A Room With A View: Dining As Italians Do

There’s a place in Tuscany, high in the verdant hills over Florence that understands the art of dining.

You see, there is a striking difference between the art of eating and the art of dining.

Read More

Ten Nights at the Hotel Murat

In the 17th century a steady stream of English gentry would don heavy linens, fill their wallets with Daddy’s money and make an educational rite of passage through Europe.

The Hotel Palazzo Murat, nestled in the green culdera of Positano’s bosom is the sort of place they would end up, and so it seems, have I. Read More

I have one thing left

I have one thing left; a fridge.

It is the last remaining testament to a life of ‘owning’ things. Little does the fridge know however, as it unassumingly chills my wine and cheese, that it too will go.

You see I’m 38 and I’ve just sold everything I own. Read More

What Are You Looking at? The Voyeur Inside Every Writer

I have a friend who is a psychologist. I have yet to see a person meet her and not worriedly suggest that she has been analysing them.

Little do they know that this couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s not my friend who’s watching them.

It’s me. Read More

The day I kissed a dead man

Somewhere in the depths of a Parisian cemetery there is a tombstone with my lipstick on it.

It is smothered in red from people all over the world. People who wanted to kiss a dead man. Read More