I was in The Monocle Café getting a coffee this week when I fell into conversation with another customer about a bike ride that he’s partaking in for the owners of a brand of fold-up bicycle, the Brompton. The nice barista joined the chat and explained to this café regular that I worked at Monocle and then generously detailed what my role is. He started his introduction with the words, “You know the backside of Monocle?” before quickly adding that the customer might have spotted my name in the rear of one of Monocle’s many books. Anyway, I was beyond delighted with the description and have been owning it all week. I hope that it will, one day, be incorporated into any obituary penned about my demise. “It is with a modicum of sadness that we reveal the death of Andrew Tuck who, for many years, was the backside of Monocle, providing some plump-cheeked cushioning in times of need.”
Talking of dropping dead. Someone else who we knew died recently and, in his final days, did lots of sensible things, including handing over the control of his phone and social-media accounts to his wife. It’s not something that I have ever thought about but it clearly set off a chain of thought for my other half who, this week, organised Legacy Contact Access Keys for our phones, so that, well, we can access each other’s data depending on who goes first (to be clear, I am hanging around and I hope he is too – he still hasn’t tidied his desk for starters). Though why he would ever want to sift through the 53,000 photos that I have amassed, or the 27,000 emails loitering in my inbox (sadly neither figure is made up), I don’t know. Perhaps he’ll just have fun sending some final messages as if from me from beyond the grave.
Enough time has passed for me to tell an amusing story at this juncture. Many years ago, one of our most-loved, if sometimes exuberant, editors had a phase where, if you were away from your desk, he would nip around and type a startling email in your name but then just leave it there, without pressing send. When you returned to your desk, you would spot in horror a missive that, if sent, could have unravelled the last vestiges of your reputation. One time, however, it went a little differently. He typed an email on a momentarily absent colleague’s laptop addressed to our esteemed founder, Mr Brûlé, that read, “I’m bored. What do you do when you have nothing to do?” But then, somehow, he pressed send. Let’s just say that it took some explaining away – and while everyone remained friends, nobody left their laptops unguarded for months after that.
Anyway, back to the backside. I am pleased to say that my name (alongside all the people who did the hard work) managed to sneak into the rear of another Monocle book, the new France: The Monocle Handbook. It’s a hardback beauty as tasty as freshly baked brioche that takes you around the nation to savour its food, architecture, beaches, inns and shops. Over the coming weeks we’ll be announcing launch events and you will also be able to order a copy from The Monocle Shop. It drops on 3 May.
The new May issue of Monocle is also out this week and contains a feature where we have asked 50 people to select one book that they love – new, old, in-print, out-of-print, fiction or factual – and then detail what is so special about it, all in no more than 100 words. What would be your book? The book that you think everyone should know about? Send us your concise recommendations. For the next few weeks, we’ll publish the best suggestions here in The Monocle Weekend Edition. Email us here. There might even be a prize. French and fancy.