F Scott Fitzgerald famously wrote that ‘there are no second acts in American lives’. In his particular case, poor Scott was right. He died broke and forgotten in his early forties, but at least he expired in the arms of his lover, the beautiful Miss Graham, who went on to become a powerful gossip columnist
I arrived late and perspiring at the novel-writing workshop. Four would-be novelists and the tutor were seated around a table. I apologised for not being punctual and received amused, forgiving or complicit smiles, reminding me that it was art that we were about today, not commerce or industry. Two rows of paperbacks divided the table.
How much screening does a person have to go through in this country to obtain a rabbit? Being recently lagomorphically bereaved — and newly single — I am in desperate need of new pets. I always adopt a stray after a break-up. It’s how I came by the legendary giant black rabbit BB, now passed
I was slightly sceptical of Team Cameron’s decision to unveil their ‘secret weapon’ last Sunday — namely, Dave’s wife Samantha. Not that she isn’t luminously beautiful. And her ability to juggle motherhood with a high-flying career will undoubtedly appeal to many professional women. Rather, it’s her social provenance that concerned me. Wouldn’t her transparently upper-class
It’s a sad old story when the most enjoyable moments of last weekend’s Calcutta Cup battle at Murrayfield were the frequent TV cutaways to Scotland coach Andy Robinson giving an Oscar-winning performance as the world’s angriest man. In his playing days he was known as ‘Growler’ but there wasn’t much growling here: near demented hysteria,
Q. For about four months there has been a noticeable divide between boys and girls at my school that came about through petty incidents and misunderstandings. This has left our (GCSE) year completely split between certain people and there is a sense of awkwardness. At the moment the future of the pupils’ happiness seems somewhat
It has always seemed to me that in the lyrics by David Baddiel and Frank Skinner for their song marking the European football championships of 1996 the word hurt enters awkwardly, for the sake of the rhyme: ‘Three lions on a shirt, Jules Rimet still gleaming,/ Thirty years of hurt never stopped me dreaming.’ Perhaps
