Low life
My existential crisis was straight out the terrible twos’ playbook
Early on St Valentines Day I walked down to the car park where the raindrops were knocking off the young…
The healing power of medieval austerity
Eighty yards west of the high terrace where I’ve sat for three weeks recuperating is a hospice built for Napoleon’s…
The joy of the Great War memoir
Harley Granville-Barker, actor, director, playwright, manager and critic, was a pasha of the Edwardian London stage. As a director, his…
It’s my ninth – and final – chemotherapy session
‘Sorry I’m late,’ I said to the big unit stationed behind her computer. She’s the chief, this one. She shows…
The farcical world of the Sharon’s Ex-Boyfriends Club
Sharon told me once that the best sex she’d ever had was with Tom in the town public conveniences, bathed…
The magic of champagne
The four portraits of four siblings that Catriona had painted from their photographs over four months were framed, hung and…
Low life
I listed for Catriona the reasons why I did not want to go out to dinner that evening at the…
Would my scan results be a death sentence?
At the desk I gave my name and showed my Covid vaccination pass and the woman told me to take…
A hidden side of the Somme
Noticing via this Low Life column that I had trench fever, the Western Front Association treated me to a year’s…
French kissing with the French
Every year Vernon celebrates the gathering in and pressing of his olive harvest by inviting friends to a ceremony at…
The joy of French hospital food
After checking me in, the receptionist, who was wearing an overcoat, said: ‘There is no heating in the hotel. The…
My moment of madness in the opticians
Foolishly I chose new specs in the village optician’s after a long lunch: a rather outré design that I might…
A tale of bitter brotherly rivalry
For early humans there was no distinction between spirit and matter. There was no idea of self; no barrier between…
The healing power of champagne
The day after Catriona was fitted with a plaster cast and crutches, her elder sister arrived from the UK for…
Life amid Catriona’s cleaning regime
Earlier in this run of glorious October sunshine I was languishing on the bed in the middle of the afternoon…
My happiness has given way to a paralysing melancholy
From our hypothetical drone-mounted camera let us look down into a secluded valley in the same series of valleys as…
Acorns and aliens: lunch with Vernon and the Ukrainians
Catriona and I were late for lunch at Vernon’s because I couldn’t get out of bed. The four of them…
The downfall of the French middle class
The chesty Corsican taxi driver was giving me his earnest appraisal of the way things were headed in France politically.…
Sally Rooney on steroids
To lessen the side effects of chemotherapy I am prescribed a corticosteroid. I take a whopping dose around the treatment…
Why I’m touchy about being asked what I do for a living
In former times I had acquaintances of long standing, or even friends, who never once asked what I did for…
I rather enjoy my chemotherapy sessions
With a French health card everything is free for us cancer patients, even taxis to and from the hospital. ‘This…
A tale of refugees from ‘Brexit Britain’
In the New Year I was introduced to a couple who had fled Britain impulsively on New Year’s Eve with…
Was I the picture of evil incarnate?
Not long after Catriona and I first met, her husband painted my head and shoulders portrait in oils as I…
How I love England — despite the hellhole that is Gatwick airport
At Gatwick airport, after an hour and 15 minutes in a snaking queue system apparently purposely designed to infect as…
A tale of many swimming pools
My two grandsons are staying with us here in Provence for a week. Roman soldier Catriona flew from Marseille to…
