The winter of discontent

With their customary intelligence and verve, the Pet Shop Boys prove that middle-age needn't be a deceleration, but a period when half a lifetime's knowledge deepens one's responses to calamity. The metaphors become more elaborate, the irony rueful; it's too easy for the aged to lapse into a kind of emotional fascism. When all else fails there's always the dance floor.

If anyone's interested in going to their show in October, let me know.