cats
I always enjoy going to car boot sales with my mum but, because I don’t have her amazing vision, my experience at them often ends up tarred by the brush of anticlimax. When I arrive at a boot sale, full of foolish hope, what I inevitably see is an
countryside
“What’s this?” I asked my dad. He’d just walked into the living room with several canvases under his arm. On top of the pile was a watercolour painting featuring Winnie The Pooh and Piglet walking through a dark underpass hand-in-hand while three somewhat grotesque, mean-faced men in trenchcoats
boscastle
I was walking along the clifftops a couple of miles west of Boscastle in Cornwall last month when a dog rocketed out of a farmer’s field directly into my path, with a look of rare industry and resolve. I don’t know exactly what make of dog it was,
close encounters of the furred kind
There had been quite a bit of speculation amongst my dad’s mates at swimming concerning when his black toenail would fall off. Looking at how precariously it was hanging there on their last swim before Christmas, his friends Pat and Malcolm suggested that today could be the big day.
dad
My late paternal granddad Ted was an almost constantly grinning man with a moustache, glasses, and a scar running across the entirely bald dome of his head. Right from when I was very small, I’d known that he’d been injured in World War II, but it wasn'
berry pomeroy
My latest Guardian column.
dad
Was on the phone to my dad the other day. He told me a good story about a log so I thought I'd transcribe it. (My dad is 65.)
cats
A column for The Guardian.
countryside
My latest 21st Century Yokel column for The Guardian.
dad
A piece for SAGA magazine on my dad's valiant attempts to understand golf. (NB: that is not my dad I'm with in the photo - it's Colin Montgomerie. He does understand golf.)
family
My latest 21st Century Yokel column for The Guardian's Life And Style section.
dad
My latest Loud Dad report for Saga magazine.