Sunday, October 10, 2010


I was running tonight (a sleepy and hungover 6miler), and as I passed the National Gallery of Modern Art I spotted one of Mr. Gormley's structures. It made me smile.

Then, as I ran on, embracing the dull thud of my footfall as I attempted to sweat out the hangover, I began to think of famous 'Anthonys'. I do love Gormley's work, particularly the installation at Crosby Beach, Liverpool. And then there's the small matter of my favourite book 'A Clockwork Orange'. Written by... Anthony Burgess.

Now's as good a time as any to confess that I puffed my chest a little due to the fact I share my middle moniker with these two men. Who else is out there, worthy of the 'Anthony' title? Hmm, some investigation and meandering later, I stumbled upon:

Anthony - of he and Cleopatra fame. She was a looker that Cleopatra, allegedly, so Anthony must have had an appropriate whiff of his genius-name about him.

Tony Bennett - crooner extraodrinaire. Pretty sure his Ma would've called him Anthony. I have text him for confirmation, but still awaiting reply...

Facebook confirmed an eaterie, very much in keeping with my thoughts: FAMOUS ANTHONY'S - "began in Roanoke in 1986 and soon became a well known stop for breakfast, lunch, and dinner." Wow.

Then, there was a slew of Tony's - none of which I'd like to venture a guess as being bona fide Anthonys - however, for the purposes of research I can reveal that Tony Hart was there, as was Blair, Hancock, et al.

Anyway. If the above hasn't persuaded you that Anthony is the greatest moniker of all time, then I don't know what will. I invite you to let me know of your favourite Anthonys.



  1. I have a wee brother called Calum Anthony. He's a piper and has 5 (five) kids. He's also ginger. Occasionally known as 'calamity'!

  2. Don't forget Anthony Costa of the seminal beat combo known only as "Blue".

  3. Today, I wrote this:

    Had I not been running
    I would have missed it.

    The Sycamore leaves tips
    were dipped in golden honey,
    A wind rose and flittered a few before me.
    Crunching like brittle bones beneath my feet.

    Had I not been running
    I would have missed it.

    The fiery brow of the sun
    as it glimpsed its first glance
    over Primrose Hill and
    the impeccable timing of my arrival.

    Had I not been running
    I would have missed it.

    The uniform squares one by one
    lighting up as if in choreographed dance.
    A dog-walker passes, shopkeeper
    unlocks the shop door.

    Lapsed my new ordinary.
    Until tomorrow morning.

    Gribs xo