Gstaad There’s more happy dust to be found indoors around here than powder on the slopes. Last week I drove to the Diableret glacier and skied my legs off trying to catch up. At 3,000 metres — the maximum height the old prop planes used to reach when crossing the Atlantic — and upwards, the white stuff
There was at least one game girl on the race train back from Newbury on Saturday. ‘You didn’t smell very good on the sofa this morning,’ the carriage heard her tell a potential swain on her mobile. ‘But if you’re up for a celebration tonight then I am, too.’ On the basis of a flat-mate’s
Order your wines by email I’m pleased to say it has become an annual tradition: our February offer of the new vintage of Chateau Musar with Lay & Wheeler. It has been a tremendous success with Spectator readers. The wine won’t be in the shops until May, but it can be shipped to your door
There was generally bonny acclamation as the French rugby team ran out to play Ireland at Dublin’s Croke Park stadium last Sunday. I forecast a significantly tauter edge to proceedings next Saturday when the English XV takes to the Republic’s hallowed sports field and lines up in front of the Irish Army Band to belt
Q. Last week I had dinner with some old friends in London. My husband was unable to join us since he was working late but came to pick me up at the end of the evening. When he arrived everyone had finished eating but we were all still sitting at the table. When a man
My partner is a total tea fascist and whenever I make a pot it is never, ever right. It’s: ‘Did you use fresh water?’ Then it’s: ‘You used re-boiled, didn’t you?’ And then, with a sniffy look: ‘How long exactly did you leave this to brew?’ When I give up, think sod him, and just
