Low life
Low life
Two stylists work at this deeply rural French ladies’ hairdresser. Christelle is a gorgeous 17-year-old point-of-lay pullet, so lithe and…
What’s On in South Devon gave me three choices: functioning psychotic preacher, bingo or a poetry evening
I’m such a constitutional lightweight lately that I’ve started looking on the website What’s On in South Devon for things…
A child in church! It’s a miracle!
To say that Oscar was warmly welcomed as he stepped through the massive oak door into a chilly House of…
The kindness of strangers you need the morning after
Spectator Life’s third birthday party was a glamorous affair. It had paps, pop stars and Pippa. One went in and…
One day the Condor and the Eagle will fly wing-tip to wing-tip
The pub was disappointingly empty, so I took my first pint of the evening upstairs, where some sort of New…
Football in front, infibulation behind
I’m watching Manchester City being taken to the cleaners by Barcelona on the telly, while at the table behind me…
My afternoon in a Gallic version of Betfred
For the Cheltenham Festival I received the customary tipster circular from my pal Soapy Joe. Soapy’s most convincing credential as…
Lunch with Max Beerbohm’s brother’s grandson
It’s a silly, chippy complex, I know, but I often feel, on the rare occasions that I am induced to…
Mahler’s Fifth is the perfect soundtrack to a tooth extraction
Frantic chewing of sugar-coated nicotine gum had caused my left lower molar to go irretrievably rotten, and the dentist finally…
The day an ancient and very wonderful sport died
Last week was the tenth anniversary of the last running of the English hare-coursing classic, the Waterloo Cup. I shan’t…
This shower head should come with a health warning
This hotel is brand new. One half is a university students’ hostel, the other an apartment hotel. Car parking is…
My grandson's getting into the rugby: 'Which one's West Ham?'
My grandson and I had a lovely hour-long swim at the leisure centre. We had the learner pool to ourselves…
My initiation into the fellowship of wine (I swallowed)
This month’s wine club lecture was on red burgundy. The members were settling themselves at two large tables when I…
The risks of being an Englishman on Burns Night
I’m rubbish at public speaking and detest it. Even the thought of reciting an English poem of my choice at…
Twelve miles of indefatigable misery
The taxi-driver wound his window one third of the way down and put a priestlike, confessional ear to the freezing…
My addiction to literary pilgrimage is akin to masturbation
The hotel and its bright tan prayer rug of a beach were one. In the early morning the distant image…
The joys of home and hearth and hot lemon
Over Christmas and New Year I was rotten with flu and didn’t go out once. I stayed soberly at home…
That’s another year gone and, against the odds, I’m still here
A fruity voice on the train’s announcement system said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, make sure you have all your belongings, family…
Forgive us our Christmases as we forgive those who Christmas against us
After lunch on Christmas Day my father always stood at the sink in his apron and yellow Marigolds and did…
The best thing about travel-writing gigs is meeting other hacks
The thing I enjoy most about travel-writing gigs is meeting other hacks. Hacks are almost invariably fun, funny, gossipy, irreverent,…
The criteria for admittance to a Maldivian cemetery
Moofushi, Maldives We clambered aboard a dhoni, the sturdy wooden boat that the Maldivians use for getting about the…
‘Are you going out tonight, Frasier? If you are, don’t leave without me’
An hour earlier I had stepped off a plane from Dublin and I was three-quarters deaf in one ear. I…
I nearly went lost my mind in southern Spain on the trail of Gerald Brenan
Another writer I once liked very much is Gerald Brenan. Brenan served with distinction in the first world war and…
Bidding a fond, and drunken, farewell to the awe-inspiring Mark Amory
Rubbing shoulders with political suits on the pavement outside the Westminster Arms, I drank two pints of Spitfire. Pump primed,…
'My boy was my all': letters from a bereaved mother to a Somme widow
My maternal grandmother (née Clarke) had six brothers, all keen poker players. All six volunteered to fight in the Great…
