Peace, man
Gosh, I haven't blogged for ages. Not that it matters, but I was busy looking for flats to move to, and then moving, and then unpacking, and shit. Plus I had one of those periodical crises of confidence where I faced up to the sheer pointlessness of writing stuff that nobody will read, and that isn't really good enough for wider consumption in any case. But hey ho, let's press on. David Peace has been flavour of the month lately (or at least he was last month when I probably should have written this). I'd read The Damned United early last year and had the intention of checking out his earlier books, but I knew that Red Riding was a chronological quartet and my local library never had 1974 on the shelves. Therefore I watched the excellent TV films and only then did I bit the bullet and buy the four books in one fell swoop. I'm glad I did things in that order, because as intense and visceral as the films are, they are small beer compared to the relentless headfuck of