Memories of Xmas Past in Far-Flung Lands

I love Christmas in London. The crowded, neurotic shops of Kensington High Street, the old, familiar bells of St Matthew's in Bayswater calling "come" to Midnight Mass, the sober tone of the Queen's Speech and the cold comfort of a James Bond flick. Not only do I love Christmas in the U.K., I miss it in mind, body and soul just like any other expat.

O Christmas Tree!

You buy a Fraser Fir Christmas tree from Home Depot. You dress it up with baubles; you untangle the string lights; hey presto, it's Crimbo in an instant.

Xmas in Trump's America (Again...)

Eggnog. No plum pottage. Ditto mince pies or brawn (alas). Which church in the hood does midnight mass again? Welcome to the festive vulgarity of Christmas in Trump's America. 

Ye Olde Scrodders of Holland Park Skool

To be or not to be a Scrodder. That was the question at Holland Park School during the 1980's and 1990's. 

Adventures in Boozing

Hellraiser. A man who causes trouble by drinking, being violent, or otherwise behaving outrageously. 

Beware the Dark Waters of Lake Lanier!

Is Lake Lanier haunted, cursed or both? Many Georgians think so, some beg to differ. 

Guy Ritchie's On My Manor

Some suck, some fawn, some scream and die to get a dose of it but in Notting Hill fame drops down like rain, incessant as smart bombs on a shithole country and long nouns in a Will Self article.