In my shopping basket I see a feast of brown

Recently I feel I have become more dependent on the staples of childhood, and the trappings of Englishness .

I like playing Sherlock Holmes with the people at the till in front of me, but I construct a life around them.

The shopping basket bespeaks a poverty not only of the wallet, but of the imagination.

It is often more than I can bear, and by the time it is my turn I am often in tears.

I have a Ford Prefect in the garage, my children have started ripping up cinema seats to the sound of Bill Haley .

No one would imagine that I speak three languages and think Lee Anderson is a tosser.

After the tea disaster I simply went back to bed. It needed but this, I thought, as I contemplated the end of the world.