I thought I’d do an actual blog sort of post for those of you who are interested in that sort of thing so that we can follow the real life story of my next book from writing through to world domination.
This column for the excellent Expatriate Lifestyle magazine appeared in the October 2010 edition
Caring sometimes involves telling it like it is, expressing hard truths that those with less emotional attachment might leave unspoken. And so it was that, straight out, I informed young Sam – he’s only seven – that he was fat. I didn’t like doing so, not with the obvious implications for his self-esteem and lifestyle, and I didn’t know how he was going to take it, but it had to be done; no beating about the bush. In the end, his reaction was, on the whole, quite muted. He looked at me, with that enigmatic expression he so often wears, leaned forwards slightly, and licked my nose.
I have just finished writing my monthly column for the excellent Expatriate Lifestyle magazine, and it is on the subject of Winter. It brought to mind one that I wrote before, on the very different, and for me much more pleasant subject of Spring. Here it is. It was published in April 2010 …
It’s that time of the year again; the first day of the Wimbledon fortnight, and the first thing I do at this time of the morning – it’s 6:23 as it happens – is to thank the sequence of unlikely events since the Big Bang which have resulted in me being able to sit on my bum on a Monday afternoon and watch it.
This column for the excellent Expatriate Lifestyle magazine appeared in the May 2015 edition
Some idiot reversed into my car in Tesco’s car park. That, I expect, is what the owner of the car behind me in Tesco’s car park probably said when he got home. He might well have added an adjective or two to describe the idiot in greater detail, but the editor’s Big Red Pen of Purity won’t let me speculate in print.
This is a column from the excellent Expatriate Lifestyle magazine. It was first published in June 2014
I’m concentrating on fruit and vegetables, so any extra rhubarb in this column is entirely intentional. The government mandarins over here have issued new guidelines. They’ve released a report, or it might have been leeked, stating that their old advice of five portions a day is wrong and that the magic number is now seven. Initially, this did not strike me as something which would go down well, though driving past a field I was sure the cows were looking unusually chuffed. But, assuming they’re not going to enfranchise cattle, why, I wondered, did they do it?
This isn’t really all that funny, not least because for the past week or so I’ve been suffering not with a cold, not even with man-flu, but with some dreadful disease which would surely have reduced lesser men than me to snivelling, shivering wrecks, shells of their former selves, knocking on the door of death, but quietly because they lacked the energy to demand entry.
First off I want to allay your fears: by Schrödinger’s football, I don’t mean that anyone is going to kick a cat. No, by football, I just mean a football. Though for some of you by a football I mean a soccer ball. I hope that makes things clear.
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