Lucky Jon | The Spectator

Meet Parker the bodega cat, the feline Bryan Johnson

You’ve probably heard of Bryan Johnson, the questionably rational entrepreneur and venture capitalist famous for his “don’t die” philosophy and for peddling anti-aging techniques that range from the psychedelic to the vampiric. Johnson, who’s 49 and bears more than a passing likeness to Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation (if Data was into Korean facial treatments), recently made headlines for using the duration and hardness of his nighttime erections as gauges of biological health. If you’re an internet rabbit-hole kind of person, then – good lord! – Johnson is the gift that keeps on giving. That’s all well and good, but have you heard of Parker the bodega cat? The reason I ask is that I thought of Johnson recently when I encountered said beast.

Ruaridh Nicoll

What’s it like to get sick in Cuba?

I have dengue, a vile and potentially life-threatening virus given to me by an Aedes mosquito. For good reason, it used to be called breakbone fever. It’s not the first time. I last felt my eyes swell and my joints being crushed five years ago, almost to the day. Dengue is common in Cuba, increasingly so since the government ran out of the money to fumigate for mosquitos. The first time was worse – so far. It arrived like a cloud of poison gas; I barely got up the stairs before collapsing. I was more naive then and what followed, in the fug of fever, taught me a lot about my Cuban family and the Cuban state. People are selling water door to door. We’re hearing of dysentery. How far away is cholera?

Gage Klipper

Why the summer season never ends

Summer’s over – so say the Cape, the Shore and the Sound. But summer homes in the country remain wide open. Is summer a season? Obviously. It’s also a vibe. And in seasonal towns, both end hard and fast on Labor Day – no more white, no more linen, certainly no more white linen. Morning frost creeps into the garden, much to caterers’ dismay, and the beach – never quite that warm, even in August – becomes a non-starter. We all take the cue that the fun is over, it’s time to return to real life. Two weeks drinking on a boat off Italy gives me the ick. Don’t tell that to my friends in Corporate America The line between season and vibe blurs more incongruously in the country, however. The most noticeable tell is the traffic.

Lloyd Evans

London’s one unforgivable crime

Everyone knows the rules. London invented trains that run underground as well as the protocol that makes the system bearable. A London Tube passenger enjoys the same prerogatives as an evil tyrant in a fairy tale. Do not stare. Do not approach. Do not distract him in any way. Respect the cocoon of solitude that protects him from the surrounding hubbub. But this simple covenant is not universally observed. Since I moved to London in 1973, I have twice been bothered by chatterboxes on the Tube. Twice, yes. It may sound like a minor annoyance to an outsider but residents of London will recognize the agony I have suffered. A Tube passenger enjoys the same prerogatives as a tyrant in a fairy tale. Do not stare.

Catriona Olding

Looking on the bright side of life with Eric Idle

Provence “Would you like to meet Eric Idle? Don’t worry, he and his wife Tania are smashing.” This was 2009. I was visiting my old art teacher from school, Frank Docherty, and his wife, Chrissie, in the village of Montfort-sur-Argens. Eric had a house nearby, they said. They’d got to know one another a few years before when Eric had begun buying Frank’s surrealist paintings. I was too wee for early Python but as a teenager knew every line of The Life of Brian. And all the voices. I apologize now to anyone who was on late-night double-decker buses from Paisley to Glasgow in 1982.