Rants
I asked for an engine. I take it all back.
Twelve years ago I laid down a RepressedBritRule™: no grown man on a scooter unless he straps an engine to it. They did it. Several thousand of them. In Surbiton.
September 4, 2026
A view from the grumpy side of life
Twelve years ago I laid down a RepressedBritRule™: no grown man on a scooter unless he straps an engine to it. They did it. Several thousand of them. In Surbiton.
Everyone agrees the NHS is broken. Nobody is allowed to say which bit. So let’s say it.
How our national allergy to ambition is screwing us on the global stage
The divisiveness that plagues debate and discussion in the modern world.
Grown-ups on children’s toys should man up and provide us with spectacle and entertainment.
Where, exceptionally, a holiday just works. A package holiday at that.
On the death of my mother, and from the heart. Hopefully still at least a little bit funny.
It’s that bloody time of the year again. When everything just goes to shit.
Where we oldies (well, me) hanker after a yesteryear experience in the nation’s capital.
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