A Pocketful of Rye
Anyone who has read EF Benson’s glorious depiction of life in Rye – imagined as…
Anyone who has read EF Benson’s glorious depiction of life in Rye – imagined as…
Even taking into account that prettiness is a criterion for any Cotswolds village, Woodstock is…
It’s rare that a sensation of dizziness as one walks into a restaurant isn’t precisely…
There is little, in a sense, that needs to be said about the doyen of…
“We’ve searched all the markets in and around Florence to find the best”, says the…
Malta. That tiny Mediterranean archipelago between Sicily and the North African coast has been host to a succession of…
In the second part of the Larmans’ tour of Provence, Nancy writes about the region…
Post university, I packed up my bags and decamped to Rome for four months. It…
Portofino – diminutive and sublime – has long been on the summer trail of the terminally…
Nancy and the Bookworm get positively medieval in Yorkshire’s historic capital…
Squally showers and insistent rain beat down a tattoo on the pavement beneath our feet. The glistening slabs, uniform in their grey municipality, are punctuated only by a discarded fried chicken wing here, a sad single shoe there.
An attitude of near imbecility slowly creeps across and clouds The Old Bookworm’s visage. The appearance of pained concentration – as if he’s trying to work out the sum of 764 divided by 13.5…