Diary
Singapore’s future is in capable hands
I was in Singapore last week, a city that hums with energy. It feels efficient, cosmopolitan and yet personal –…
I sympathise with Rachel Reeves
The British establishment cuts its deals with fish knives. If you want to catch this country’s business leaders and political…
I regret my intolerance over Brexit
Cannabis smoke lingering along the sidewalks of Washington D.C. was the most palpable fruit of liberty since my last visit…
Ireland is looking for its own Nigel Farage
A few years ago, I watched an Irish-made drama on Netflix called Rebellion. Given that it was about the 1916…
My life after Today
Nearly a year after my final Radio 4 shift, my new interview podcast has launched, and the weeks are more…
The day James Blunt stripped off in front of me
The beautiful British actress Samantha Eggar has died in LA. I hope that will be the last in a spate…
The bliss of un-fame
In July, astronomers at the Asteroid Terrestrial-impact Last Alert System discovered an interstellar object racing through the solar system at…
The day ‘Hitler’ was captured in Tottenham
Given the way the world is right now, I am avoiding it in the main. For the sake of my…
What is the West without the Jews?
To the studio! Podcasts, if you ask me, are the one good thing to have come out of the digital…
What’s wrong with elitism?
There was a time when the serious business of concert-giving closed down for the summer. Artists were expected to take…
What Nigel Farage told me
I recently attended the Young Dancer of the Year competition at the Royal Opera House, organised by the formidable Jacquie…
My new show with Andrew Lloyd Webber
The week of my cricket team’s annual tour of Cornwall. I formed Heartaches CC in 1973 and 765 games later…
Why I gave up on the Tories
The days between my leaving the Tories and joining Reform were an odd uneven time. It was the hardest decision…
Bring back the book launch!
It’s that time of year when the local librairie-papeterie in your French holiday village is full of signs for la…
Why France hates Macron
One of the pleasures of spending the summer in France is that I can turn aside from our national problems…
Don’t judge a book by its author
I am entombed, like Edgar Allan Poe’s prematurely buried man, listening through headphones to a contemporary Russian fugue for organ…
Don’t believe the doomsday talk about London
It is one of the joys of sport that friendships forged in changing rooms and on playing fields can be…
Welcome to the Age of Jerks
How screwed is Britain? I’ve checked with the Impartiality Police. They said stick to the facts. Like many ailing, ageing…
Roman Polanski ruined my hair
The Prom was Berlioz and Strauss, but the Albert Hall is always the star for me. It is a lover’s…
The nostalgic joy of Frinton-on-Sea
For the recent heatwave, it was my mission to escape our little Wiltshire cottage, where it hit 35°C. It has…
Save us from the Lime bike invasion
I’m a Londoner born and bred, and I love this city, even though it’s slowly being destroyed by the insidious…
My P.G. Wodehouse summer
Normally I model myself on one of the more retiring of the Desert Fathers, as much as a man living…
A book signing – or a mental breakdown?
The late John Updike once wrote an amusing article about signing books. This wasn’t at some literary event with a…
Who wants to read an unemotional memoir?
On the hottest day of the year, St Pancras station would not have been my first choice for lunch, but…
Beware taking up running in your fifties
Over a hotel breakfast in Brisbane, I showed Sir Alan Hollinghurst my injuries. We’d met the previous week at the…
