I no longer have a garden. I used to have one, in spades. Almost two hectares of old apple orchard, a large polytunnel, raised beds for veggies, flowers galore, a pond big enough to dip into after a hard day’s work. All gone, for reasons that needn’t detain us now, and that I try hard not to think a...

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In a recent episode of his podcast Revisionist History, Malcolm Gladwell broadcast a lecture he gave on the Taxonomy of the Modern Mystery Story at the New Orleans Book Festival. It is, as promised, delightful rather than persuasive and the central observation seems true, now that he pointed it out.

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This morning, alerted by a friend who is a keen birder, we abandoned our bed and customary two-tea lie-in and walked to the nearby park. Two of the entrances were still locked after they should have been open but the sight of someone walking a dog sent us round the corner to the third entrance. We w...

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Three weeks away from home makes for a very pleasant month, not least because we were able to read about Rome sweltering from afar.

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Took myself off on an expedition today to the other side of town, to a fine and interesting area called Pigneto. Small, low dwellings that were occupied by railway workers line narrow streets and there’s a definite hipsterish vibe about the place. My purpose was to visit Zio Bici, a bike shop that specialises in Bromptons.¹

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