Why do the English accept such dilatory and unsatisfactory service in pubs and restaurants when they have every right to complain? Think about that wonderful scene in Fawlty Towers when the American guest complains to Basil about his illusive Waldorf Salad. Wouldn’t we all like to be as pro-active in our remonstrances with negligent members of staff? I’m not one…
I wasn’t on the Titanic but, boy, do I know that sinking feeling. The gestation period for my second novel is over. By now, well into the third rewrite, I should be flying. But alas, the flowing pen and nimble fingers of the earlier drafts have given way to that old favourite, disillusion. My commitment to the project is total. I…
I’ve just returned from sixty minutes on a medieval torture device called a pushbike. This unforgiving piece of machinery (I’ve fondly nicknamed ‘the Rack’) must rank as the most uncomfortable form of transport known to man, and is right up there with crossing treacherous mountain passes by donkey. But, hey, any fool can put up with sixty minutes of discomfort once in a while.…
