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My friend Allan Lamb calls me a ‘cricket tragic’, a back-handed compliment from a former English international cricketer. So the prospect of flying out to Australia and watching the first Ashes Test in Perth was too seductive to ignore. I knew pretty early on that the cost was going to be exorbitant. A gruelling 24-hour flight – and therefore serious jet lag – meant that either a premium economy or a business-class airfare was necessary. But as this was a bucket-list moment I indulged in the latter. Then hotel prices during an Ashes Test were inevitably ramped up and six nights at an ordinary inner-city hotel ended up costing twice

I contemplated this piece over a bowl of porridge; not a ready-mix concoction but the raw stuff: porridge oats mixed with milk and water and eaten without any adornment whatsoever. That will win me brownie points among many nutritionists and policymakers because I was not eating an ‘ultra-processed food’ (UPF). I have a gut feeling that raw porridge is more nutritious and less full of nasty stuff. It is also much cheaper. A few years ago, while I was on a walking holiday with my son, I pointed out to him – not least because he was about to go off to university and could do with a bit of

When a survey of 10,000 teachers revealed this month that Britain’s primary school pupils are increasingly relying on Americanisms (the Times front page declared ‘Trash-talking children are sounding like Americans’) I realised immediately what we needed. Rex Harrison. And if not Rex Harrison himself, then a dose of arguably his greatest role – that of Henry Higgins, the cantankerous professor of phonetics who first burst into the national consciousness in 1914 with the London premiere of Pygmalion. Alas, more than 100 years on, the essential truths in George Bernard Shaw’s now near unperformable play about the dire social harm caused by entrenched illiteracy and its consequences on speech (upon which,

There’s a saying – the kind seen on ‘inspirational’ posters on the walls of HR departments – that claims: ‘It’s about the journey, not the destination.’ Clearly it was dreamed up by someone who has never flown from Stansted and found themselves jostling through crowds of stag and hen parties, newly arrived Polish workers (there’s even been an Essex-based Polish taxi service to pick them up) and the hordes descending on Burger King as soon as they come through arrivals like John Mills and co. supping their first lagers after trekking through the desert in Ice Cold In Alex. It’s not just Stansted, of course. Gatwick – or ‘Chavwick’, as

A few weeks ago, I was driving four of my children to school in my tinny, battered Toyota. We were running late – as per usual – and were speeding – or, rather, chuntering – down a particularly treacherous road. Of all the questionable surfaces in my area of rural Essex, this one is notorious: marked by a huge pothole the size of Snoopy the dog’s head, which bleeds into a smaller, gloopier crater. As I was trying to navigate it, however, a large shadow zoomed into sight in my rear-view mirror. With a jolt and a tremendous bang, it pushed me, my family and my poor, beaten-up Toyota into

Herefordshire trainer Tom Symonds has his string in fine form with four winners from his last eight runners for a strike rate of 50 per cent over the past fortnight. Even his supposed no-hoper Gaelic Saint comfortably outran her odds at Warwick yesterday when second at 50-1 in a mares’ novices’ hurdle. Tomorrow one of Symonds’s stable stars NAVAJO INDY will try to keep up the good work for the yard at Haydock when he contests the Betfair Stayers’ Handicap Hurdle (2.25 p.m.) in search of a first prize to winning connections of nearly £57,000. At six years old, this progressive and consistent hurdler should be reaching his peak and Navajo Indy shapes as though this three-mile trip, which