Jeremy Clarke

Jeremy Clarke writes the The Spectator Low Life column.

Low Life

A very annoying guide to the Somme battlefields

Our visit was marred by his tuneless humming and lack of historical insight but a few beers put everything right

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

Walking the Somme

The Ulster Tower was often struck by lightning

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

The curse of surgical stockings

As I wrestled with mine, my ward mate hung his head in shame

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

Jason Ricci is my mentor, guru and anointed one

Lately my afternoons are spent with America’s no. 1 blues harmonica player and his tongue-blocking techniques

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

The joy of ironing

If my internal critic gets too negative or noisy, I steam-flatten the commentary line by line

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

The beauty of French nurses

Whereas the older nurse was effortlessly capable of subjectivity, objectivity, sympathy and imagination, the younger woman was limited to the first category only

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

If all else fails, there’s always basket weaving

My struggles with the blues harmonica

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

My reintroduction to the human race

Time and again in France I have found that the greater the offense the more easily one is forgiven

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

Mon dieu! Our French residency permits have arrived

Between Christmas and New Year I spent five minutes on the form and sent the email

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

My French lessons with Lord Nelson

Wearing two masks struck me as being as absurd as wearing two hats and I laughed

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

My best Duke of Edinburgh salute for my oncologist

I have a new cancer but the doctor is ecstatic that we have found it so soon. He is brisk and unsentimental and I like him

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

The tyranny of French bureaucracy

Applying for a bank account is like trying for a permit to open a Christian bookshop in North Korea

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

My thrilling rendezvous with the sausage lady

The rendezvous with the sausage lady was, as before, the car park of a line of motorway toll booths

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

My €25 COVID shot surprise

I felt like the bloke in that blistering hymn whose chains fell off, whose heart was free, who rose, went forth and followed Thee

By Jeremy Clarke

Low Life

In praise of nuns

When the nuns begin to sing, their soaring, piercing voices make you look for a microphone

By Jeremy Clarke

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