Matthew Henry John Bartlett

we at 16 Russell Terrace seek a housemate or two

Maybe we are The Fragrance. I don’t know. But especially in the first hour there were some sustained beautiful times, Iggy going both hands and feet at the faux-hammond/pan flute and the happiest spaciest new-steel-guitar-sounds coming out of RDB’s corner, and that’s when you get possessed by the unholy angels and couldn’t stop beating those drums to within an inch of their lives, even if you tried. I hope we can rein it in, pin it down.

When he heard my croaky voice on Sunday, a hardworking fifty-year-old man of Indian extraction gave me this advice, which he said was the best health advice I’d ever get: when you get to forty you should eat less, and then when you get to fifty eat still less. If you have four bits of toast for breakfast now, he said, have three when you’re forty. And when you’re fifty have two? I said. O no, probably about two and a half, he said.