…is the title of Bill Bryson’s new book. It’ll be wonderful. His books always are, imbued with charm, humour and wisdom. And yet he remains underrated as a writer. Maybe because his books are non-fiction and usually travel books with a broad, almost populist appeal he seldom receives the literary plaudits he deserves. If that old maxim “Easy reading, hard writing” applies to anyone, it applies to Bryson. His simple, stylish prose with its near perfect grammar and syntax is, I suspect, the result of a great deal of hard graft. He’s currently giving interviews, promoting the new book, and I’m dismayed to discover that the way he speaks is nothing like the way he writes. He has a weak, whiney voice and poor, lispy diction. I’d always imagined him to sound deep, sassy and mischievous. A bit like Lee Hazlewood.
The Road to Little Dribbling….

- The man who m...19th May 2014
- The reason I'...18th May 2014
- Highbury and ...17th May 2014
- Cruising.16th May 2014
- It's not that...15th May 2014
- Beautiful day...14th May 2014
- The Radio Aca...13th May 2014
- I watched Son...12th May 2014
- A song about ...11th May 2014
- If Nigel Fara...10th May 2014
- To Soho House...9th May 2014
- Ever wondered...8th May 2014
- The session s...7th May 2014
- From Chav Gra...6th May 2014
- It's sunny.5th May 2014 prev next