Alexandra Harris, author of Romantic Moderns and winner of the Guardian First Book Award, considers how we pass, measure and mark time, and ultimately, what it means to us.

Robinson Crusoe, stuck on his island, had no need to keep time with the world. Certainly he had no boats to catch or appointments to keep. And yet he made it a priority to keep track of the passing days. In mid-October 1659, the thought struck him: ‘It came into my mind that I should lose my reckoning of time’. To avert that disaster he put up a large post on the beach and cut a notch in it each day – doggedly, faithfully, year after year. He had sole responsibility for this makeshift calendar and no way of checking it against an external measure, so he faced a problem when he woke up one afternoon having slept, drunkenly, for a very long time. How long? Could he have slept through a whole day? In which case his calendar would forever be wrong and there was just no way of telling…


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by TOAST ( 27.07.11 )

Jo Craven.

I live in the land of big skies. Constable country they call it. No wonder so many artists live here. The fact that this is the end of the line – the train line that is, just a few miles further and you come to a halt in Great Yarmouth – makes this a frontier land…


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by TOAST ( 25.07.11 )

Rachel Seaton.

I never thought that my favourite part of a visit to the theatre would be waking up the following morning… But so it was with a trip to the Barbican to see Lullaby. The latest production from Duckie, a company renowned for their raunchy experimental theatre-come-club nights, Lullaby invites you to spend a whole night in the Barbican pit with the express intention of getting you to… sleep…


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by TOAST ( 22.07.11 )

Nat Lucas.

It is difficult to imagine Orlando Gough entering into anything without total enthusiasm. His full steam ahead approach to life gathers you up in his wake – whether he is discussing cooking, a new rap artist or in this case, the day of events that he has curated for the ‘Voices Across the World’ festival at the Royal Opera House (commissioned by its contemporary arm ROH2). At the heart of the day are twelve of his favourite singers…


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by TOAST ( 19.07.11 )

We are excited, very excited…

about the news that Jarvis Cocker will be working with Faber & Faber to publish a collection of his lyrics, due out in October this year…


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by TOAST ( 30.06.11 )

As Faber&Faber release an app of The Waste Land, poet Lavinia Greenlaw describes her first, determinedly un-digital, encounters with T.S. Eliot.

A couple of years ago, America’s national poetry month was marked by a poster of a fogged window on which someone had written Do I dare disturb the universe? It looked like the work of a teenager on the bus home from school on a rainy day and it is, with its combination of fragility and grandeur, a very teenage question…


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by TOAST ( 16.06.11 )

Filmed on our spring summer 2011 shoot…


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by TOAST ( 15.06.11 )

Jon Day.

Over the hill, through a gap in the trees, Coniston Water spins itself out into the distance: a blue ribbon of water glinting in the spring sunshine. It isn’t the largest or the deepest of England’s lakes, but it might be the most tragic, and from here it feels like the most mysterious…


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by TOAST ( 31.05.11 )

Sara Wheeler looks back on her time in the Atacama, a trip full of adventure and romance.

Through an open tent flap, I watched the sun rise over the Andes. Light cascaded down the slopes and across caramel sands, drawing tall shadows out of cacti and elongating the waxy fruits that bubbled from the tips. I heard José striking a match and making a fire.

The Atacama Desert – the driest on the planet – unfurls for 600 miles down the north of Chile, extending from the Peruvian border to thirty degrees of latitude. Widthwise, it stretches from the Pacific coast through mineral-rich desert flatlands up into the foothills of the Andes and the abbreviated volcanic landscape beyond. José and I were taking a road trip. I had met him on the road: literally. My Jeep got a puncture, I cut my thumb on the jack and he came to the rescue. He had a tent but no vehicle. I had a vehicle but no tent. One thing led to another. It was 1990, and I was 29…


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by TOAST ( 25.05.11 )

Our Englishwoman finally moves in to her new home, and sets about exploring and decorating… It was strange but a joy to sleep in our own beds and indeed an absolute pleasure to clutch our own mugs and drink tea brewed in a pot. The house embraced our belongings and they in turn looked as though they had been hand-picked for this new space. We were momentarily on a high…


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by TOAST ( 23.05.11 )
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