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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.
It’s doable, living out of a suitcase. But it is psychically exhausting. I do not have the book collection, the tasteful knick-knacks, the carefully ordered disarray with which I can show off my character.
On the way back from Manchester, before hitting the motorway, we found an impressively decrepit petrol station and topped up the car
My birthday’s in mid-May, and the number of times I had to sit exams on it is beyond count
Listening to the Cricket World Cup, I sat upright with a start. Malinga? Christ, is he still around? Could it really be him? Does he have a younger cousin or something? A son?
There was traffic. We spent much time stationary. Luckily, conversation flows well between us. Up to a point.
David Sedaris I was not. Dave Allen I was not.
The smoke detector first went off about ten days ago, and it’s not stopped since.
If Fuller’s gets its way, Soho’s Coach & Horses will have its interior ripped out and replaced with the echoing, dismal open-plan space that seems to be the norm these days.
I am for some mysterious reason in good spirits, I suppose maybe it has something to do with seeing my children.
It occurred to me that I might be able to set up as a teacher here. You can’t throw a brick without hitting an English language school .