He is ideal reading for the ecstatic diseased
By Jeremy Clarke
Would it provide the mental lift-off necessary to enjoy our restaurant outing?
By Jeremy Clarke
I lay upstairs with one of Michael’s military-grade tablets dissolving into my bloodstream
By Jeremy Clarke
With Catriona away it was back to self and banality and bacon and eggs
By Jeremy Clarke
He gives the order sternly, with unmistakeable undertones of regimental pride
By Jeremy Clarke
I’ve failed to cheer myself with strong alcohol, CBD and speed, so I went to the local nuns
By Jeremy Clarke
There was a wall of books, ashtrays from the golden age of smoking and an air of greater liberty
By Jeremy Clarke
Susceptible people confuse his miraculous prose with their own lived experience
By Jeremy Clarke
What is luck?’ said Klynton, aged ten. ‘Hard to explain,’ I said
By Jeremy Clarke
After a morning at a 15th-century priory, and lunch at the Café de France, I rejoined the ranks of the alive and well
By Jeremy Clarke
We could all drink, but Tom was in a league of his own: chaos was his element
By Jeremy Clarke
We had the perfect guide who took us off the beaten track and knew when to keep quiet
By Jeremy Clarke
‘Glass of bubbly, Marigold?’ I asked Catriona’s sister at a quarter to nine on the first morning of her visit
By Jeremy Clarke
