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.
The idea of my child getting behind the wheel of several tonnes of rusting Mercedes is one that I cannot begin to grasp, like trying to imagine what is beyond the universe.
Even thinking about a backscratcher makes the back cry out for one.
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.
If that particular envelope-opening scene had been filmed in the 1930s or 1940s, it would have been accompanied by a shaft of sunlight and the sound of a heavenly choir.
I have now got the stage where I am convinced that if I open the latest HMRC-stamped envelope, a Balrog will jump out.
This programme and I have a history.
One thing the Swedes definitely do better than we do, and where we ought really to look a bit sheepish, is in the welcome they give to immigrants.
Nasa only has to worry about the fiery immolation of its crew, should anything go wrong. They do not have to take into account the treatment you give your machines.
I saw the recycling bag shuddering with Mousey’s orgiastic delight and started to reflect on animal cruelty.
It has been cut out from a reproduction of The Kiss by Gustav Klimt and is about the size of one of those special stamps you get which are a bit too big for the envelope.
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