I ask Razors if he still calls it the Post Office Tower. He looks almost hurt. "Of course I do."
I have always considered health clubs with deep suspicion. It comes, I think, from living in London for most of my life.
The wind whips at the figures on the hillside. The young offenders have screwed-up faces and shaved heads. One or two appear angry, but most are merely cold and probably not very bright.
Here's a statement you don't often come across when British teenage pregnancies are the subject of conversation: "Numbers of teenage mothers are relatively small." Tabloid horror headlines might suggest otherwise, but as Jane
First Carla Bruni’s nipples sent the British press into a frenzy. Then a flurry of tweets had the Fr
To Balham to see my friend Ella Montclare perform a set of unbelievably good trip-hop at the Bedford.
It's a funny thing to worry about a statistics assignment after 20 years of writing columns for national newspapers.
I'm still in a deep depression over England. I was so pissed off by their display against Egypt, and even more so by the under-21s against Greece.
It is time, I have decided, to become more corrupt. Print journalism may be in a terrible state, but I still know quite a few print journalists who are getting some excellent freebies.
I sometimes wonder whether public transport in this country is secretly run by the Lord's Day Observance Society.
Conspiracy theories are articles of faith for the masses in an age of unbelief.
Time, I am told, to clear out the books from my study. After about two and a half years, it has been, I concede, long enough. Besides, not only is the ex-wife on my case, so is my daughter.
There's "probably no God", apparently. I read it on the back of a bus last year, courtesy of an advertisement paid for by the British Humanist Association.
One of the most realest meals there is in the so-called developed world is a hotel breakfast. I say this for a simple reason: no one - unless they are close to expiring - refuses it.
To A -- 's and E -- 's for dinner. They are great friends of the Woman I Love, so I am mindful of the need to be on my best behaviour.
A shocking, if preachy, exposé of the food industry.
I'm going to film my son's birth and pitch it as a gritty, fly-on-the-wall piece to Channel 4.
Why do so many people buy into what you call "the cult of positive thinking"?
Rod, Frank, Gus and Stuart just get through before the doors close on Stuart's briefcase.
Visitors to the Hovel are always amused - or appalled - by its eccentric features.
Being too broke to afford even going to the pub, I am busy wasting some time on Facebook. I suddenly notice that someone suggests I become friends with L-, whom I already know well in real life.
New technology offers ever more ingenious ways to turn the detritus of life into valuable forms of e
Toaster catch fire? Printer making odd noises? Don’t just throw old stuff away, or hide it in the sh
I've been putting it off, hopping up and down, tensing first one buttock then the other, waiting until the pain is insupportable . . .
Among the fragments of school history left in my brain is the phenomenon of St Vitus's Dance.
Only those already doing well are likely to gain from the Tories' marriage plans
Contrary to the expectations of some, the internet has boosted the written word
After a decade of bingeing on self-improvement we could spare a little more anger for the injustices
I've got my survival strategy: I'm going to get as close to John Cusack as possible.