Oh, come on David, surely you’ve gone too far this time. David – or Mr Almond, I should say, with due deference to my number one favourite author of all time – even genius has its limits. A Song for Ella Grey should fall flat on its face, should sound a bum note. How could it not?
This, believe it or not, is the drill. Orpheus – you know, the guy from Greek mythology – pitches up on a beach, not a sun-kissed Aegean beach but a beach in Northumberland, and, if that wasn’t daft enough, Orpheus, the guy from Greek mythology, has an accent, a why-aye-man type North East accent.
And then, well, he wanders around like it’s an every day thing to have a guy from Greek mythology come round for tea and make why-aye-man small talk. As you do.
I should have stopped reading.
I should have laughed, like when Alan Partridge pitches his latest dotty idea talent show (Monkey Tennis anyone? Or, try this, Orpheus in Otterburn?).
But I didn’t. Continue reading