One of the major plot points of the first ever episode of the comedy series Black Books comes from the dissatisfied accountant Manny Bianco who accidentally swallows The Little Book of Calm and absorbs its wisdom into his body, then his being. A nervous wreck at the start of the
A few months ago my brother Toby went back to prison for the first time since his inaugural stint circa 2010. I was in Paris at the time and Mum was left to figure out what was happening and why, though we never really got any answers and, to be
The final weeks of July were among the hardest of my life, emotionally speaking. It's all very boring and I only write it here to explain that I have had nothing else to think or write about on account of how all-consuming that fortnight was. Apologies. It
On the first full day of our beach holiday at Andernos-les-Bains, west of Bordeaux and some 630km southwest of Paris, the non-bike faring people among our number hired some cycles and joined the committed velo lifers on a trek out of town. The day was still and
Each year, on the summer solstice, Paris and most of France becomes what is essentially the world's largest outdoor party for Fête de la Musique. Bistros, restaurants, cafes and sundry businesses saturate the air with live music, DJs, bands, drummers and cabaret singers and, in the capital at
When the writer and humourist David Rakoff died in 2012 at the age of 47, This American Life ran a previously unaired reading he had done for show about the hit musical Rent. It remains one of the funniest things I have ever heard. The characters are artists, creative types.
Much has happened and I have been very unwell. I think, perhaps, I've been having one of my all-time nervous breakdowns. But in Paris, which is a vibe. This has been going on for a while but has been particularly acute over the last few weeks. I
That terminated Department of Home Affairs secretary Michael Pezzullo thirsts for war quite as desperately as he does is confusing for, however much he fancies himself the master of whispers and strategy, the disgraced public servant has neither the stature nor the cunning to survive one. At a glance it
Spring, naturally, has some false starts. In the middle-ish northern hemisphere, I'm learning, these are many. There have been some sunny days in Paris since March, even some relatively warm ones, but on the whole the weeks have been cool and gray, like an emotionally unavailable grandparent.
At a tiny natural wine bar in Bologna, a French couple from Paris walked in while I was sat at the counter and struck up a conversation with the Italian server. 'I hate Paris,' he said with a big smile, 'because every time I go there my
A couple of weeks ago now I resigned from The Saturday Paper, a decision I've felt coming for some time but had resisted for about as long. I'm unsure what to say about it other than to make the observation that it can take me many
No one made me go to the pet cemetery. I stumbled across it while idly zooming around on a map of Paris, the better to acquaint myself with its features outside of the famous centre. On the Seine, just a little outside the périphérique that encloses that celebrated middle, the