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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.
2019 began with me in Scotland and in love; I end it in Brighton and… well, how long does it take for the scar tissue to form over the heart again?
Something is very wrong with my tooth, and beneath it there are strange and painful things happening. It’s not toothache, but very painful indeed.
“Excuse me for asking,” says the man, “and this might sound like a weird question… but do you write for the New Statesman?”
I thought to myself, “I can get a column out of this.”
Wandering around London with a theatre programme marks you out as the kind of guy it’s OK to approach and start talking to.
For those who do not know him, Reacher is a tough-as-nails ex-military policeman (US Army) who keeps getting himself into scrapes despite wishing for a quiet life.
I was glad she was going to be my neighbour in Brighton and volunteered to help her with anything she needed.
A Londoner is always going to look at small market towns with skewed and suspicious vision.
There’s not that much to do in Faversham, except browse the charity shops and go to the pub.
A cry went out: who will look after Diogenes the budgerigar? And a small voice piped up: “I’ll do it.” To my astonishment, and possibly everyone else’s, that voice was mine.