Previously on ‘My Imaginary Dinner Party’… Margaret Atwood’s arrival successfully diffuses the sexual tension broiling across the table between Leonard Cohen and Lana Del Ray. I’m feeling a little bit grumpy because the pasta bake is well and truly cold. Why did I get it out of the oven so early? We’ve talked a bitContinue reading “My imaginary dinner party guest #4: Bill Bryson”
The problem when I come to write in a public place – like here, in the restaurant on the rooftop of the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford, is that as soon as I open my laptop to type, a large portion of the English language floats lazily out of my head, along with my impetus toContinue reading “A trip to Oxford to see some extremely old hair grippies”
“Where did you get that from? Guatemala? Honduras?” I followed the Waitrose check-out lady’s gaze to my crotch area. Ah yes, I was wearing a multicoloured bumbag. Not for fashion reasons obviously, but as a nifty hands-free receptacle for any guinea pig grass I happened to find on my walk (I live in quite aContinue reading “Bumbags and birthdays”
If Herceg Novi were a person, and not a small town located at the mouth of Montenegro’s famous fjord-like Bay of Kotor, it would be a person with multiple battle wounds – perhaps a missing limb or two, definitely with severe PTSD, and a lot of stories to tell. Over the last few centuries HercegContinue reading “Montenegro’s Herceg Novi through my cheap camera lens”
I recently got back from a brilliant week’s holiday in Massachusetts. My friend had her wedding just outside a little town called Groton by a big, quiet lake surrounded by forest. It was beautiful, all of it. The wedding, the lake, the white wood-clad New England houses with their dolls-house dormer windows and immaculately stripedContinue reading “Supermarkets: the beating heart of America”
Last week I spent five and a half days in the rural Languedoc Roussillon region of France at the house my grandparents have spent 27 summers restoring from a ruin.
Croatian people are beautiful. All of them, gods and goddesses. As soon as I stepped off the airport shuttle bus into Dubrovnik, it was like entering a good-looking convention. All the women were slim, tanned, dressed impeccably and wearing glamorous-person sunglasses. The men were tall, dark and chiselled, like living Adonises.