All the things I do instead of writing…
I was reading a comment article in The Times this morning entitled "If you're not Kate Moss, smoking isn't cool". I don't think she looks cool smoking at all, or certainly not in the Louis Vuitton catwalk image. It was following the well-trodden path of generating controversy for greater press coverage, and the whole effect... Continue Reading →
I have for so long imagined little scenes in my life as they might have turned out, but as they never do for anyone, because everyone is reticent and risk averse - unless of course they're completely wasted and staggering around Covent Garden in London so drunk that they walk into a glass door at full pelt... Continue Reading →
I'm quite disconcertingly comfortable with my own company. When I'm not at work (which is most of the time), I have all the head space I need - I can read the papers, construct bizarre diet plans I won't stick to, shout at the morons on breakfast TV, indulge in antisocial personal habits like picking... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 