My sister’s boyfriend is a solitary man and easily overwhelmed by another’s presence. On his rare visits he flits in…
At the turn of the century, I started a diary. I’ve mostly typed it on old typewriters, bashing out a…
These days it is fashionable to claim Mussolini as a fundamentally decent fellow led astray by an opportunist alliance with…
In 2004, ten days after I moved my family to a new life in India, I gave a reading at…
The novelist David Plante is French-Québécois by ancestry, grew up in a remote Francophone parish in Yankee New England and…
This month has been the launching season for my new collection of poems, Nefertiti in the Flak Tower. Not many…
If you were stranded on a desert island, Ruth Leon would be the perfect companion.
Michael Ashcroft opens his Diary
Sarah Standing opens her Diary
Boris Johnson opens his Diary
Geoffrey Wheatcroft opens his Diary
Max Hastings opens his Diary
Susannah Herbert opens her Diary
P.J. O’Rourke opens his diary
A.N. Wilson's Diary
Recently I was on a lecture tour in sunbelt America — Alabama and Texas — and mentioned to various people that I commute from the suburb where I live in Westchester County to Manhattan by train.
Miriam Gross opens her Diary
Justin Webb's Diary
Harry was so scared when we entered him in the Best Veteran category in the Friends of Tooting Common Dog Show that he tried to jump out of the ring, and when he found he couldn’t break free he clung on to me for dear life.
Some travel writers, in an attempt to simulate the hardship of Victorian journeys, like to impose artificial difficulties on themselves.
A saint of self-deprecation, Chris Mullin closed the first volume of his diaries A View from the Foothills ‘contemplating oblivion’ after his dismissal from ministerial office.
For all of the nine years that he worked, first as official spokesman for Tony Blair and then as Director of Communications for the government, Alastair Campbell was obliged to defend a huge lie: that all was well at the heart of the New Labour project when, manifestly, it was not.
When Lavinia Greacen undertook her magisterial yet intimately sympathetic biography of James Gordon Farrell, she gained access to his diaries and many of his letters, especially love letters and letters to his literary agents, editors and publishers about his professional desires and requirements.
As a young man in the 1970s Michael Bloch was the architectural historian and diarist James Lees- Milne’s last (if, we are assured, platonic) attachment, and later became his literary executor.