Steak. Phwoooar. Flames. Huge hunks of meat. Tattoos. Burly, bearded six-footers innit? Forearms like slabs of sirloin. That’s not Lynx Africa, that’s the reek of testosterone. Big manly stuff. Tony Soprano on the grill, and he’s not cooking aubergines. But in this Jubilee year, let’s never mind that particular set of clichéd bollocks: because here’sRead More
Naming your debut event ‘Q’ is a canny move. It’s redolent with possibilities, with just the right amount of inscrutability: try as you might, you’ll struggle to scrute it. For years, ‘Q’ meant the monthly music magazine, and especially the eager wait to see which hapless soul had wandered into Tom Hibbert’s ‘Who The Hell..?’Read More