Knife skills for eight-year-olds
Pig’s trotters. Lamb’s feet stuffed with their brains. Flayed wild rabbits, all sinew, muscle and eyeballs. Nude chickens with flopping…
Brexit for eight-year-olds
A week ago I plucked my eight-year-old grandson Oscar from the bosom of his rumbustious young family and took him…
I’ve developed a fascination for anti-terrorist security officers
A pair of anti-terrorism officers watched us check through into the boarding lounge. They stood behind the easyJet woman and…
I try to cut the hypocrisy when speaking to my boy – but it’s tough sometimes
My boy rang the other night. He said he and his wife had bought tickets to see Ed Sheeran at…
The black art of acting
I go to the theatre but rarely because I am overpowered by even mediocre acting and find it exhausting. Theatre…
Has Provence cured my cancer?
During the past three years I have spent quite a bit of time in a rented house in Provence. Volets…
Me, General de Gaulle and an elderly barbecued lesbian
The flight from Gatwick to France was cancelled and there was no prospect of another for three days. Paddington station…
Was the easyJet representative a fascist?
Earbuds in. Speed walking to Grant Lazlo’s ‘Heard It Through The Grapevine’. A corridor, a left fork, a moving walkway,…
From the First Battle of Ypres to Brexit
Poperinghe, Bailleul, Wytschaete, Gheluvelt, Ploegsteert, Messines, Zonnebeke, Passchendaele. The other week I grandiosely claimed that I have been reading about…
The vomit-cleaners of YouTube
My hangover was what the great Kingsley Amis describes in his Everyday Drinking guide as a ‘metaphysical’ hangover. Apart from…
Even the BBC’s recipes are politically correct
I’m cooking almost full-time for my poor old Mum and learning on the job: shepherd’s pie, roast pork, cauliflower cheese.…
Seeing Nelson in a new light
I picked up my grandson from his mother’s flat and noticed the change in him the second I clapped eyes…
My Burns Night haircut
At three o’clock I took half a bottle of Glenmorangie with me to Jimmy’s. That it was Burns Night, and…
Two documentaries have made me determined to visit America’s Deep South before I die
‘ESTA refused,’ said the email from the official website of the US Department of Homeland Security. Franklin Roosevelt once said…
Jeremy Clarke: The power of ‘Bonjour’
In France, or in Provence at least, polite rule number one is to say hello. You must offer a distinct…
Jeremy Clarke: Escaping from Colditz with Professor Brian Cox
By New Year’s Day I’d had enough of festivities. Instead of getting out of bed, I turned over, put my…
Jeremy Clarke: How I lost an afternoon to two magnums of mid-range champagne
As I stood there, I was reminded of the man of no fixed abode who, several years back, aged 68,…
Jeremy Clark: Was this a cruise ship — or Colditz?
We ascended the gangplank and were smartly directed to the ship’s library, where the seated purser swiped my debit card…
How a human body burns
I took a dab of antiseptic gel and rubbed my hands together. ‘Alone tonight, sir?’ said the charming head waiter.…
The pure joy of a boring car
My pal Charlie inherited a car and a ride-on mower from an old pal. He kept the mower and the…
Treble doubles, shattered glass and a copper on the doorstep
The door to Trev’s flat was open so I walked in and found him on the sofa watching TV. He…
Was there pleasure at Passchendaele?
At ten to eleven we filed outside the church and assembled in the graveyard around a small cenotaph commemorating the…
A lament for the best pub in Devon
We had a hyperbole competition, the taxi driver and I, over the climbing full moon, clearer and brighter than either…
The perils of the boar-hunting season
The French countryside around here is teeming with wild boar. They visit the shack at night to eat the pansies…
Low life
Last May we had dinner with a comic who reads a lot and his wife. At one point, he told…
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