St Moritz As they used to say in Flatbush, I shoulda stood in bed. So, leaving the pretty village of Gstaad on a sunny Tuesday morning, I set out for St Moritz to attend the Annual General Meeting of Pugs club and to participate in the first Pugs uphill ski race on the new course
I’d booked sleeping berths to Fort William, onward tickets for the scenic passenger line to Mallaig, and a double bed in a country-house hotel. But at the last moment she said she couldn’t come. So on my birthday I woke from a drugged sleep in an upper bunk on the Caledonian sleeper and there was
At first glance they didn’t look like they were going to be trouble. A boy and a girl in their late teens, possibly early twenties. He wore glasses and looked preppy, she was demure with her hair neatly tied in a ponytail. When they began talking during the overture, I thought little of it. As
Before disembarking at Bulawayo airport I stuffed the book I was reading in the front-seat pocket. It was Peter Godwin’s fine When a Crocodile Eats the Sun. I did not want to be carrying anything that might identify me as a subversive — or a foreign correspondent. Mugabe’s Zanu-PF goons threatened two-year jail sentences for
Earlier this week I was seriously tempted to call the National Bullying Helpline. Ever since I wrote a blog for the Daily Telegraph questioning whether Alexander McQueen really was a ‘genius’, I’ve become a whipping boy on Twitter, the social networking site. The strange thing is, my chief tormentors are fellow journalists. ‘Alexander McQueen: a
Q. New people have moved into our terraced street and made themselves very popular. Prior to their arrival everyone kept themselves to themselves in the typical London manner, but now there is a lot of what my husband calls ‘Coronation Street activity’ led by this very social, very community-minded couple. They are definitely a force
There are still the men’s curling finals to look forward to, but I have hardly got over a strange use of language in a commentary on the men’s ski-jumping. There are still the men’s curling finals to look forward to, but I have hardly got over a strange use of language in a commentary on
It takes a more ruthless person than me to walk past any of the defunct branches of Borders without feeling some pangs of conscience. I am sure the chain made some mistakes (it had a strange habit of opening vast, hangar-like stores in out-of-town retail parks such as Lakeside, places not generally known for their
