START THE BOATS!
‘START THE BOATS!’
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Wednesday
And I’ll huff and I’ll puff
‘And I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll block all your building plans.’
It’s even harder to read
‘It’s even harder to read – there’s a chapter dedicated to pronouns.’
She doesn’t even seek human approval
‘She doesn’t even seek human approval.’
Apple-bobbing
‘Oh, look, we can do some apple-bobbing.’
Our app
‘You’ll need to have downloaded our app.’
Are you absolutely sure you want to be a granny?
‘Are you absolutely sure you want to be a granny?’
You lack personality
What’s modern slavery dad?
This is my way of doing something for the planet
‘Watching this is my way of doing something for the planet.’
It’s time to ban balsamic
Balsamic vinegar, according to a recent poll, is now considered an essential store cupboard ingredient by a quarter of all Brits. I detest it. This dark, syrupy fermented grape juice is like Marmite – you love it or hate it. Partly because it is overused, and also the numerous versions produced, I find myself flinching when I see it on a kitchen or dining room table. The Italians still behave, at least on the culinary front, as though they are a series of different countries When I first started travelling to Italy in the 1980s, I was given invaluable lessons in food crime: one, never, ever, under any circumstances, order
The secret to learning a language quickly
Becoming proficient in a so-called ‘easy’ language (for English speakers, French is relatively easy) often takes hundreds of hours; a difficult language (Mandarin anyone?) takes several thousand. That’s good for language teachers, but not so good for the learners. Language teaching today is where medicine was in the 18th century Even after putting in all those hours of following an expensive course, many people never become proficient. How can so much time and effort amount to such little progress? Language learning happens inside the brain, making the processes involved difficult to observe and understand – that’s why language teaching today is where medicine was in the 18th century, and why,
The night my friends went missing on a Spanish train
Twenty years ago, the Spanish railway company RENFE stole my girlfriend’s father. There were four of us – my girlfriend, her dad, and a university friend of ours. We had been in Spain for more than a month, walking the Camino de Santiago. Now it was time to head home, first by train to Bilbao and then on to Stansted by air. Once we found our seats on the train, in the rearmost carriage, I settled in for the long haul – the journey is ten hours – with my battered copy of Herodotus, which I was determined to finish before the start of the new academic year. I was
Tuesday
The drudgery of airports
Having a child growing up in Italy means regular flights there and back from Stansted airport. This is unfortunate, as I find nearly any other form of transport preferable. It isn’t so much the flying itself – I lack the imagination to envisage what it really means to hover 38,000 feet above the earth in a fragile aluminium tube – but the malarkey which surrounds it. I am talking about airports: getting to them, getting through them, getting out of them. The tunnel of trauma, the concentrated drudgery, the dismal, dehumanising price you must pay for your place in the sun. The passport gate takes your picture as you pass
Save our unmessed-with pubs!
From the outside, it appeared derelict – not an uncommon thing to find when visiting an unknown establishment based solely on a listing in an old copy of ‘The Good Pub Guide’. But a chap walking past with his labrador reassured us: ‘She usually opens at noon.’ When we returned an hour later it was immediately plain that the pub was still in use – you could hear music coming from inside. This turned out to be from a five-piece acoustic string band who were seated by the fire, playing ‘I’ve Just Seen a Face’. When asked what wines she had, she gave the classic no-nonsense reply: ‘Red or white’
How to hunt for fallen meteorites
At 1.17 p.m. on 1 February 2019, a daytime bolide exploded over Vinales, Cuba, showering down meteorites on the local villagers. Seasoned meteor hunters flew the stones back to the Tuscon Gem Show in a now-defunct Inn Suites where, from my display room, I watched enviously as they broke the stones apart with a hammer and began to sell them for $100 per gram. The hunters staved off competition by inventing wild stories about how the army had taken over, confiscating the meteorites and jailing hunters trying to take meteorites out of Cuba. But a few days later, a Russian hunting team brought 50kg to the show, selling them at
Monday
The unconscious savagery of the Rolls-Royce Spectre
Most Rolls-Royce drivers have four cars or more: this is a car for leisure. They drive their Rolls-Royces perhaps 3,000 miles a year: I would never do that. I would treat it like any other car. Lawrence of Arabia had nine armoured Rolls-Royce Silver Ghosts for his campaign in Arabia. I would go to the supermarket in it, muddy the doors, let brambles scratch it. Before I drove Rolls-Royces I didn’t like them because I didn’t like the people who drove them. Now the fact they drive them is the only thing I like about them. It is insanely quiet, as Royce predicted, though I could not hear my heartbeat,
Friday
Two tips for Ascot on Champions Day
Not for the first time on Champions Day at Ascot, the ground tomorrow looks likely to be very soft and it is essential to back horses that can handle the conditions. All the better, too, if they have strong course form as the sand-based track is not liked by all horses – even those that can handle ease in the ground. In the Balmoral Handicap (4.25 p.m.) the likes of Docklands, Sonny Liston, Migration and Baradar are at the head of the market and, of the four, the last named makes most appeal. He has winning course form and he will relish the recent rain. Yes, he has been raised
Sir Ranulph Fiennes: a living Lawrence of Arabia
Sir Ranulph Fiennes (a third cousin of Ralph, since you ask) has written a book about Lawrence of Arabia. He feels an affinity with him: he too has led Arabs in fighting, in Sir Ranulph’s case, for the Sultan of Oman. ‘I’d been in Arabia, leading Arabs against the Marxist rebels. In Lawrence’s day, the British were fighting the Germans and the Turks’. ‘It’s my DNA. My ancestors did lots of travel in new places’ The circumstances differed. ‘Lawrence had camels and was dealing with a huge body of men; I had six open-topped Land Rovers with two machine guns and I led 30 men; a mixture of Belushis and
Richard Curtis doesn’t owe fat people an apology
Nepo-narcissism has plunged new depths. Scarlett Curtis, the mauve-haired social justice activist and daughter of filmmaker Richard, has been grilling her hapless father about his wicked pre-cultural revolutionary past. During a creepy Soviet-style cross-examination in front of a crowd at the Cheltenham Literature Festival, Scarlett harangued the creator of Blackadder for failing to include a single black person in his film Notting Hill. Rather than telling his daughter to check her thinking – duh, the film came out in 1999, long before it became mandatory to patronise people of colour – Richard made the fatal error of trying to excuse his problematic past. Everyone knows that self-flagellating in public won’t