Late Life Crisis - November 2019

I have given up my car. Not just sold it; given up having a car. The phrase connotes an elderly person having the keys ripped from them while pleading that they have no idea where the bumps and scratches came from, and that the car must have been moved as it was not in the place where they last parked it.

Late Life Crisis - October 2019

Kanye West has apparently discovered God. Would it be mean to suggest that probably his publicist got there slightly before him?


I warble from time to time about the virtues of random acts of kindness, where you help a stranger in a small way. At Holborn station I carried an older woman's case up some steps for her. As she took her case back, she said "God bless you". I have no religious belief these days, but there was something touching about this.


Late Life Crisis - September 2019

I have a confused relationship with croissants. At an overground station I use, there is a kiosk where the smell wafts out as you wait for a train. The smell has that duality of being both enticing and nauseous. But when I take an early morning flight and breakfast in the departure lounge, the smell is irresistible. I march up to order a berry compote, and end up with....guess what?


Boris and the Supremes: What the Judgment said

It's not easy to disentangle the rhetoric of politics from the calm deliberations of the courts. But as how the Supreme Court judgment on 24th September will be represented may go way beyond what it said and signified, it might be worthwhile to pull out some extracts from it so we have a little chapter and verse.

Paragraph numbers are from the numbered paragraphs in the Judgment. Words in italics are quotations from the Judgment.

Late Life Crisis - August 2019

Changing trains on the Underground, I saw a shabbily dressed man standing on the platform looking confused and seeking someone who would listen to him. People walked by. What did he need? Was he a vagrant? If I approached him, would I find a knife-wielding mental illness patient? Not being in a hurry, I decided to see what he wanted. The accent was heavy, and it took three goes to make sense of his words. Eventually it became clear. He was confused on how to get out of the station. My help was of course no more than middle-class North Londoner virtue-signalling, but anyway.