A Tokyo love hotel cuddling a pristine metro station would have been ideal. But hard to find in a de-industrial northern English town during the twilight zone that lies between last orders and sunrise. Usually [more…]
The phrase ‘grim up north’ lingers in the national imagination and conjures images of soot-stained skylines, struggling towns, and industries long past their prime. Yet this caricature of tired decline obscures another, less frequently told [more…]
One can never tire of Jerry Westerby, an old-school Fleet Street soak with a rugby forward’s build but a talent for wicket-keeping before the call of sports journalism pulled him away from the crease and [more…]
May I introduce you to my giant spot? It sits in the middle of my forehead and, upon closer inspection, seems to consist of a little stream, some flowers and a tree. Might it be [more…]
Destination? Open ground halfway between the Oval and the Thames. Alert state? Heat wave – meteorological and political. The grass has given up pretending to be grass; dusty cardboard with the occasional flattened mat of [more…]
Crashing through the undergrowth, Tommy gun blazing, Jason Arday claimed yet another bar for his Victoria Cross as the enemy fell like leaves before him. Or rather he didn’t, as, unlike the ‘real’ Walter Mitty [more…]
Rules Pay attention, Puffins! Your last homework entries were excellent — well done. Now it’s time for the next challenge. Before you put pen to paper (or rather fingers to keyboard), here’s a reminder of [more…]
Jerry Westerby? Yes, Jerry Westerby. The Honourable Clive Gerald Westerby to the likes of you and me, but Jerry to his chums in the secret world and to his readers at the rag, especially those [more…]
The phrase “grim up north” lingers in the national imagination and conjures images of soot-stained skylines, struggling towns, and industries long past their prime. Yet this caricature of tired decline obscures another, less frequently told [more…]
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