To Poland, to one of those towns that has had at least a couple of names over the last hundred years, and more than one population. No matter how successful Poland becomes – and it is a very successful place – I wonder whether it will ever dispel the atmosphere ... Read More...

Tuesday, 10am. Clacket Lane motorway services, on the anti-clockwise M25. I purchased from the Costa coffee shop my ‘small’ (i.e. least gigantic) americano-with-milk and settled at the unoccupied table amidst other unoccupied tables that was at the optimum equidistant point from the few occupied tables. Thus the exciting life of ... Read More...

Last weekend I was back in the Cotswold village I’ve recently given up calling home (I’m now resigned to being a Londoner – it’s bringing little Londoners into the world that does it). I was impressed once again with how much booze the residents manage to put away. I asked ... Read More...

To Hereford, on business. I’d never been before and was looking forward to it. It rained very heavily throughout my visit and the cathedral was closed. *** Oh goody, we have a pandemic of inactivity. The 10 o'clock Beeb news got into a fine logical tangle with a piece asking “what has ... Read More...

Builders have come, so Mrs Brit and the girls fled the house. The builders are of course very mannish men. Gnarly men. Practical men, who work with their hands and communicate in grunts and obscenities and take at least two sugars in their tea. Like all good building crews this ... Read More...

To Legoland, near Windsor, with three young children and a baby in tow, and only five adults to manage them (which is at least seven too few). Remarkable thing, memory. As soon as something is over, we immediately begin the process of mentally editing out the rain, the crowds, the ... Read More...

One thing they don’t warn today's prospective parents about with sufficient urgency is that you’ll have to spend a great many precious weekends going to children’s birthday parties at soft-play areas. Some of these are hellish. Indeed, crouched recently in a padded tunnel amidst the howls of hyped-up and miserable infants ... Read More...

To Enfield, to meet an accountant. And with that impeccably Pooterish opening line I commence what is hoped to be a recurring feature, the Dabbler Diary. I went on the train. Accountants are having a bad press of late – or at least the 'clever accountants' are. Stupid ones are still ... Read More...