
I was sitting at home, cradling a glass of Scapa and idly rewinding and rewatching the bit in Puff Daddy’s ‘I’ll Be Missing You’ video where he falls off his motorbike, when I was rudely interrupted by the telephone.
Rupert turned up pretty quickly. “I think,” he muttered to me, “I managed to avoid being followed. Why are we here again?” I briefly explained.
Recently I was struck by the realisation that I’d made some kind of commitment to cover London Fashion Week. Thus it was that me and Decline and Fall‘s Couture and Millinery Correspondent, Fenella, found ourselves propping up a bar somewhere in the recesses of West London, with the sounds of Fashion at full stretch coming from behind our backs. We were that much closer to the venal, beating heart of London here; a heart clearly racing from excessive amounts of charlie, but more of that later.
I love London in the autumn. If Paris is at its finest in the spring, and the chocolate-box splendours of Prague are made to be experienced on a clear winter night while clutching the gloved hand of your best girl, then our rather grim and ramshackle capital never looks better than it does now. It’s partly relief after the sticky and uncomfortable crowding of midsummer – London is not a spacious-feeling city – and partly the clear light on a sunny day, the leaves falling from the plane trees and the wind blowing cold from the river (Note: why doesn’t the Editor let me write this kind of stuff more often? I ask you).
Changes are afoot at Decline & Fall.
I was writing up the remainder of the Happy Slapping piece when the Editor came in with a look on his face that was best described as a mixture of concern, intoxication and a vague sense of self-satisfied compassion.
We’ve been frankly Appalled here at Decline and Fall of late, and with good reason. The popular press has been filled with reports of a new youth craze going by the name of ‘Happy Slapping’.
I was sitting in the Decline and Fall offices putting the finishing touches to our latest incisive piece of London-based journalism when paul (small p) came running in, clutching a piece of paper.
An interesting theory of attractiveness to women is proposed, and tested.
Still stuck in the Men’s Creche.
Let’s get serious, briefly.
Decline and Fall recounts the worst Ideal Home Experience ever.
First in an regular-ish series where Decline and Fall pokes bitter, mirthless fun at the terrible journalism to be found in the capital’s ‘favourite’ free rag. It’s a dreadfully easy target but just so, so tempting.
Contemporary television comedy programme in not-very-good shocker.
When a man is tired of London, he probably needs a good lie down.
2004 wasn’t just about Generic Men and skinny ties, but about music too. Via the journalistic miracle of the interview format, we present the Editor’s selection of the best the year had to offer.
In an astounding development, pitiful London listings rag and bible of mulleted partygoers everywhere Time Out is currently running a S*x *ssue of its own, which just goes to show that where Decline and Fall plummets, others will surely follow.
Two things worth noting: first, comments have been disabled for the time being. Second, Decline and Fall has achieved the rare distinction of becoming the third Google result for the query “are wine gums bad for me”.
Is Friendship ultimately more valuable than Romance, and just how difficult is it to fake nonconsensual organ donorship? Decline and Fall plumbs new depths.