I have only, to my recall, met two people who can outpace me, drink for drink, and they happen to be Hunter S Thompson and Christopher Hitchens.
Keep things streamlined on the food front, so as to leave more room on the rug for important stuff, such as people.
Recording your own book is an unexpected feat of endurance.
My only consolation, as I now wonder what on earth I am going to put my Marmite on besides my finger, is that Mousie will have burst like a balloon with the amount he has eaten.
The only possible course for the ethical meat-eater is to accept that our diet, in common with so many other of our lifestyle choices, is a matter of what we feel comfortable with, and to leave it at that.
Cowboys may have been the architects of the American myth but a cowboy without his shot of whiskey would scarce merit his gun.
Grigson's recipes still have the power to surprise – God knows what readers in 1971 made of sushi with sweet beans – and her enthusiasm for her subject is utterly infectious.
It’s an all-you-can-eat buffet and soup kitchen combined.
In wine, the tendrils of power spread like well-nourished vines, wrapping around some surprising edifices.
I happened to walk into a shop near Richmond Park and found scores if not hundreds of withered and skinny dicks dangling from the ceiling.
Jam, not bombs.
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