Low life
On Sunday morning we went, Oscar and I, to a vide grenier in the ancient, picturesque Provençal village. Vide grenier…
Low life
My grandson and I are reprising the 1968 film The Swimmer. Burt Lancaster is an advertising executive at a pool…
Low life
Five and the Red One are a German covers band. It’s probably the most uninspiring name for a rock band…
Low life
In 1999 I went to the doctor about the impotence. Don’t worry, he said. I have good news for you.…
Zopiclone: drug of choice for monkeys and the French
Hours before boarding the cross-Channel car ferry, I received a text message from the company warning of severe fuel shortages…
My manhood is hanging in the balance
We cleared the kitchen table for a game of pick-up sticks. Remember them? Thirty long, thin bamboo sticks, their differing…
The French gym where kissing before a workout is mandatory
A fresh start in a new gym in a foreign country. The serious young gym attendant didn’t speak a word…
The members of White’s fall into two categories: shits and bores
On Sunday we were invited for lunch at Chez Bruno, an unbelievably posh restaurant in the south of France. At…
French labour laws should come with a health warning
The tourist information office of the small French country town looked closed. Peering between the posters on the window glass,…
My old columns are a form of purgatory
I drank Bombay gin and Fever-Tree tonic on the half-empty easyJet flight to Gatwick. I was even offered ice cubes.…
My life in West Ham matches
What consolation in life can Arthur and I find after that defeat at the hands of Manchester United in the…
Why gender fluidity will never take off in France
On Monday morning I was in a blind panic. The deadline for posted manuscript entries to the Daily Mail First…
A game of chess with my grandson and a dead mouse
The younger grandson, Klynton, four, has got in the habit recently of thrusting his hands in my trouser pockets and…
Walking, and praying, in the hills of Provence
While I was in Provence, my hostess and I went out one day for a walk in the hills. We…
Cheltenham has no brothels – I wonder why
I shared a taxi from Cheltenham station to the house party in an outlying village with a stripper. Finding a…
Trev leans over to me: ‘Jägers?’ he says. ‘Pope?’ I say.
I walk into the King Bill at eight o’clock and the usual young Friday-night crowd is in and the spirit…
The poetic power of Patrick Hamilton's pubs
Nice airport was more or less deserted. Two-and-a-half hours early for the easyJet flight to Gatwick, I had a leisurely…
A gastronomic moron’s view of a legendary French brasserie
Before we left for Sunday lunch at the Les Deux Garçons restaurant, Aix-en-Provence, I checked the reviews on Tripadvisor. I’m…
The upside of cancer
I was diagnosed with prostate cancer with metastases in April 2013. It was a bit of a shock, but when…
My afternoon with the French Foreign Legion
In the Foreign Legion’s Museum of Memory at Aubagne, near Marseilles, I examined the kit, weapons and uniforms from the…
‘Are you worried about being sexually assaulted?’: my night in Cologne
Last week the indigenous white population of Cologne took to the streets once again to celebrate their annual ‘Crazy Days’…
Exit, pursued by drunk polar bear
The hotel reception was lit by three gloomy low-wattage light bulbs. It should have been six but the management was…
Even a Cambridge-educated spook couldn't make me believe in ghosts
Denis was my guide to and from the new out-of-town Lidl superstore at Salernes in Provence. I drove. The road…
How to avoid being taken for a ride
This book, the blurb warns us, was written by ‘an established voice in popular psychology, with a regular column on…
So the Queen's a Satanist cannibal? I’d still swear allegiance
Roy was a superb mechanic, a methodical master of his trade. For an hour I respectfully watched him work to…
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