Perhaps the oddest quirk of Britain's railway network is also one of its least well known: around 150 of the nation's stations are request stops. Take an unassuming station like Shippea Hill in Cambridgeshire - the scene of a fatal accident involving thousands of carrots. Or Talsarnau in Wales, which experienced a tsunami. Tiny Stations is the story of the author's journey from the far west of Cornwall to the far north of Scotland, visiting around 40 of the most interesting of these little used and ill-regarded stations. Often a pen-stroke away from closure - kept alive by political expediency, labyrinthine bureaucracy or sheer whimsy - these half-abandoned stops afford a fascinating glimpse of a Britain that has all but disappeared from view. There are stations built to serve once thriving industries - copper mines, smelting works, cotton mills, and china clay quarries where the first trains were pulled by horses; stations erected for the sole convenience of stately home and castle owners through whose land the new iron road cut an unwelcome swathe; stations created for Victorian day-tripping attractions; a station built for a cavalry barracks whose last horse has long since bolted; and many more. Dixe Wills will leave you in no doubt that there's more to tiny stations than you might think.

    It is instant history with added jokes.Read about how John Major learned the English language from his time in Nigeria. There is Tony Blair, with his verb-free sentences which imply everything and promise nothing. Gordon Brown, the grumpiest prime minister of recent years, both Stalin and Mr Bean. And now David Cameron - who really, really hates being drawn with a condom on his head.Let's not forget John Prescott, who can wrestle the English language to the mat and win by two falls to a submission, Michael Fabricant with his hairpiece stolen from the tail of a My Little Pony, Sir Peter Tapsell, a grandee so grand that when he rises to speak, Hansard writers are replaced by a crack team of monks to write up his words in illuminated lettering. Nick Clegg, with his default expression of a man's whose chldren's puppy is still missing. And of course, the famous 2010 press conference in the garden of Downing Street, a love-in that would have been illegal in 44 American states.This book will have you laughing, chuckling, roaring, sniggering, and sometimes despairing.

    My list goes: The Velvet Underground, The Byrds, The Beach Boys, The Doors, and then I stall on the fifth. Creedence? The Band - although they're mostly Canadian. Simon and Garfunkel? Jefferson Airplane? The Lovin' Spoonful? But I plump for The Monkees."-Robert Forster In The 10 Rules of Rock and Roll, Robert Forster takes readers on an exhilarating trip through the past and present of popular music - from Bob Dylan, AC/DC and Nana Mouskouri through to Cat Power, Franz Ferdinand and ... Delta Goodrem. To accompany Forster's acclaimed writing for The Monthly, there are some stunning new pieces - 'The 10 Rules' and 'The 10 Bands I Wish I'd Been In' and an appreciation of Guy Clark - as well as a reflection on The Velvet Underground, a short story about Normie Rowe and a moving tribute to fellow Go-Between Grant McLennan. Funny and illuminating, The 10 Rules of Rock and Roll shows a great critic at work.

    It shows how patients can protect themselves against an increasingly incompetant and dangerous medical profession.

    Quoting from Arnold Schwarzenegger and Japanese writer Yukio Mishima, Lindqvist muses on what bodybuilding's increasing popularity says about contemporary society. "Bench Press" is an intoxicating blend of philosophical and political insight, emotional candor, and forgotten annals of the history of exertion.

    

    The essays exemplify the radical ideas of her unique philosophy of objectivism: uncompromising rationality, egoism, and laissez-faire capitalism. With her characteristic intellectual consistency, she scrutinizes a breadth of topics ranging from the Cuban missile crisis to nationalism versus internationalism. This edition includes two out-of-print essays about the field of politics.

    He calls for boycotting Canada, says Adolf Hitler would have been a card-carrying member of the ACLU, and thinks Hurricane Katrina victims seen carrying televisions should be shot on sight. Amann and Breuer – the creators of the hugely popular website www.sweetjesusihatebilloreilly.com — take a close look at O'Reilly's own assertions and arguments — taken from his TV and radio shows, books and columns — to expose him for what he is: a self-righteous boob and a sham newsman. The ongoing themes explored in Sweet Jesus, I Hate Bill O'Reilly are that O'Reilly is a bit crazy, not all that sharp and, as the authors put it, about "as self-aware as a legume." The result is a hilariously funny book, a great read for anyone who enjoys seeing a puffed-up blowhard taken down a notch or two — whether they're an O'Reilly hater, fan, or something in between.

    Sometimes wacky, sometimes profound, the title is always entertaining, with the odd bit of sleaze.

     Includes Overdue Account, Walter's Cargo Shorts, Simon's Piecharts, Missing Missy, Obviously a Foggot, Formal Complaints, Justin’s Floodlight, Matthew’s Party, Permission Slip and many more.

    Along the way, he reunites with an old acquaintance—the influential provocateur and conspiracy talk-show host Alex Jones—who draws him, unexpectedly, into one of the most bizarre presidential campaigns in American history.From the private Winnebago where conspiracy theorists and fearmongers discuss key campaign decisions, to a chance encounter with notorious political operative Roger Stone, Ronson’s picaresque journey into Donald Trump’s atmosphere introduces us to the people who orbit the campaign machine, and discovers what makes them tick—and what ticks them off. Whimsical, hilarious and often downright terrifying, The Elephant in the Room captures a defining moment in our time as only Jon Ronson could see it.

    His parents never split up, in fact they rarely exchanged a cross word. No-one abused him. Nobody died. He got on well with his brother and sister and none of his friends drowned in a canal. He has never stayed overnight in a hospital and has no emotional scars from his upbringing, except a slight lingering resentment that Anita Barker once mocked the stabilisers on his bike. Where Did It All Go Right? is a jealous memoir written by someone who occasionally wishes life had dealt him a few more juicy marketable blows. The author delves back into his first 18 years in search of something - anything - that might have left him deeply and irreparably damaged. With tales of bikes, telly, sweets, good health, domestic harmony and happy holidays, Andrew aims to bring a little hope to all those out there living with the emotional after-effects of a really nice childhood. Andrew Collins kept a diary from the age of five, so he really can remember what he had for tea everyday and what he did at school, excerpts from his diary run throughout the book and it is this detail which makes his story so compelling.

    This is a collection of original essays that can not be found anywhere else. Each volume is different and you never know what you'll find. They are an assortment of Jen's childhood memories, stories about her family, and rants about everything that make her punchy all told with her usual snarky take. Volume Three of this series includes 3 NEVER BEFORE SEEN essays: HEY DICK, WOULD YOU SEND YOUR MOM THAT PICTURE? LAURA INGALLS WILDER NEVER HAD A SIGNATURE LIPSMACKER FLAVOR MISSED MOM CONNECTION

    The philosopher brings up many Stoic principles on the nature of time, namely that men waste much of it in meaningless pursuits. According to the essay, nature gives man enough time to do what is really important and the individual must allot it properly. In general, time can be best used in the study of philosophy, according to Seneca. This essay has been carefully adapted into a contemporary form to allow for easy reading.

    This new book takes place in Lockdown Three. This time Key can make Government-sanctioned expeditions out onto the streets of London (remember?). And it is there that the inaction takes place. Phone calls to his mother, promenades with his loyal friend, bubble-negotiations, sitting his fat arse down on benches, drinking mocha. Another three months of mind-freezing inertia. This time on the move. Conversations interspersed with poetry.