My goals had been limited. A visit to Hauser & Wirth’s gallery, followed by lunch, and then on to Wells and its lovely cathedral. But Bruton proved to be a little gem, so we lingered longer than planned. The exhibition at Hauser & Wirth’s Somerset outpost at Durslade Farm (GRUPPENAUSSTELLUNG) was wacky, funny, and thought-provoking, and the site itself pretty and picturesque. Heading into the small town center, we parked close to St. Mary’s church just as its bell was tolling for the Sunday morning service. Pevsner calls St. Mary’s “one of the proudest churches of East Somerset”, and I know what he means. It occupies a prominent position overlooking the river and is clearly the focal point of the town. I explored the interior once the service had ended. Although its 14th century core has been much added to over hundreds of years, it presents as a harmonious and satisfying whole.

The main streets of Bruton are as pretty as can be, conforming to most people’s image of what a small, ancient, English town should look like. It’s clearly prosperous and enjoying its reinvention as a destination for art connoisseurs and food lovers. We had made a lunch reservation in advance at Osip, and what an inspired choice that proved to be. Outstanding food and service – not to be missed if you find yourself in this part of Somerset. Another stroll after lunch around the lovely, quiet streets, and then off to Wells as planned. A special day in a really charming town.

John Healy and I grew up in the same London neighborhood. We attended the same elementary school. He is nearly twenty years older than me, and during my childhood years he would have been living rough on the streets and in the parks near where I lived. He would have been one of the “winos”, “down-and-outs”, or “tramps” that my parents warned me to avoid on my way to and from school, part of that frightening underclass we saw all the time, begging, fighting, passed out in doorways.

The Grass Arena is the story of Healy’s early years, but mostly of the long period he spent as a chronic and homeless alcoholic. It is a terrible tale, one filled with violence, cruelty, and misery. But this is no self-pitying “misery memoir”. To find its stylistic antecedent you have to go to a work like Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London – part autobiography, part reportage, part social criticism.

Unlike the lives of thousands of others like him, Healy’s life didn’t end in tragedy. During one of his many short stays in prison, Healy discovered chess. It gripped his imagination and gave him the strength to relinquish alcohol. He mastered the game and along the way found the words to tell his story. And what an unforgettable story it is.

In the hands of its best practitioners the spy novel has always been a vehicle for exploring themes such as betrayal, disillusionment, and regret. Throw in atonement and the possibility of redemption and you have David Park’s short and engaging novel Spies in Canaan. Set mostly in Vietnam in the final days of America’s horror-filled engagement there, it tells the tale of an innocent, junior data analyst who gets pulled from his routine translation work into something altogether more murky and complex by a CIA officer. The corruption of innocence, the slow dissolution of ideals, and the effort to live a good life in spite of it all – those are Park’s preoccupations in this atmospheric and memorable story.

The result was no surprise. I doubt there is a better team in the world right now than Manchester City, and the team that I have supported since I was 8 years old, though somewhat improved in the past year, was never going to be a serious obstacle on City’s road to securing the Treble. And so it proved to be. We were beaten 2-1 by a much better team and, quite frankly, the scoreline flattered us. The gulf in quality between the old rivals was there for everyone to see.

But it was a great day nonetheless. My first ever F.A. Cup final. The first time these two teams had ever met in the final. Only my second visit to Wembley Stadium. A wonderful spectacle in early summer sunshine enjoyed by two sets of the most partisan fans you could ever hope to meet. I felt very fortunate to be there, and even the disappointing result could not change that.