and fragility of life and its generation). 

      Readers who are interested might like to see the essay by Andrew Kalaidjian, 'Positive Inertia: D. H. Lawrence and the Aesthetics of Generation', in Journal of Modern Literature, Vol. 38, No. 1, (Indiana University Press, Fall 2014), pp. 38-55. This essay can be accessed via JSTOR: click here. 

      See also a follow up post to this one on the law of inertia and the principle of evil (21 July 2025): click here. 

 

[7] Oscar Wilde, from an interview with Robbie Ross, published in the St. James Gazette (18 Jan 1895): click here. This, of course, is the philosophy behind The Importance of Being Earnest (1895): 'A Trivial Play for Serious People' as it was originally subtitled.      

 

[8] In the third essay of the Genealogy, Nietzsche concludes that the ascetic ideal has "even in the most spiritual sphere, only one type of real enemy [...] these are the comedians of the ascetic ideal", i.e., those who arouse mistrust in the latter via a refusal to take things seriously. See On the Genealogy of Morality, ed. Keith Ansell-Pearson, trans. Carol Diethe (Cambridge University Press, 1994), III. 27, p. 125. 

      Readers interested in this, might also like to see Keith Ansell-Pearson's essay 'Toward the Comedy of Existence', in The Fate of the New Nietzsche, ed. Keith Ansell-Pearson and Howard Caygill (Avebury Press, 1993).     

 

That Time I Met Mr Pickle ...

 

I. 

 

One of my favourite scenes in The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (1980) is the closing animated sequence in which McLaren and his motley crew are all aboard the good ship Venus and Johnny Rotten, having been found guilty of collaboration, is forced to walk the plank. 

 

Abandoned by his shipmates, the singer finds himself literally all at sea where he is soon swallowed by a great white shark with the Virgin logo clearly visible on its fin [1].    

 

This scene replayed itself in my mind when, in 1983, the Virgin Group acquired Charisma Records (although it wouldn't be until 1986 that the latter was fully digested by the former; still maintaining at least a measure of independence until then). 

 

So, let us say that I was not a fan of Richard Branson and would laugh at Malcolm's stories about this hippie entrepreneur whom he vehemently disliked and derisively called Mr Pickle (either intentionally or mistakenly confusing the surname with that of an English food brand made by Crosse & Blackwell since 1922) [2].  

 

 

II. 

 

I first met Mr Pickle when, as a Charisma employee, I was sent an invitation by him and the directors of the Virgin Group to attend a party at the Manor, in Oxfordshire, to celebrate the first anniversary of Virgin Atlantic.  

 

The Manor, for those who might not know, was a recording studio housed in a 17th century Grade II listed building that had been bought by Branson in 1971, for £30,000, when he was only twenty-one years of age. It was where Mike Oldfield famousy recorded his precious Tubular Bells (1973) [3].

 

As pretty much everyone from Charisma was going to go, I decided I'd also (somewhat begrudgingly) accept Branson's invitation. And here, for those who may be interested, is my memory of the day based on an entry in the Von Hell Diaries dated 22 June, 1985 ... 

 

 

III. 

 

Unsure what to wear, I decided to go with the pink check suit I bought two years ago and which I've kept hanging in my closet - unworn - ever since. After my friend Andy arrived, we went over to pick Lee Ellen up from her place in Chelsea. Then cabbed it over to Kensal House (i.e., Virgin HQ), from where coaches transported everyone to the Manor. 

      Those of us from the Famous Charisma Label were segregated from the Virgin staff and we were seated as a group at the back of the bus. As Robin had kindly brought along several bottles of wine, however, no one seemed to mind about that and, amusingly, we were soon making twice as much noise as the Virginians on board (to be fair, perhaps that's why we were placed at the back of the bus).  

       The Manor was an impressive country pile (provided you have the capacity to be impressed by an assemblage of bricks) and set in very beautiful grounds that included trees, lakes, swimming pools, tennis courts, etc. Mr Pickle was there to meet and greet us personally as we got off the bus. 

      There were three large tents erected and Branson had laid on copious amounts of food and drink as well as various entertainments that one could sign up for, including horse riding and helicopter flights. But I was more interested in Shelley's friend Claire to be honest. Unfortunately, I ruined my chances with her when I split my lip open swigging champagne straight from the bottle. Note to future self: spitting blood à la Sid Vicious is probably not the most attractive look. 

      Ultimately, it was a dull event - even with the odd pop star in attendance - and the weather didn't help (typical English summer's day - wet and chilly). Glad when the coaches turned up to take us back to London. Mr Pickle dutifully came over to say goodbye and shake everyone's hand for a second time: very much Lord of the Manor. And very much not to be trusted ... [4]    

  

 

 

Not to the manor born ... Andy Greenfield and myself 

The Manor Studio (22 June 1985)

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I have written about this scene in a post published on 4 March 2024: click here. 

 

[2] Use of this nickname is confirmed by Paul Gorman in The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 355. 

      Gorman's assessment of Branson is one I fully endorse; essentially, a very clever businessman from a privileged background who knew a good opportunity when he saw one and had "cultivated a knack of appropriating aspects of youth culture to his commercial gain" (ibid., p. 356). 

 

[3] The idea of building a luxurious home recording studio was still novel at this time; the Manor was only the third such studio in the UK. Oldfield recorded his debut studio album at the Manor in 1972-73 and it was the first album released on the Virgin Records label (25 May 1973). 

      In April 1995, after the takeover of Virgin Records by EMI, the Manor was closed as a recording studio and the building, listed for sale in 2010 at £5.75 million, is now the country home of some toff or other.   

 

[4] Lee Ellen, Robin, and Shelley all worked at Charisma (in the press office, accounts, and A&R department respectively). The final line is my recalling McLaren's famous advice given to Helen in The Swindle: 'Never trust a hippie'.   

 

 

On Beryl Battersby and Chrissy Plummer

Paula Wilcox as Beryl Battersby in The Lovers (ITV 1970-71)

and Chrissy Plummer in Man About the House (ITV 1973-76)

 

 

I. 

 

There are several English actresses from the 1970s that I absolutely adore and one of these is definitely Paula Wilcox, fondly remembered as Chrissy Plummer in Man About the House (1973-76) [1] and, prior to that, as Beryl Battersby in The Lovers (1970-71) [2]. 

 

 

II. 

 

Miss Wilcox was only twenty when she starred as Beryl alongside Richard Beckinsale as her boyfriend, Geoffrey, in The Lovers and her character was famous for frustrating the latter's desire to become an active member of the permissive society. 

 

For Beryl, however, the freedom to say yes to sex before marriage - thanks to advances in contraception and changes in public morality during the 1960s - meant nothing if it was not also the freedom to say no: consent had to be something that could be given, withheld, or withdrawn.  

 

And besides, Beryl was an old-fashioned girl at heart; one to whom marriage and motherhood still meant more than women's liberation and the promise of socio-sexual independence [3]. 

 

In fact, her traditionalism and conservatism was even tinged with a streak of puritanism, as betrayed by the fact that she often referred to sex as Percy Filth (even whilst entertaining her own erotic fantasies involving her idol Paul McCartney). 

 

This made Beryl - not least of all to poor Geoffrey, desperate to pop her cherry and lose his own virginity in the process - an at times maddening character. 

 

However, thanks in no small part to Wilcox's lovely performance, she remains endearing and Geoffrey ultimately makes the right choice in resigning himself to the fact that he will have to marry Beryl if he wishes to consummate their relationship (perhaps even growing a moustache and smoking a pipe at her behest in order to signal his submission on this point).             

 

 

III. 

 

Similar themes to do with sexual politics and comically thwarted desire were also at the heart of Man About the House, with Miss Wilcox playing a more liberated character than Beryl, but one who still placed her body very much off limits to the charming and likeable young man, Robin (played by Richard O'Sullivan), who desires knowledge of it.    

 

To be honest, I don't quite understand why Chrissy doesn't take Robin as her lover; she is clearly very fond of him and extremely jealous whenever he shows sexual interest in other women [4]. 

 

Even less do I understand - or much like the fact - that in the final episode of the show, following a whirlwind romance, she marries Robin's obnoxious older brother, Norman, who with his double-breasted blazer, flared grey slacks, and flash sports car is everything that Robin is not [5]. 

 

That just feels wrong and it makes me have serious reservations about Chrissy: it's almost as if having flirtatiously teased him for so long, she now wishes to humiliate poor Robin. When the latter trips and falls into a spectacular wedding cake that he himself has made, he literally has his nose rubbed in the fact that she is marrying a man who has bullied and bested him his whole life.   

 

Interestingly, after the wedding, when a number of men step forward to kiss the bride, Chrissy has a passionate snog lasting almost a full half minute with Robin in front of the other guests - including her new husband, who eventually steps in to break things up. 

 

Whether this reveals Chrissy's true feelings or is simply her continuing to tease Robin (and humiliate Norman by being unfaithful to him before they have even left for their honeymoon), I'm not sure. But, again, it does make me wonder about her character. 

 

 

Paula Wilcox as Beryl and Richard Beckinsale as Geoffrey in The Lovers (ITV 1970-71)

Richard O'Sullivan as Robin and Paula Wilcox as Chrissy in Man About the House (ITV 1973-76) 

 

Notes

 

[1] Man About the House is a British sitcom created by Brian Cooke and Johnnie Mortimer. It starred Richard O'Sullivan (as Robin), Paula Wilcox (as Chrissy), Sally Thomsett (as Jo), as well as Brian Murphy and Yootha Joyce as the Ropers. The theme tune - click here - was written by Johnny Hawksworth and entitled "Up to Date" (although it was not specially commissioned for the show).

      Six series (39 episodes) were broadcast on ITV from 15 August 1973 to 7 April 1976, all directed by Peter Frazer-Jones. The show was considered rather risqué at the time because it featured a randy and good-looking young man sharing a London flat with two single women. A big-screen version was released in UK cinemas in December 1974, dir. John Robbins. To watch the original movie trailer, click here.  

      It's a brilliant series which, were it not for a certain snobbery regarding shows that weren't made by the BBC, would be ranked much higher in any list of the UK's best sitcoms than it is (I would certainly put it in my top 10: click here).       

 

[2] The Lovers is a British television sitcom created and written by Jack Rosenthal (and, during the second series, Geoffrey Lancashire). It stars Richard Beckinsale (as Geoffrey) and Paula Wilcox (as Beryl), a perfectly suited young couple, despite having diametrically opposed attitudes toward sex and marriage. 

      Two series (13 episodes) were broadcast on ITV programme from 27 October 1970 to 18 November 1971. It's essentially a chaste (and charming) sex comedy.

      Jack Rosenthal also wrote the feature film adaptation of the same title - but with an added exclamation mark - directed by Herbert Wise and released in UK cinemas in May 1973 (i.e., 18 months after the TV series ended and just three months before the first episode of Man About the House was broadcast). To watch the original movie trailer, click here. 

 

[3] In one scene in The Lovers! (1973), Beryl and Geoffrey encounter a feminist on the stairs at a house party, smoking a joint and loudly proclaiming the ideals of Women's Liberation. When she removes her bra and tells Geoffrey to burn it, he is only too happy to oblige, but Beryl, profoundly unimpressed, storms of in outrage to the kitchen and helps with the washing up.     

[4] See for example, episode 4 of series 1: 'And Then, There Were Two!' (1973). In this episode Robin brings a girl, Liz (played by Jenny Hanley), back to the flat and Chrissy deliberately ruins the evening by walking in on them as they smooch on the sofa in the living room, falsely claiming that she's his pregnant mistress.

      See also episode 2 of series 3: 'Come Into My Parlour' (1974), in which Chrissy displays the same mixture of jealousy and concern when Robin plans to seduce his new girlfriend Angie (played by Caroline Dowdeswell) over dinner in the flat.     

 

[5] Somewhat disconcertingly, the role of Norman Tripp is played by Norman Eshley, despite the fact that in an earlier episode - 'In Praise of Older Men (S2/E3) - the same actor played Ian Cross; a sleazy married man attempting to seduce Chrissy and take her away for the weekend to Bouremouth on a business trip. 

      Norman first appears in episode 5 of series 6: 'Mum Always Liked You Best' (1976). During a two day visit to see his brother, he takes a shine to Chrissy (which is understandable) and she seems to also be instantly attracted to him (which is not quite so believable). Robin makes his feelings clear to his brother and does everything he can to discourage Norman from pursuing Chrissy, but to no avail. For by the following episode - 'Fire Down Below' (1976) - the relationship between Norman and Chrissy has become serious and after a romantic sight-seeing tour of London, he proposes and she accepts without hesitation. In the next episode - which is also the show's finale - 'Another Bride, Another Groom' (1976) - they marry and the whole nation groaned with disappointment and sympathy for Robin. 

      Still, he does eventually get to open his own small restaurant as long wanted, Robin's Nest, and to marry an attractive blonde called Vicky Nicholls (played by Tessa Wyatt), but that's a whole different series ...  

 

 

Diary Snippets, Faded Memories, and Missed Opportunities from July 1985

Portrait of the Artist ... (1985)

 

 

Monday 1 July

 

Sent my proposal for a Malcolm McLaren biography to another 13 publishers. [1]

 

 

Tues 2 July

 

Virgin have decided to pay me £500 a month: £100 less than expected; £250 less than hoped. Pissed off. [2]

 

 

Weds 3 July 

 

Met with a Greek woman called Versa Manos from Arista Records. Offered me a job as a press officer: £9000 a year, expenses, and a car. I told her I didn't drive and would prefer a horse. Everyone says it's a great opportunity and I should take it. But do I really want a career in the music business ...? Thinking of moving to a remote cottage in Scotland instead. [3] 

 

 

Sat 6 July

 

Lee Ellen [4] begged me to go and see Bruce Springsteen at Wembley with her. The problem is, whilst he was born in the USA, I belong to a generation that professes boredom with the USA. After an hour, therefore, I'd had more than enough, so left. He's good at what he does, but I don't care for it. 

 

 

Fri 12 July 

 

Carrolle came over with a (very) belated birthday present: a copy of Guy Debord's Society of the Spectacle. Kind of her. Love the cover of the book, but don't really understand a word of it. Perhaps I can get Roadent to explain it to me one day! [5]

 

Later, I met up with Keith and David Gedge of the Wedding Present: they gave me 35 copies of their excellent debut single ('Go Out and Get 'Em Boy!') and some press cuttings. Agreed to help promote the record, even if Charisma won't be offering them a recording contract. [6] 

 

 

Tues 16 July

 

Went to a party at the NME: a leaving do for the editor, Neil Spencer. Listened in to his conversation with Lee Ellen: he's a boring socialist - just like Billy Bragg, who was also banging on about what a great bloke Neil Kinnock was and how he was proud to support the Labour Party, etc. [7] 

 

 

Fri 19 July

 

My fascination with Mozart continues: decided to investigate the practicalities of having a suit of clothes made in late 18th century style and went to a tiny tailor's shop off Carnaby Street which, apparently, has dressed all the stars in its time. 

      The strange little man with the measuring tape said he could do whatever I wanted and that the entire ensemble would cost £610 (including buckled shoes for £85 and a cape for £150; but not including a wig or cocked hat which would be extra). 

 

 

Sat 20 July  

 

Deciding the Amadeus costume might be a bit much, I went to Hyper Hyper to see if I could find an interesting new outfit there: I couldn't. Hated everything and everyone. Felt much happier in Kensington Market, although the mass-produced punk style clothing now feels very regressive and is worn by people who having arrived Nowhere now fully intend to stay there.   

      On the tube home, some idiot gave me a hard time about the book I was reading; Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil - told me I was a fascist. 

 

 

Fri 26 July  

 

To the Savoy for a press conference announcing a new musical project by Dave Clark called Time, featuring various artists including Freddie Mercury, Stevie Wonder, and Julian Lennon (thus the reason Lee Ellen and I were there, as Julian's a Charisma act). 

      Apparently, Time would be both a stage show and a concept album that combined a rock soundtrack with a science fiction narrative (groan). Cliff Richard had also been roped in and he was there alongside Dave Clark at the press conference, answering questions: I DO NOT LIKE HIM.  

 

 

Weds 31 July 

All packed and ready for my trip to France (leaving tomorrow - train and ferry). Ticket £42.80 rtn. Bought 1800 francs (ex. rate = 12 to the pound, so cost £150). Very excited to be getting out of England for the first time and, of course, to be meeting Sophie. Qui sait comment les choses vont évoluer? [8] 

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] Rejected by all - including Virgin Books.

 

[2] I don't know what the average wage for a 22-year-old working in London in the music business was in 1985, but I suspect it was more than the £125 a week Virgin paid me. The offer made by Arista of £9000 a year (see the snippet that follows dated 3 July) was, I suspect, closer to a typical entry level salary at this time.     

 

[3] I didn't. In fact, three months later and I decided to quit London and have nothing further to do with the music business; fleeing south to Madrid with the intention of writing a novel beneath the radiation of new skies.  

 

[4] Lee Ellen Newman, Head of Press at Charisma Records. 

 

[5] Carrolle Payne, McLaren's PA / office manager at Moulin Rouge Ltd. Roadent was her boyfriend and the one who got her the job with Malcolm, whom he had known since the old days with the Sex Pistols. 

[6] Keith Gregory, bass player with the Wedding Present, was someone I knew from my time in Leeds as a student. The view at Charisma was that the Wedding Present's jangly guitar style of indie rock was passé. The band, however, went on to have great success, including eighteen singles charting in the top 40. Can't really say I had any role in this, although I did manage to get them an interview with someone from Sounds in July '85. 

      To play the band's self-financed single 'Go Out and Get 'Em Boy!', released on their own label (Reception Records, 1985), click here.    

 

[7] In November 1985, Spencer helped found Red Wedge with British musicians Paul Weller and Billy Bragg. The collective aimed to engage young people politically and garner support for the Labour Party in the lead-up to the 1987 general election. All of the usual suspects gave support, including Jerry Dammers, Tom Robinson, Jimmy Somerville, and alternative comedians such as Lenny Henry and Ben Elton. 

      After the 1987 election produced a third consecutive victory for Margaret Thatcher's Conservative Party, many of the participants drifted away and funding eventually dried up. Red Wedge was formally disbanded in 1990. 

 

[8] Actually, things turned out very well and I'm pleased to say that Sophie and I are still in touch forty years on. 

      For those who might be interested, 19 year-old Mlle. Stas and I had agreed to meet up having exchanged a few letters and phone calls after she contacted the Charisma press office with a query about Julian Lennon. 

      The photo at the top of this post was taken by Sophie on my last night in France (5 August 1985).   

 

 

I Stood Watching the Shadowy Fish ... Notes on the First Line of D. H. Lawrence's 'The White Peacock'

  

I. 

 

The opening line from Lawrence's debut novel, The White Peacock (1911), reads: 

 

"I stood watching the shadowy fish slide through the gloom of the mill-pond." [1]  

 

It is spoken by Cyril Beardsall; a fairly obvious self-characterisation, even if Lawrence cannot be completely identified with the (artistically inclined but somewhat priggish) narrator of his novel. 

 

Cyril is as enchanted by the intense stillness of the water as he is by the grey-silvery fish and the manner in which the entire scene was "gathered in the musing of old age" [2]. 

 

 

II. 

 

Now, a Heideggerian critic might be tempted to suggest that Cyril knows what it is to not merely inhabit a space and reflect upon it like one of those moon-like philosophers whom Zarathustra condemns [3]. 

 

That he knows how to dwell in the world; i.e., to form a deep and meaningful relationship with all the various elements of his environment, in this case, fish, gloom, water, stillness, and temporality.     

 

For Heidegger, dwelling is a fundamental aspect of Dasein that allows men and women to exist as mortals beneath the sky, upon the earth, and in the presence of gods.  

 

But whilst it allows connection and interrelationship, dwelling is not a way for us to project ourselves into all things; i.e., it's not a form of existential narcissism and Cyril is not merely admiring his own reflection in the mill-pond and desiring to become one with it.   

 

 

III. 

 

Finally, it's interesting to compare the opening of Lawrence's first novel with one of his early poems, 'The Wild Common', whose setting and situation are somewhat similar.

 

In this poem, the young male narrator observes his own reflection on the surface of a pond: "Naked on the steep, soft lip / Of the bank I stand watching my own white shadow quivering to and fro" [4]. 

 

It is only after he plunges naked into the water that he fully appreciates how the natural world has physical reality that is not dependent upon his perception and understanding of it: "Oh but the water loves me and folds me / Plays with me, sways me, lifts me and sinks me ..." [5] 

 

And that it is his self, in fact, which has no substantial reality apart from the world of flowers, sunlight, and pulsing waters.  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] D. H. Lawrence, The White Peacock, ed. Andrew Robertson (Cambridge University Press, 1983), p. 1. 

 

[2] Ibid. 

 

[3] In Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche critiques the concept of immaculate perception (i.e., the mistaken idea that we are capable of pure knowledge and a detached, moon-like contemplation of the world free of all desire; emasculated leering, as he calls it). See the section entitled 'Of Immaculate Perception' in part two of Zarathustra.    

 

[4] D. H. Lawrence, 'The Wild Common' - click here to read online. 

      Note that this is the original version of the verse, written c. 1905-06 and published in Amores (1916). Lawrence later revised it for his Collected Poems (1928), adding new material and finally saying what it was he had started to say (incoherently in his view) when he first wrote it as a young man. This final version can be found in The Poems, Vol. I., ed. Christopher Pollnitz (Cambridge University Press, 2013), pp. 5-6.

      For a critical reading of 'The Wild Common', see the first chapter of M. J. Lockwood's, A Study of the Poems of D. H. Lawrence: Thinking in Poetry, (Palgrave Macmillan, 1987). 

 

[5] D. H. Lawrence, 'The Wild Common'.