It’s a topsy-turvy world when the deputy editor of The Spectator, a lady, is in Afghanistan, while the High life correspondent of the same magazine cowers in a Belgravia basement wearing full body armour and his Wehrmacht helmet. Obviously, it should be the other way round, but now it’s a woman’s world and we men
‘Carry-on luggage,’ said the trip organiser by email. ‘If we all take only carry-on luggage we won’t have to do any hanging about at the airport.’ I spent the evening before I left packing, unpacking, sifting, making new decisions and repacking my smallest suitcase until I was more or less satisfied I had made the
Dividing my time between town and country leaves me pretty confused at times. The other day a fox streaked across a paddock at the Surrey farm where I keep my horses. The gamekeeper, who was having his tea break, stubbed out his cigarette enigmatically and went off to do whatever it is that gamekeepers do.
Tanzania Here’s this Chinese guy in the midday sun. Straw hat, faggy in his mouth, bright eyes, tanned face. I feel like crying. We’re in the middle of nowhere and he’s building this fantastic road through the Tanzanian bush. He’s fit, young, staring into the future, like one of those Mao-era posters. I give him
I’m writing this from the Hay Festival which seems to be populated by an unusually large number of government ministers. I spotted Michael Gove wandering along Newport Street eating an ice cream on Sunday afternoon and later this week I’m hoping to catch Nick Clegg being interviewed by Philippe Sands. If this annual gathering of
Q. The other night I took my parents to an upmarket eatery to celebrate my birthday. The food, wine and service were exceptional, but the music was so loud that one had to shout to be heard. My father suffers from slight deafness and had great difficulty hearing the conversation. Two polite requests to turn
I was interested to see in the Daily Telegraph a suggestion, in an article marking the 60th anniversary of The Archers, that the original name of the river that runs through Ambridge was the Ambra. Today it is called the Am, but, like the Cam in Cambridge, that is a back-formation from the name of
A few years ago a leisure centre advertised ‘Keep-fit classes for the over-60s’. Nobody turned up. To broaden the appeal, they advertised ‘Keep-fit classes for the over-50s’. The sessions sold out. Not one of those joining was under 65 years of age. How many 65-year-olds want to attend anything aimed at the over-60s? And how
