It has been beastly hot again lately, the kind of hot that washes out the afternoon almost completely. Any thought of taking exercise later in the day is quickly snuffed out, so last Sunday I woke at 6:00 and was out of the house and on my bike by 6:30 with only the one cup of tea inside me.

It was glorious.

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I no longer have a garden. I used to have one, in spades. Almost two hectares of old apple orchard, a large polytunnel, raised beds for veggies, flowers galore, a pond big enough to dip into after a hard day’s work. All gone, for reasons that needn’t detain us now, and that I try hard not to think a...

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In a recent episode of his podcast Revisionist History, Malcolm Gladwell broadcast a lecture he gave on the Taxonomy of the Modern Mystery Story at the New Orleans Book Festival. It is, as promised, delightful rather than persuasive and the central observation seems true, now that he pointed it out.

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A lot of people derive great benefit from recording, usually daily, the things that bring them joy or for which they are grateful. That isn’t something I do — at least not publicly — although I will sometimes jot down something along those lines as a reminder to future me. That may be because I am e...

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There’s an internet refrain common when bad behaviour triumphs: this is why we can’t have nice things. I generally sympathise, but aside from trying to buy longer-lasting goods and mending when I can, I have not paid much attention to whether some things are, maybe, too nice.

Phil Gyford, having...

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