My mother was a great listener. I liked talking to her about everything. (Sometimes, I admit, I must have taxed her patience.) She was on the bookish side, and I talked to her about most of the books I read. To this day whenever I read something particularly interesting I wish I could tell her about it.
Back in the 1990s when I was a student at York I'd read the British magazine The Spectator at the university library, and tell her what was in it when I got home. In particular, I'd talk about three regular columns.
"High Life" was written by Taki Theodorocopoolous (he understandably just went by the name Taki), son of a Greek shipping millionaire, and a shameless womanizer, gambler and cocaine user. (Of all the Takis in the world, he's the tackiest.) He once appeared on Oprah Winfrey's talk show as a man who preferred younger women. But he's often a funny writer. (He recently got in trouble for speaking well of Greece's neo-fascist political party.)
"Low Life" was a column by Jeffrey Bernard, drinker and racetrack regular, who'd talk about things like how he had to find a new apartment because his boiler had been condemned so he no longer had hot water. And "Long Life" was by Nigel Nicholson, son of writers Harold Nicholson and Vita Sackville-West, who'd been an MP and a book publisher. (His house published Nabokov's Lolita.) He had lots of stories about the old days, his family and people he'd known. Mother liked hearing about all this.
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