Why bother with something true to life, dignified and classy when you can create something untrue, cheap and vulgar? While surfing through channels looking for a black and white oldie, I came across something that I think is called Rogue Heroes. I’m not sure of the title because the programme annoyed me so much that
‘You’re very easy to deal with, I must say,’ said the tall, handsome vet who was examining the spaniel. I laughed. ‘That’s not what the last vet said.’ The last vet sacked me after I asked to see my dog’s notes. After a long and arduous battle with corporate vetdom, I made my way down
I woke this morning to find blossom on our cherry tree. For a few blissful seconds I thought it was spring and that I’d slept through Christmas. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and I felt faint with joy. But reality – and Christmas Affected Doom, Depression and Despondency – soon kicked in:
Most football fans have had their attention riveted on Qatar for the past couple of weeks, but for those of us who support Queens Park Rangers there’s been an unwelcome distraction at home. Our manager Michael Beale, who’s only been in charge for 21 league games, announced on Monday that he’s leaving us for Rangers,
So should he stay or should he go? That’s Eddie ‘I don’t really care what other people think’ Jones, currently ruling the roost over England rugby at Twickenham. Though for how long is another matter. Clearly the language around Jones is changing: the announcement of a review of England’s dismal recent performances very clearly avoided
Q. I have become a lodger in a fortunate friend’s flat in Mayfair. We are both single and I am keen to start giving parties there. I had a trial run which was successful, bar the presence of one inebriated guest who went around indiscriminately insulting people – for example he walked up to a
Some simpering bishops are urging their clergy to make sure that carol services do not interfere with the ship of football. That leads to an obvious conclusion: Christmas is too important to be left to the Church of England. The vulgarities of commercialisation are distressing, but survivable. Last year, one friend became fed up with
‘Jersey Royals are easy-peelers and I don’t fancy one in my stocking,’ said my husband, lapsing into sense. I had been complaining about supermarkets labelling all little orange citrus fruits ‘easy-peelers’. We have called oranges oranges since the 14th century. The bitter orange became known as the Seville orange. Both Thomas Nashe and Shakespeare joked
I can detect a new feelingfrom shoulders to fingertips.My handwriting returns. Or is it an old feeling?Ironing, folding, combing hair —habits flaunt themselves in the face of recent history.What can I do with myself?Skiing, karaoke, roller blading… I’m ready for anything.I want to rush out and tell everyone,I’m back and mean business. I want to
In bulb-beds in the public park, daffodils lie headlong, scythed by Spring storms. The rate of attrition is high: one in ten felled beyond saving, fodder for slugs. I triage the casualties, their snapped stems, bruised blooms spattered with mud. These I bring home, and a vase of water will be their hospice: a tattered
Split apart with a thumbnailits two leaves open: brushed mild steel,cool in your palm, symmetrical. Allow a finger to settlein any of the countersunk screw holes –the natural comfort of cupping. The definite edges of each leafwill be bedded one day flushin the door’s back edge and the jamb. This is where the work is
