Q. Speaking of pellets, as you did last week, may I ask something else? Whenever I have eaten birds, it has always been quite an informal occasion where one didn’t have to worry about, well, what to do with shot. One could simply more or less neatly take it out of one’s mouth. But if
The basso thump of Six Nations’ rugby begins this weekend — today Wales are at Twickenham and Italy in Dublin, and tomorrow the French collide with the Scots at Murrayfield. The reverberating crash-bang-wallop continues till the Ides of March. Turn the BBC’s sound down; rugby is now as gruntingly noisy as women’s tennis. Oh for
I ask Egon Ronay, the man who first put the rosettes into British cooking and who has just published his 2006 guide to the best restaurants in the UK, if he’d care to have lunch, show me how he judges a restaurant, maybe teach me a thing or two. (As if I needed it! Pull
E17 may seem an unlikely candidate to be gracing the glossy pages of style magazines, but the area — birthplace of William Morris and home to the ‘greyhound racing stadium of the millennium’ — is blossoming. These days the association between Walthamstow and going to the dogs is, in one sense at least, an unfair
Q. Two years ago I dispatched a spoof Christmas letter to a select handful of friends thinking this might amuse them. I committed all the standard crimes: blow-by-blow accounts of (fictitious) holidays and activities; an insistence on the good looks, academic prowess and remarkable musicality of our children; my own successes; our soaring incomes; hilarity
The club records of a couple of soccer’s fabled old goal-scorers were levelled this month. Two nice round numbers, too, as the silky and sometimes sulky Frenchman, Thierry Henry, matched the 150 league goals banged in for Arsenal in the 1930s by the then boy wonder from Devon, Cliff Bastin; and aging thoroughbred Alan Shearer
Racing yards all have their own character, some pretty as picture books, some run like military camps. Down a muddy lane in deepest Hampshire Emma Lavelle’s stables are all about cheerful teamwork. At the top of her gallops last week we were reflecting how the great Vincent O’Brien insisted on having the straw in each
It is one of life’s little mysteries that, outside the circle of those involved in game shooting, so few pheasants are bought and eaten, in a country where between 15 and 20 million birds are reared each year. I have sometimes wondered whether the association of pheasants with wartime food — during the winter of
Q. I have an aversion to shaking hands. How should I avoid this, without giving offence? My doctor informs me that more germs are passed by hand than by kissing. At my club no one shakes hands, unless they are being introduced to someone for the first time. However, even that I find trying. I
Fifa has tossed back the sponsored ball which was expensively designed for June’s World Cup: it was too inclined to wobble in flight. Also last week, the on-going fuss over the size and aerodynamics of the golf ball came to an interim conclusion when both the Royal & Ancient and the US Golf Association admitted
Q. I belong to a small reading group in the village in which I live and have always enjoyed our meetings. Recently, however, one member of the group took it upon herself to invite a new neighbour to join us. We wanted to be welcoming and so said nothing; unfortunately, however, the newcomer has rather
After the Lord Mayor’s show…. It is back to the humdrum for football today following last week’s all-embracing showstoppers in the FA Cup. Two or three years ago, we know-alls were writing off the world’s most antique annual tournament (est. 1872) as a geriatric diversion far past its sell-by date. Winning it offered no access
I stoked up some good log fires over the holiday, and with a box or two of Thornton’s Continental Selection was snug at the hearth with two British histories on the go, thoroughly enjoying them both: The Victorians by A.N. Wilson and Dominic Sandbrook’s Never Had It So Good (1956–1963). Scholarship and readability in flawless
Q. A friend in the fashion world telephoned me to say that she was sending round a handbag worth £400 for my Christmas present. She told me frankly that she would not normally spend £400 on me but she had been given this bag by a public relations person representing a certain designer and did
No mistaking the centre of sport’s universe in 2006. Found the flags of St George in the loft? Ordered the white van on which to display them? Ingerland! Ingerland! Ingerland! ’Ere-we-go! ’Ere-we-go! ’Ere-we-go! June will be busting out all over with World Cup football. Forty years on, England genuinely fancy their chances of regaining the
Q. Having been well entertained by the ‘pyjama gaping’ problems and solutions, may I briefly insert my neat response? Gentlemen should obtain comfortably large pairs of Directoire ladies’ knickers in acetate fabric. Discreet shops do have them. Carefully snip into the single thickness hem where elastic is gathered at the knee. Draw out the elastic
For her traditional Christmas treat Mary has invited some of her favourite figures in the public eye to submit personal problems for her attention. From Robert HiscoxQ. Christmas time brings the threat of having to dance at a staff party. As a chairman in my sixties I wonder how to maintain any dignity when dragged
Where are the pike, the char, the carp of yesteryear? Still in English lakes and rivers, but they are not to be found in the English kitchen. Pike, then called luce, are mentioned in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, and they were on the menu at King Henry IV’s coronation banquet at the end of the 14th
Am I an anorak? An uncomfortable thought, like discovering that some feature you had never noticed in yourself — your Adam’s apple, perhaps, or your ears — is what people always remember about you. I wore an anorak, long ago during my teenage motor-scooter period. That comprised Lambretta 1, which cost £8, was a slow
England’s cricketers came rudely down to earth in the rose-red sandstone of Lahore, and they remain in the old Punjab for another week as they endeavour to pick up the pieces in the one-day rubber which begins today. Less than three months after the heady Ashes parades they began the Test series as warm favourites,