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Podcasts from Spectator writers
Jeremy Clarke writes the The Spectator Low Life column.
Wearing two masks struck me as being as absurd as wearing two hats and I laughed
By Jeremy Clarke
I have a new cancer but the doctor is ecstatic that we have found it so soon. He is brisk and unsentimental and I like him
Applying for a bank account is like trying for a permit to open a Christian bookshop in North Korea
The rendezvous with the sausage lady was, as before, the car park of a line of motorway toll booths
I felt like the bloke in that blistering hymn whose chains fell off, whose heart was free, who rose, went forth and followed Thee
When the nuns begin to sing, their soaring, piercing voices make you look for a microphone
For sheer gale-force-10 sexual power, I must mention Christine, a hardworking local waitress in her early thirties
The woodman fastened his nose on my Barbour and inhaled fanatically. ‘Barbour,’ he said. ‘Oh-la-la-la-la’
It is refreshing and enlivening to be among the poor for a change
As the radioactive liquid flowed into my veins, I found my page and was transported to a literary luncheon in 1969
There was a time when I couldn’t afford to buy books; now I have a metric ton
Warned in French that I was for the Donald, the Armenian stepped closer to scrutinize me
Pretty much overnight, I have developed a taste for it — and life has become easier
For all its art and famous clientele, the Colombe d’Or is no more than an upmarket canteen
Sunless Provence is grim. The locals go from semi-nudity to dressing like Nanook of the North
What French women want
The tyranny of French bureaucracy
My message to the log police
French tag sales are good for my mental health
My best Duke of Edinburgh salute for my oncologist
The magic of Anthony Powell
Thought-provoking commentary and opinion on politics, books and the arts.