“YOU like Sinatra. What’s a good Sinatra album?” My friend Ben asked me in all innocence. Having thought that all it’d take was to rattle off a quick e-mail, it took me a weekend.
I write to you from up a mountain in southern Spain, sweating like a turkey at Christmas. I’m at the mother in law’s and while a Bernard Manning box set wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome, I seem to be unwinding from my grey summer in the rainy city back home.