Alex James
Recovered rock’n’roller Alex James has left his Blur days behind and now lives on a farm with his wife, their three children, some sheep and a lot of cheese. His autobiography of rock excess, Bit of a Blur, was published in 2007.
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Alex James: Goodbye, 'Star Wars', hello, Florence
There has been just one CD in the car CD player for the past two and a half years. I've got about a million songs in my phone but I like listening to music in the car, and in the car there is a choice of just 14 songs. That seems to be enough.
Recently by Alex James
Alex James: What to do when confronted by a bull
Thursday, 26 August 2010
When it comes to the countryside, despite all I've learned. I still rank as an idiot, a novice
Alex James: What a shame to miss bat man's visit
Wednesday, 18 August 2010
The trouble with leaving the farm is that it always means missing something.
Alex James: Chillis, cheese and matters of taste
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Notebook: The Scoville scale, for measuring the heat of chillis, has been in the news recently
Alex James: Sometimes, I long to be beside the sea
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
I landed, blinking through lack of sleep, for a three-day job, a fashion shoot in Hastings. Hastings is the other end of the world from the Cotswolds, not just the wrong side of London, another country altogether.
It's a jungle out there in my garden
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
Alex James: A farm is a big hungry beast that needs to be fed decisions constantly. Otherwise it bites. It gets easier not to make bad decisions as time goes on.
Pizza perfection, here I come
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
Forty acres of wheat rising in the middle distance behind the cheese factory: I worked out a little while back that with the wheat and the cheese situation in hand I was in control of two of the three vital ingredients for making my favourite thing in the world, from scratch: All I needed for the perfect pizza now was a source of tomatoes.
Alex James: The rape of England
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
Notebook: The footpath that links the village on the top of the hill with the woods at the bottom cuts right through the middle of a vast field, the only big field in that vicinity.
Alex James: My irrational fear of the woods at night
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
I inadvertently discovered a new adrenaline sport a couple of weeks back: probably the oldest one of all – running through the woods at night.
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1 Peter Popham: Butcher of Bosnia who saw himself as an avenging angel
2 Julie Burchill: Maturity means letting go of ambition, and embracing the joys of invisibility
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6 Mary Dejevsky: Don't bank on the eclipse of the West
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8 Johann Hari: A turning-point we miss at our peril