Low life
My sojourn in the Test Valley
After north Cornwall I came to the Test Valley, I think. That is what it says on the council vans…
Modern capitalism has failed my son
A light was on in the caravan site office so I went over to try and buy a gas canister.…
Elegy in a country churchyard
‘I love this old watering can,’ said my sister, sprinkling the miniature rose. ‘Though I do worry about soaking Mum.…
The call of a blackbird’s full-throated song
Speaking pretty good English, Dr Tayeb came straight to the point. Was I eligible for the ground breaking new cancer…
The shadowy charisma of the Mater Dei sisters
Catriona has a commission to paint the 17th-century façade of the chapel of St Joseph’s. She’d made a start when…
The joy of wigs
I thought, or anyway hoped, that once I’d finished the chemotherapy I would spring back to vitality. Seven weeks on…
My oncologist has a new weapon in his arsenal
‘We’re at war!’ said the taxi man as I installed myself for the long drive to Marseille. I put a…
The joy of French car boot sales
Every Saturday morning Michael rises at four and drives down to the Côte d’Azur to the Magic World car boot…
My existential crisis was straight out the terrible twos’ playbook
Early on St Valentines Day I walked down to the car park where the raindrops were knocking off the young…
The healing power of medieval austerity
Eighty yards west of the high terrace where I’ve sat for three weeks recuperating is a hospice built for Napoleon’s…
The joy of the Great War memoir
Harley Granville-Barker, actor, director, playwright, manager and critic, was a pasha of the Edwardian London stage. As a director, his…
It’s my ninth – and final – chemotherapy session
‘Sorry I’m late,’ I said to the big unit stationed behind her computer. She’s the chief, this one. She shows…
The farcical world of the Sharon’s Ex-Boyfriends Club
Sharon told me once that the best sex she’d ever had was with Tom in the town public conveniences, bathed…
The magic of champagne
The four portraits of four siblings that Catriona had painted from their photographs over four months were framed, hung and…
Low life
I listed for Catriona the reasons why I did not want to go out to dinner that evening at the…
Would my scan results be a death sentence?
At the desk I gave my name and showed my Covid vaccination pass and the woman told me to take…
A hidden side of the Somme
Noticing via this Low Life column that I had trench fever, the Western Front Association treated me to a year’s…
French kissing with the French
Every year Vernon celebrates the gathering in and pressing of his olive harvest by inviting friends to a ceremony at…
The joy of French hospital food
After checking me in, the receptionist, who was wearing an overcoat, said: ‘There is no heating in the hotel. The…
My moment of madness in the opticians
Foolishly I chose new specs in the village optician’s after a long lunch: a rather outré design that I might…
A tale of bitter brotherly rivalry
For early humans there was no distinction between spirit and matter. There was no idea of self; no barrier between…
The healing power of champagne
The day after Catriona was fitted with a plaster cast and crutches, her elder sister arrived from the UK for…
Life amid Catriona’s cleaning regime
Earlier in this run of glorious October sunshine I was languishing on the bed in the middle of the afternoon…
My happiness has given way to a paralysing melancholy
From our hypothetical drone-mounted camera let us look down into a secluded valley in the same series of valleys as…
Acorns and aliens: lunch with Vernon and the Ukrainians
Catriona and I were late for lunch at Vernon’s because I couldn’t get out of bed. The four of them…
