As Marshal Blucher spluttered to the Iron Duke at the conclusion of the Battle of Waterloo, ‘Quelle affaire!’ I am talking about my three wonderful weeks in England. The warnings about one’s health should not be on cigarette boxes but in London airports, hotels and restaurants –during the months of June and July, that is.
Right, that’s it. On the morning of the 87th anniversary of the first day of the Battle of the Somme I’m lying in bed listening to a news ‘update’ on our local commercial radio station. Last night, apparently, our latest batch of MPs voted, in an overwhelming fit of moronic vindictiveness, to ban all hunting
Should this column be more frugal or less frugal? As an unelected column should it be allowed to ask someone else to squeeze its toothpaste tube? Should it be required to give an account of its expenditure, its private minicabs and the cost of refurbishing itself? If I have to read another word about Prince
Dear Mary… Q. I have been giving a summer drinks party in my London garden each year for the past 20 years. It has become something of a fixture on the social calendar and I am loth to give it up, but now a ruthlessly frank friend has suggested that this year I move the
I was just looking up malarkey when my husband called out in the tones of a man who has found a glass eye in his porridge. ‘Looks like yours,’ he said, fishing a bit of paper out of the first volume of Phineas Finn as if with tongs. He was not wrong, it had my
