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.
People earning over £35,000 do not cavort with the abandon of those earning less.
It’s clearly bothering Philip Pullman, too.
I dislike going to the bank intensely; only, perhaps, not for the reason you might suppose.
The business is wholly discombobulating, rather like a drug experience absolutely without any of the good bits.
Second-Hand Stories by Josh Spero follows the author as he tracks down the previous owners of his books.
At one point someone put an arm around me and said, “This man is clearly an expat-in-waiting.” I take that as a compliment.
I am well aware that I am being pathetic.
Murmur murmur murmur, they go. Whisper whisper whisper. They are just five feet from me. I have to act.
I have to isolate which aspect of my behaviour it is that is causing me to fall so ill, so frequently. Surely it can have nothing to do with my wine consumption. That is crazy talk.
The BBC call me up for a comment on flat-sharing as an adult man, and I start brooding.