All the things I do instead of writing…
I went to a dinner at college the other day, and admired much smooth, dewy skin. The boat club invited Alumni along, either in the hope they would give more money, or in gratitude that they had stumped up for a new boat. Personally, I was aggrieved that the women have fallen so far down... Continue Reading →
A few weeks ago now Giles Coren's review of the Randolph appeared in The Times. It was accurately and amusingly bad, and intriguingly didn't even mention the only newsworthy event about The Randolph recently, namely the fire that broke out a few years ago. My memories of the Randolph are from occasional cream teas that... Continue Reading →
The many faces this blog has already taken on are perhaps some testament to my peripatetic nature. I'll pick up a new hobby, do it like a crazy person for about six months, then get all demoralised about the fact that it's not a career, and I therefore prefer to stop doing it rather than... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 