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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 most important thing to do is stay in bed. Stay in bed all day. Never mind not leaving your home except for the most essential matters.
What is it with the bog roll? Food, yes, we can all understand that, but Andrex?
I have been so affected by the national mood that I even bought a cauliflower.
Whenever I press the hitherto blameless and reliable W key, it comes out as “sw”, and I have to go back and correct it.
It was one of those poorlinesses that leaves one all dizzy and confused,
Two long years, half the number of trains between Brighton and London. (Yes, I know Thameslink will still be running services, but its trains are horrible.)
If I had stayed one more night in that flat, I would have died.
It’s like watching University Challenge; when alone, I get half the questions right. With anyone else there, I am reduced to embarrassed silence.
"This, I thought, is the kind of jazz I can live with."
People have spoken of only the royals, with interludes in which to snigger about Gwyneth Paltrow’s vagina-scented candles.