* The 'laugh out loud helplessly in public, like an escaped psychopath' (OBSERVER) travelogue and rehabilitation of a Victorian hero - Lord Dufferin
A combination of travel book about Iceland and rehabilitation of a Victorian hero. Inspired by the swashbuckling travelogues of Victorian diplomat Lord Dufferin, frail surburbanite Tim Moore sets out to prove his physical and spiritual worth before his sceptical Nordic in-laws by retracing Dufferin's epic voyage to Iceland and Spitzbergen.
A combination of travel book about Iceland and rehabilitation of a Victorian hero. Inspired by the swashbuckling travelogues of Victorian diplomat Lord Dufferin, frail surburbanite Tim Moore sets out to prove his physical and spiritual worth before his sceptical Nordic in-laws by retracing Dufferin's epic voyage to Iceland and Spitzbergen.
Inspired by the swashbuckling travelogues of Victorian diplomat Lord Dufferin, frail surburbanite Tim Moore sets out to prove his physical and spiritual worth before his sceptical Nordic in-laws by retracing Dufferin's epic voyage to Iceland and Spitzbergen.
Dufferin's battles with icebergs, polar bears and the deep potations of hospitable Norsemen is a tale of derring-do; Moore's struggle against seasickness, vertigo and over-priced groceries is all too plainly one of derring-don't. As his bid to emulate the Empire tradition of fearless pluck in the face of adversity crumbles before haughty Icelandic skippers, a convoy of Norwegian Vikings and Spitzbergen's Soviet ghost towns, he finds himself transferring his affections to Dufferin's valet Wilson, a man so profoundly gloomy that 'he was seen to smile but once, when told that his colleague, the steward, had been almost thrown overboard'. As Moore says, 'Dufferin seems the personification of Kipling's 'If'. I'm more of a 'But... ' man myself.' FROST ON MY MOUSTACHE is the wretched apologia of a big earl's blouse.“There won't be a funnier or more original contender until Tim Moore publishes his next volume ... There hasn't been such a fresh voice among itinerant writers since Redmond O'Hanlon or Bill Bryson got started - SPECTATORRegularly had me laughing out loud - SUNDAY TIMESHis is a rare comic talent, and his debut a brilliantly sustained piece of travel writing - THE TIMESOne of the funniest travelogues you will ever read - EXPRESSMade me laugh out loud helplessly in public, like an escaped psychopath - ObserverA Joy - Vic ReevesBook of the Year - SpectatorA hilarious journal of sustained sardonic humour - Esquire”
There won't be a funnier or more original contender until Tim Moore publishes his next volume ... There hasn't been such a fresh voice among itinerant writers since Redmond O'Hanlon or Bill Bryson got started - SPECTATOR
Regularly had me laughing out loud - SUNDAY TIMESHis is a rare comic talent, and his debut a brilliantly sustained piece of travel writing - THE TIMESOne of the funniest travelogues you will ever read - EXPRESSMade me laugh out loud helplessly in public, like an escaped psychopath - ObserverA Joy - Vic ReevesBook of the Year - SpectatorA hilarious journal of sustained sardonic humour - EsquireFailed dandy Tim Moore lives in West London with his wife and slightly too many children. His writing has appeared in several publications including the SUNDAY TIMES, the INDEPENDENT, the OBSERVER, ESQUIRE and the EVENING STANDARD.
Inspired by the swashbuckling travelogues of Victorian diplomat Lord Dufferin, frail surburbanite Tim Moore sets out to prove his physical and spiritual worth before his sceptical Nordic in-laws by retracing Dufferin's epic voyage to Iceland and Spitzbergen. Dufferin's battles with icebergs, polar bears and the deep potations of hospitable Norsemen is a tale of derring-do; Moore's struggle against seasickness, vertigo and over-priced groceries is all too plainly one of derring-don't. As his bid to emulate the Empire tradition of fearless pluck in the face of adversity crumbles before haughty Icelandic skippers, a convoy of Norwegian Vikings and Spitzbergen's Soviet ghost towns, he finds himself transferring his affections to Dufferin's valet Wilson, a man so profoundly gloomy that 'he was seen to smile but once, when told that his colleague, the steward, had been almost thrown overboard'. As Moore says, 'Dufferin seems the personification of Kipling's 'If'. I'm more of a 'But... ' man myself.' FROST ON MY MOUSTACHE is the wretched apologia of a big earl's blouse.
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