Ali Hassan

Robert Falcon Scott’s 1912 expedition to the South Pole departed for Antarctica from Christchurch, New Zealand. The expedition was a complete, unmitigated disaster. They were beaten to the pole by the Norwegians and the entire team succumbed to the cold in a tent during the return journey. Actually, one of the party, Capt. Oates, famously preferred to die outside the tent.

A statue of Scott was erected in his honour beside the Avon River in Christchurch. It bears an inscription taken from his diary, written as he was freezing to death:

I DO NOT REGRET THIS JOURNEY WHICH SHOWS THAT ENGLISHMEN CAN ENDURE HARDSHIPS HELP ONE ANOTHER AND MEET DEATH WITH AS GREAT FORTITUDE AS EVER IN THE PAST

Given that attitude, I’m not surprised Oates decided to spend his last hours alone in the snow. I’m not at all convinced that it was a self-sacrificial decision, as it is commonly portrayed.

Morbid detail: the statue was sculpted by Scott’s widow.

Beef vindaloo for lunch. Hot.

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After four years in Washington, D.C., I am reliably informed that my New Zealand accent has, apparently, acquired a slight American twang.

So, no matter where I am I always sound foreign.

Because he works so hard to have you think of him as a throwback to a different era — especially through his between-song patter — it’s always a pleasant surprise to be reminded of how original Lyle Lovett’s music is. With his Large Band he produces a really interesting fusion of country, blues, bluegrass, soul and rock’n’roll.

(Though I’d have to say that I most enjoyed the beginning of last night’s Wolf Trap show, with the spare arrangements highlighting his lonesome voice.)