Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.
If I didn’t carry a suitcase, I wouldn’t have the stress of packing. Or that, at least, was the idea.
I have written before in this column about how deranging chain restaurants are. This week, I want to consider another egregious example: Patisserie Valerie.
Of course, with Europe’s Mediterranean beaches now becoming de facto Bantustans for Syrian, Afghan and all manner of other exiles, they are looking a lot less attractive as sunlounger locations.
The idea is that the students undertake their own version of a dérive – the aimless drift through the city that is the raison d’être of seriously flippant flâneurs – and document it in any way they please.
Some people shudder at the thought of jellied eels, or blanch if an oyster approaches. Not I.
It is rather corvid, the ring-neck’s cry – suggestive of an intelligence more knowing than we expect from most birds.
I wouldn’t claim to have an exhaustive familiarity with Bowie’s oeuvre, but then I don’t need to.
It’s oft remarked that Britain is the most CCTV surveilled country in the world but I wonder if we may be the most repulsive one as well. Why else all the pigeon barbs?
Come with me to my magical memory island. On second thoughts . . . just leave me alone
Chi-pôte-lay isn’t only frequently mispronounced. It’s also continuously misconceived.