Then and now. My Dad, Edward Minghella, during the War at Aldershot Barracks, and the other day in Ryde.

(Army photo enhanced by Jim Sheridan.)

After Eurythmics, Annie Lennox worried that she wouldn't be able to write songs on her own. She sat down to try, and produced Why in ten minutes.

I don't know why I spends weeks, months, years trying to create stuff. It turns me inside f88king out.

I heard once about some young folk who went to hear John Martyn at the Fairfield Halls. Driving home after the gig they saw someone at the bus stop with a guitar case. It was John. They offered him a lift, and he ended up going back to theirs and smoking and playing half the night.

Three years since the luminous Edana Minghella left us, and it might as well be three minutes, for the shock we are still reeling in.

Nobody brings car history to life like Peter Grimsdale. Here he is in 'launch mode' last night with his latest literary model, Superveloce: how a country with no industrial revolution, hampered by poverty, took the 20th Century automotive world by storm.

Great Father's Day present!

Is this an apology?

And James Rebhorn. Both also in The Talented Mr Ripley.

Forgot the extraordinary PSH was in Scent of a Woman.

In what world have Trump's tariffs not 'changed the calculation'?

Yeah no.

17 years today since we lost this beautiful man with his chocolate voice, amazing pen and infectious smile.
RIP Anthony Minghella

The late great Anthony Minghella is always in our conversations, in our songs, on our walls and in our hearts. Pardon my French, but it still hurts like f*ck that he's not here in person, and I guess it always will.
Today is his would-have-been 71st birthday. Here he is captured by Brigitte Lacombe.

My brother Anthony once met Joni Mitchell and goofily told her he had four copies of Hejira. She just said, "Why?" He didn't know what to say.
I'm sorting through his old records and look - happy/sad sigh - here they are.

Seconded.

"Green crap."