My Dad was a Coventry man. So was his dad, and his dad, my great-grandfather, the gloriously named Herbert Harry Harris. There are fewer Coventry Harrises now (hello, Uncle Mike) but when I was a boy there were plenty and we went there often. My memories of early childhood visits to Coventry, are mostly like …
I bought a pot last week, while I was on holiday in Cornwall. It’s a simple pot: six inches of heavy stoneware, with a muted, speckled, grey-green glaze and faceted sides. There’s something ancient about it, something almost Japanese. But that’s enough Antiques Roadshow. Point is, it’s on my desk now, giving me enormous pleasure …
My bike is important to me, despite the fact that I occasionally hobble in here in various states of dishevelment after falling off it. It’s never been to Selsey Bill but I have been up to Muswell Hill. For more than a decade, the best bit of my bike has been my saddle. My parents …
Later on this evening, I’m going to be meeting up with some people I went to school with. There will be some very familiar faces, some I know less well, and more who’ll barely remember me, but the reason I’m going is for the handful I really love. These are my oldest friends, who have …