Sam Redlark

  Mark Lanegan's autobiography - Sing Backwards and Weep , charts the course of the tombstone-voiced singer's life, from his dismal, alcoholic upbringing in Ellensburg, Washington, up until the speedball-induced death of his close friend - the Alice in Chains frontman, Layne Staley, in 2002. Lanegan portrays himself as a piece of shit, with very few redeeming qualities: A bona fide drug dealer, whose band (Screaming Trees) happen to be signed to a major record label. For much of the book he is in the grip of twin addictions to crack cocaine and heroin; the latter requiring constant maintenance. From there on, it's a relentless downhill grind, to the point where he is sleeping rough while working as a dealer's lackey, stealing small quantities of smack from his employer, while pawning his last remaining possession of any value - a pair of filthy leather trousers that he purchased in Paris with the aforementioned Staley. This bleak downturn of events is sparsely seasoned

image generated by Craiyon My response to this week's Guardian Notes & Queries column was found to be in breach of community guidelines. The most logical reason for this would be an aside in which the narrator asks a friend whether his wife is still beating him.  I regard this, not as a slight, but as an overall improvement in attitude from The Guardian. I recall, several years ago, reading an opinion piece in the paper's Sunday incarnation, The Observer, where the writer played down the impact of casual violence by women against men and confessed to having been " slap happy " herself on occasions. [archive:  https://archive.is/UBRi3 ] Which sport gives you the best all-round skill set? Peter Bedward delivered the toast at his firstborn daughter's wedding with a blackened right eye and with his bottom lip swollen like a rotten orange. I had seen him sporting similar injuries before. They are common among inexperienced librarians who, having failed to properly