Being a record of the ruminations, ramblings and obsessions of a Hound of the noblest breed (or so His Lordship claims, anyway). The focus being on dark music and culture, style, spirituality and - naturally – Basset Hounds.
Welcome to the chronicles of Lord Bassington-Bassington, coming to you from Little Storping in the Swuff – a quaint place located somewhere between England’s Lake District and the outskirts of the Norwegian capital.
This is intended as a log of His explorations of music, books, films and so on. I, your humble chronicler, is merely His Lordship’s secretary.
For more information on Lord Bassington-Bassington, please confer this blog’s opening post. Contacts can be directed to email@example.com.
Danish journalist and explorer Knud Holmboe (1902-1931) must have been an all-round interesting chap. Having travelled widely in the Arab world, Holmboe joined the small trickle of Westerners whose spiritual search led them to embrace Islam. On this one can have many opinions; while a staunch Caninist, Lord Bassington-Bassington has certainly never hid his interest in Islamic spirituality.
And anyway, anyone wearing a Fez in 1920s Copenhagen is an instant hero of His Lordship.
Mr. Holmboe was also a poet, and this side to this interesting gentleman's life leads us into the second part of this post. For a selection of his poems have recently been translated into English by Lord Bassington-Bassington's friend Mads Peder Lau Pedersen and published in an edition by micro press (what other word can there be for something smaller than the small press?) Valentine & Valentine. For aficionados of the weird it will come as no surprise that one of the Valentines of the name is none other than Mark Valentine, accomplished author in his own right.
The collection, entitled Yellowing Leaves and published in 25 copies were of course sold out immediately.
But the pictures above aren't published just to rub the noses of the Chronicles' readers in the fact that Lord Bassington-Bassington has something they don't. Rather, it is to bring to your attention a press so small that it doesn't even have a website. So how does one keep abreast of their limited releases?
Sending an email to Mr. Valentine at markl dot valentine at btinternet dot com might help. Tell him the droopy-eared one sent you.
Tailor Tom Baker. Trained on Savile Row, but with an aesthetic that owes more to Paganini and punk rock than to banking and the bourgeoisie.
A fitting. There is surely something magickal about following a process of creation this closely.
What the courier brought.
A devilish detail.
The full kit. Bow tie by Favourbrook, Chelsea boots (a decade old by now) by Jeffery-West, goat's head mask by Ca'Macana of Venice, oversized and disorganized record collection: Demented basset hound's own shame.
Expensive as a full bespoke suit is, it is not only an investment in proper cloth but also in one's weight. In other words: Lord Bassington-Bassington now has an objective measure of how wide his waistline is allowed to become. And this is good news, for despite being superior creatures Basset hounds are prone to weight gain. That will not be acceptable in the future.