On the face of it, giving my house keys to an Albanian builder I bumped into on the street might be deemed a silly thing to do. But to those traditionalists who quibble with such a sally, I would make certain points in defence of giving a strange man called Stefano unlimited access to all
‘I’m sorry. There is no one of that name booked into this hotel,’ said the receptionist. No, wait. That won’t do. She didn’t say that at all. And there is no point to this story unless I tell you what she really said, or rather shouted, which was, ‘I am sorry! Zer is no one
No matter how many scatter cushions they put on the beds, British hotels are just faking it. Thirty-five years after Basil Fawlty, we still can’t do hospitality. Oh, yes, we can do fancy little feedback forms and chocolates on the pillow. But we absolutely cannot do the basics. To visit a British hotel is to
Tack shops. You can’t live with them, can’t live without them. There is no logical explanation for how compulsively these places draw you in. It is entirely probable they put something addictive in the air supply. Or would they even need to? The intoxicating smell of leather and leather soap, of soft brown suede, of
The last time I hired a car it nearly killed me. This is because Avis Geneva, in its infinite wisdom, issued me with a 4×4 and waved me off to a ski resort cheerily insisting that the great hulking thing had snow tyres and that as such I should feel free to climb every mountain,
If you’re Eric Pickles, please look away now. I think it only fair to warn the Secretary of State for local government, in case he happens to be reading this in a precious moment of relaxation, that I’m about to have another rant about the catastrophic events that unfolded after one of his advisors sent
Sometimes I think it would be easier if the government deducted a set amount from my bank account every month to cover ‘incidental stealth taxes’. Sometimes I think it would be easier if the government deducted a set amount from my bank account every month to cover ‘incidental stealth taxes’. I’ve noticed that it is
‘You can’t get better than a Kwik-Fit fitter. We’re the boys to trust!’ I remember the TV advert well. When I was a child, the sight of the dancing men in blue overalls made me look forward to being old enough to drive a car so I could go to the cheerful cockney geezers to
‘Ring us when you get lost and we’ll come and get you,’ was the reaction of the gamekeeper at the farm where I keep my horses when I told him I was going on a trail ride with three female friends. ‘Really,’ I said, ‘just because four women are going off on a riding holiday
Have you noticed how no one gets tired any more, they get one of those frightening fatigue syndromes? Post-viral, chronic, adrenal, muscular, neuro-cognitive…It’s terrifying. I’ve lost track of the number of parties I’ve been to where one of the guests has suddenly announced that they’re really excited to be out because they’ve been in bed
Every so often I like to visit the ‘service’ centre of Lambeth Council, mainly because if I’m feeling down it is good for a laugh. So proved to be the case on my annual outing to renew my residential parking permit, surely the highlight of the season for appreciators of vintage left-wing madness. When I
What I want to know is — what’s easy about it? EasyJet, I mean. I’ve just used it to go to the south of France and I’m struggling to accept that ‘easy’ best describes it. I haven’t been on a budget airline for a while but I well remember the era of package trips when
I’m not exaggerating. There used to be a lovely big Books Etc on Victoria Street where you could lose yourself for an hour and find all sorts of unexpected treasures: while browsing in the sports section there I bought a copy of Seabiscuit by Laura Hillenbrand, which had me in tears after ten minutes. But
‘It’s not all about you, you know.’ Where did this nonsensical phrase come from and how did it enter into common parlance? I had a boyfriend who used to say it regularly, with particular vigour during times of crisis. I would arrive back from a trip to the Middle East bursting to tell him about
Try this experiment. The next time your phone beeps you with a text message don’t answer it for five minutes. I bet you can’t do it. I bet you can’t look at ‘message received’ and not press ‘view’. I bet like me you get a tight feeling in your chest after just ten seconds. After
On the basis that nothing is simple any more, I knew that renewing my passport was going to be a feat of mental and emotional endurance. However, I had not expected it to turn into an image consultation with the world’s most insulting women. One of them, I hasten to point out, was a machine.
I can’t help it. When I look through my front window and see two super-cool-looking young black guys dressed from head to foot in Nike screaming obscenities, it quickens my pulse. I can’t help it. When I look through my front window and see two super-cool- looking young black guys dressed from head to foot
For nearly a year now, I’ve been promising my father I will brave the BT call centre to order him broadband. He knew that what he was asking me to do was a far greater thing than any father should ask of his daughter, so when the day finally dawned for me to make good
The following conversation with Lambeth council pest-control unit took place a few days before a fox attacked two babies. I had rung them to ask for advice about how to control the hordes of foxes roaming my street like hoodies. As I reported last week, the initial signs of a sensible response were not encouraging.
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.
