T he genius of Nicky Haslam’s “Things Nicky Haslam Finds Common” tea towels, the latest of which is “published” this week, is that they are entirely self-rationalising, utterly unarguable and totally compulsive. Once the list has started (“luxury cinemas”, “destination weddings”, “rescue dogs”) and built up momentum with some seriously hideous entries (“gender reveals”, “almond milk”, “fire pits”, “Primrose Hill”), Haslam relaxes into a sort of fugue state, a pyroclastic flow of perfect poshness, which allows him to name pretty much anything, however apparently harmless (“The Welsh Guards”, “Bach”, “unpeeled tomatoes”) and have you reeling at its sheer and utter ghastliness. Suddenly, like a terrible earworm, separating the world into things that are and are not common becomes the only way to organise one’s brain, and.
