A weird, piratically themed Cornish pasty takeaway outlet has mounted a sustained assault on English railway terminuses and high streets.
Life in the Hovel continues to be mind-expanding. The first time I was asked what it was like living with two women in their early twenties (is it demeaning or sexist to say "girls" instead?
I listened to Ed Miliband's speech to the Labour party conference while at stool the other day.
The Daily Mail columnist Jan Moir recently described Ed Miliband as "dweebish".
By the time you read this, Razors will have gone. How long he will last in New York is anyone's guess - Americans are not the tolerant, easygoing people they once were - but I wish him well.
For the Tragus Group, the company that owns the 117 branches of Café Rouge scattered across our green and francophile land, the map is emphatically not the territory.
I've been in Australia all week.
From time to time, I succumb to one of the great delusions of the modern world: namely that a gadget or device will allow me to do something I've been doing for years faster and more efficiently, thereby gifting me more of the
My friend Ian's girlfriend Cindy has opened a Thai restaurant at Tollcross in Edinburgh.
I have just come back from lunch at St John, the splendid restaurant in Clerkenwell that serves up bone marrow and other bits of animals that the English normally eschew.
I write this on the third year, to the day, of my arrival at the Hovel. How am I going to celebrate this auspicious anniversary? At the moment I'm thinking of clearing out the fridge.
A rustling and puckered moment at a convenience store somewhere in the switchback of streets skirting Edinburgh's Castle Rock: I have placed a hand of bananas, a half-litre bottle of Volvic and three Mars bars on the counter;
There's talk, predictably, of a civil war within the Lib Dems. Well, we all saw that coming. But the violent fate awaiting Clegg and his clan is just one example of a panoply of conflicts.
By the time you read this, I will be dead. Well, no, not dead, I'm exaggerating. Asleep. Yes, that's more like it.
Funny to be back in Cornwall for my summer holidays for the first time since I was a child.
The queue is both tempestuous and timid. Indeed, it is large enough to contain many human emotions along its winding length, a length that is only just contained within the confines of the post office.
I wake up at 7.30am feeling fine. This is never a good sign and, sure enough, by about noon I am feeling rotten. Ho ho, I hear you snigger, Lezard has been at the happy juice again.
I've decided to run a half-marathon in Bristol. In a couple of weeks. Why not? Well, there are all sorts of good reasons why not. For a start,
The estate agent is apparently honest, very polite and utterly upbeat. "Oh," he says, surveying the dilapidated property we stand in. "This is
Every year, I'm surprised by the number of people who make it back from their holidays. I always half-expect to get calls from friends or
Did kidult culture spawn kidult restaurants, or was it perhaps the other way round?
I stumble downstairs on a muggy, sultry morning to find, miles from his natural habitat, an adult bull walrus asleep on my sofa.