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Jeremy Clarke
I am being soaped down by my wife and a Czech lady with raspberry hair — and with not the slightest suggestion of eroticism or intimacy
‘After many drunken dinner parties together in Provence, I used to dread what might appear in his next column’
He belonged to that select English tribe: the reactionary bohemian
I can’t believe he managed to write his weekly column for The Spectator, even on his deathbed
‘She reached down and slid open the bottom drawer of her desk, showing about 100 vodka miniatures. I nodded complicity’- He was one of the greatest writers ever to appear in our pages. But he was also so much more
‘Lovely, darling,’ I tell her with perfect honesty as each new dress is paraded in front of me. ‘Beautiful.’ And she is
The rendezvous with the sausage lady was, as before, the car park of a line of motorway toll booths
There was a time when I couldn’t afford to buy books; now I have a metric ton
