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 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.
Nowadays, there is no hint of laughter in the language we use to describe the demented – apart, of course, from the laughable nature of the euphemisms to which we are now exhorted to turn.
There comes a point when the shit piles so high on top of you that there’s no point in even trying to struggle.
I thought of this while going to the local deli to buy a carrot and a couple of onions.
“Sorry about all the mean things I have said about Sweden,” I say.
We notice you have ad blocking software enabled. Support the New Statesman’s quality, independent journalism by contributing now — and this message will disappear for the next 30 days.
If we cannot support the site on advertising revenue, we will have to introduce a pay wall — meaning fewer readers will have access to our incisive analysis, comprehensive culture coverage and groundbreaking long reads.