Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.
I hate and am absolutely terrified of wasps.
Over dinner, S—— tells me of her latest dating woes.
“So if you don’t like it so much,” he says, “why don’t you leave?” And his tone suggests that there is a good train leaving from St Pancras in half an hour.
Everything is threadbare right now: my collars, most of my socks, my mind, and there’s a hole developing in the front of my 501s.
To clean my squalid bedroom would be tempting fate, I knew that – and then I went ahead and did it.
You’ll never get anyone with teeth like that, said C, and packed me off to the dentist.
Nicholas Lezard's Down and Out.
Beware young fogeys.
Feeling peaky but virtuous, I decide that I’m not going to drink this evening.
I smoke in honour of the orange president, even as tobacco companies try to make me quit.
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