When spirits are down and the pubs are shut, nothing quite lifts the heart like a game of night cricket.
I often have a kebab, though not as often as I might.
The signs are that getting women into work creates growth and further employment . . . for other wom
In 1881, Walter Powell, the MP for Malmesbury since 1868, was lost when piloting the army balloon "Saladin" with a Captain Templer and a Mr Gardner.
This year's Wimbledon is nearly over, but one of its biggest and most enduring stories was written in the first few days.
I am settling into a very sedentary, comfortable existence. Nowadays the big excitements of my quotidian life revolve around the London Underground.
The early labour movement had a hostile attitude to Robert Baden Powell's Scout movement - suspecting it of imperialism - and often heckled his meetings.
The weather's been delightful recently. I know this because I have to keep drawing the curtains so I can see the World Cup properly on my TV.
A call from my old friend Maria: Sebastian Horsley is dead. This is, to put it mildly, unwelcome news. I got to know Sebastian after reading and then reviewing his memoir, Dandy in the Underworld.
Plop! On to the doormat lands a stiffy, inviting me to the party for the Orange Prize for Fiction. Further research teaches me that this is awarded only to women novelists.
The borough of Islington, on whose boundaries I live, has been a recognised area of London for centuries. It grew up as a collection of small manors around the Great North Road, and served the City of London with water.
A rather excited message on the voicemail from John Moore, formerly of the Jesus and Mary Chain and Black Box Recorder, who tells me to call him urgently.
Peter Ackroyd, in his masterful biography of London, animadverts that the entire city is essentially a performance space, one in which the notorious actors fret and strut, while the London mob roils and moils through the stree
I come back to the Hovel after a frugal evening out to find Razors watching Junior Apprentice on the telly. He works punishing hours - nine till five-ish - and so he's entitled to watch any old garbage he wants.
Unless you dislike sport so much that you've been living under the sea in an attempt to avoid it, you'll be aware that the World Cup is imminent.
All the evidence shows it: more female MPs = more childcare = more women at work + higher birth rate
There is a hush outside the bar.
A car idles, a small child plays in a doorway as his mother talks quietly into her mobile, an elderly woman makes slow progress with a shopping basket.
All I can think about is Liz Jones, the Daily Mail columnist who feeds her 17 cats on cod (and, according to one report, organic Marks & Spencer prawns, but that can't be true).
I was recently in a rural part of Senegal, West Africa, when a rumour filtered through that the volcanic ash cloud had returned, and was threatening to shut down the UK's runways all over again.
The Woman I Love decides we should hold a joint party. It has been some time since I have done this; I think I have to go back pre-children, which means 1995 or so.
I'm writing this as the last election results come in, but it will be published in the aftermath of those results, so I'm in the perplexing position of not being able to talk about the outcome of the election, even though it i
It's that time of year when all sorts of significant birthdays gang up together: my mother's, my sons', the Woman I Love's, and, indeed, mine (all cards and cheques can be sent to me c/o The Guvnor, The Duke of Wellington, 94a
The other day I was walking with a brace of my children up the steep road that approaches Brighton Station from North Laine when I observed a long, dark, liquid rivulet flowing down the pavement, and then a young man, blind dr
I have a good friend who is the chairman of West Sussex County Council.
I see only one old woman on the Tuesday morning walk, the one that drives a mobility scooter. As my dog lets loose on the last of the daffodils,
My mother's birthday. We have lunch upstairs at the Duke; very nice.
An election might be taking place elsewhere in the country, but down here the big news is traffic wardens.
With this election being forced down our throats in an unprecedented number of ways - TV, Twitter, unusually open newspaper bias - we're finally seeing the truth about politicians.