Notes on...

Americans will never understand Marmite

‘I fucking hate Marmite,’ said Andy McLeod, a young ad man who at some point in the mid-1990s was tasked with remarketing the savoury spread that had been around since 1902. ‘Oh, I love it,’ said his creative partner. They both then just looked at each other. You either love it or you hate it,

A journey to the dark side of the Moon

The climax of the Artemis II mission lasted just a few hours. The capsule, named Integrity, rounded the Moon, the crew becoming the most distant humans in history as they moved from its sunward side into its shadow. The familiar features of the permanently Earth-facing side made way for the more heavily cratered far side.

Who would ever run a marathon?

Like many good ideas, the London marathon was conceived over a drink in a pub. Inspired by their experience running the New York marathon in 1979, two British athletes met in the Dysart Arms, next to Richmond Park, to discuss staging a similar race in London. It became an iconic event and, such has been

Potatoes are one of life’s great simple pleasures

My wife found the list in the back pocket of my gardening trousers. That ought to have been a clue, but she didn’t pick up on it. She marched into the study with an interrogative stride. ‘Who the hell are Mimi? Orla? Charlotte? Anya? Lady Christl!?’ I felt a pang of relief that she hadn’t

The dying art of the kimono

‘The road was frozen… Komako hitched up the skirt of her kimono and tucked it into her obi [broad sash]. The moon shone like a blade frozen in blue ice.’ When I think of the kimono (literally: ‘a thing to wear’) my thoughts turn to Yukiguni, the 1948 book by Nobel Prize winner Yasunari Kawabata.

My phobia is not to be sneezed at

In January 1894, an assistant of Thomas Edison made a five-second silent film of Fred Ott taking snuff and then sneezing. It was the second ever film to be copyrighted – and it started with a sneeze. The sneeze is a blessing and a curse, associated with good fortune and ill omen. In ancient Greece

Could your 50p coin be worth much more?

‘I have not found anybody yet who has a good word to say for the new coin,’ Sir Douglas Glover complained to the House of Commons in November 1969. ‘The great mass of the people are very hostile to the shape, size and look.’ So hostile, in fact, that retired colonel Essex Moorcroft formed the

Europeans love offal – why don’t we?

The British used to love offal but now we tend to be a bit wimpy about it, unlike the French or Italians, let alone the Austrians. (I once ate a pig’s lung in Vienna. Its texture was rather like an Aero bar.) In the UK you’re unlikely to find a restaurant that would serve you

The horror of the male wig

Horrible injuries are commonplace in boxing but none, surely, has been quite so devastating as that sustained by the heavyweight Jarrell Miller. In the moment it took for an uppercut to land, the Brooklyn boxer’s life changed forever. Miller went from professional athlete to, well, ‘the man who got his wig punched off’. I have

What Freud would say about your teddy bear

It is widely known that when a Duke of York is down, he is down, and the recent hit-piece in Heat – ‘“Pathetic” Andrew’s tantrums over prized teddy bears’ – found a new way of kicking Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor. Its royal source said that ‘being forced to move [out of Royal Lodge] has sent him into

How we all got hooked on Calpol

At the present count, we have 14 syringes. Some are stuffed in kitchen drawers, but I have also found an alarming number under my eight-year-old daughter’s bed, suggesting heavy recreational use. But this isn’t a crack den. It’s simply your average British household with small children who take – need? – the family-favourite brand of

Heaven is an Airfix Spitfire

Last weekend, I sat in my kitchen to build and paint an Airfix model. I’d experimented before with mindful colouring and adult Lego, but this was my first try at the solo bachelor activity par excellence.  After a few hours of tugging, sticking and dabbing, I was quite impressed with my little Tiger 1 tank.

The politics of long hair

What is the literal cut-off point for women having very long hair (and by ‘long’ I mean where it almost goes into the lavatory bowl)? Is it the age of 30? Forty? Fifty? Try 65 – the age I am now. If this strikes you as grossly inappropriate, in theory I’m with you. The unspoken

Make mine a Moka pot

It’s strange the things that can trigger amity or affection. At the beginning of the capsule/pod coffee-maker craze, when George Clooney, with his come-to-bed eyes, was seducing the world with Nespresso machines, I bonded with my eldest daughter’s Italian boyfriend over the Bialetti Moka pot. Notwithstanding the expense and waste of the capsule coffee-makers, I

Make mine a BuzzBallz

There are always new ways for drinks companies to make alcohol seem even more exciting. Smirnoff has added gold leaf to some of its vodkas (apparently it’s both real and edible); cans of Dragon Soop and Four Loko deliver heart attack-inducing combinations of sugar, caffeine and alcohol; and the appropriately named Aftershock is rumoured to

Washing up is an artform

Right, who’s doing the washing up? It’s 6 p.m. on Christmas Day and the table, which was meticulously set for 12, is now a mess of paper hats, gravy spills and glasses – so, so many glasses. Just don’t go into the kitchen, where you’ll find, in no order at all: six saucepans (unsoaked), 12

The art of the party trick

I’ve decided I need a party trick. This thought occurred to me at a recent dinner party as I watched my mother effortlessly tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. So ensued 20 minutes of entertainment as everyone thought that they too would give it a go. No one succeeded, and my

Why are we so suspicious of magpies?

I started counting magpies during my brief, doomed time as a history teacher. Trudging in every morning, the grim prospect of Weimar Germany with the Year 11s ahead, I began to take note of the number I spotted. If, on first sight, I spied only one, I knew I would have a terrible day. If

How the hyphen turned political

When Buckingham Palace announced that its errant prince, Andrew, would be known as boring old Andrew Mountbatten Windsor, some surprise arose at the initial omission of the hyphen from his surname. The hyphen is, unlike King Lear’s whoreson zed, a necessary thing; without it, names float, unmoored, unsure whether they are attached to first name