Floyd’s Giblets (est. 2013) is a blog. It is the work of two erstwhile arts writers and current drinking buddies, Rory ffoulkes and Robert James Peacock, along with whomever they deem fit to share a page with them.
Its title pays homage to the late TV chef, Keith Floyd, whose devil-may-care attitude and sense of the good life we aim to emulate in these few pages. Equally, though, it might have been named after that other great Floyd, the Pink Floyd, whose absurdity, surrealism, existential nervousness and playful whimsicality are also guiding spirits. For that matter, it could also have been named after Floyd from the Muppets, whose deep sense of rock and monstrous facial hair we also deeply admire.
Giblets are the innards of a fowl. This word has little relevance to the blog, other than it gave us a laugh and allowed us to stretch various metaphors about us getting to ‘the guts of the matter’, ‘inside the story’, ‘up [our own or someone else’s] arse’. There is probably a strapline to this effect on the home page.
We cover a panoply of topics. Everything is fair game to us. (Fair game… game bird… there must be another giblet metaphor we can stick in there). Our editorial policy is based on vibe, man. Some things are very Floyd’s Giblets, some things are sooooo not Floyd’s Giblets.
Keith Floyd is Floyd’s Giblets. Jamie Oliver is soooooo not Floyd’s Giblets.
Fairport Convention is. Mumford & Sons aren’t.
Prince Philip is. Prince William isn’t.
And so on and so on….