Mrs Towers (the reason for this blog’s silence the last two days) and I were sat in a cafe in Grasmere this morning. I was reading the Financial Times magazine. There was an article comparing a Philip Roth novel and a (ghosted) autobiography of a Swedish footballer.
Mrs Towers has strong opinions on the subject of Mr Roth’s oeuvre. “Bloody Portnoy’s Complaint,” she said. “It pops up everywhere.”
Cue excessive roflmaoing from me, and much scowling and threats of physical violence from Mrs T when I said she had just given me my next blog post. And here it is (she is safely a couple of hundred miles away, and will have forgiven me when next we meet. Perhaps. If the blog goes silent forever, you’ll know why…)
In case you’re wondering – Portnoy’s Complaint is a novel (banned initially in parts of Australia) about a man who, well, whacks off incessantly.