My word, you Spectator readers are an education, and a delightfully idiosyncratic bunch to boot.
God and the editor willing, next month’s column will be the 100th ‘Olden but golden’.
For many years now I have maintained that, if I am ever sacked from the Daily Telegraph, I will become a minicab driver, an assertion usually met by jeers and sneers of derision.
God, I hate this time of year.
If someone had asked me last month when it was that the revered Radio One DJ John Peel had died, I’d have said a couple of years ago.
A few weeks ago I was in Chichester, reviewing a fine revival of Terence Rattigan’s Separate Tables and suddenly experienced a great ache of nostalgia for the period immediately before my birth.
Busy, busy, busy! What an amazing few days it has been for pop fans.
I have so far avoided swine flu but have caught the festival bug badly this year. Back from Glastonbury, I realised I could squeeze in a day at GuilFest, the much smaller and less intimidating festival held each year in Guildford’s Stoke Park.
The Telegraph sent me to do a piece on Glastonbury the other week.
Like most addicts I have become accustomed to smuggling stuff into my own house.
My colleague Alex James (how cool to be able to describe the bassist of Blur as a colleague) briefly mentioned the online music streaming service Spotify a few weeks ago, largely as a means to confessing his tragic addiction to the music of Ray Conniff.
I was going to devote this column to the wilder shores of music, by which I mean not the latest hip sounds zooming up the charts but the dire drivel modernist composers, writing for orchestras and chamber ensembles, have seen fit to inflict on their audiences for many decades now.
My son turned to me in the car the other day, and observed, ‘This is the band you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it, Dad?
One of Van Morrison’s umpteen albums is called What’s Wrong with this Picture? It’s a question long-term fans are likely to echo as they contemplate the cover of his new release, Astral Weeks Live at the Hollywood Bowl.
I had a letter from my friend Leo the other day, one of the most interesting men I have ever met.
Charles Spencer goes Christmas shopping
Charles Spencer on his addiction to buying CDs
Charles Spencer battles the credit crunch
Although I waste a lot of time these days gazing longingly at advertisements for luxury cruises in the Daily Telegraph, I don’t think I could ever leave England for good.
Charles Spencer of the Brian Jonestown Massacre
Charles Spencer goes to Guilfest
Charles Spencer on turning into a Bob Dylan obsessive
Charles Spencer remembers Sandy Denny
It is three years since I last wrote about my iPod.
Charles Spencer on seeing Neil Young in Paris