Lately my afternoons are spent with America’s no. 1 blues harmonica player and his tongue-blocking techniques
By Jeremy Clarke
If my internal critic gets too negative or noisy, I steam-flatten the commentary line by line
By Jeremy Clarke
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
My struggles with the blues harmonica
By Jeremy Clarke
Time and again in France I have found that the greater the offense the more easily one is forgiven
By Jeremy Clarke
Between Christmas and New Year I spent five minutes on the form and sent the email
By Jeremy Clarke
Wearing two masks struck me as being as absurd as wearing two hats and I laughed
By Jeremy Clarke
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
Applying for a bank account is like trying for a permit to open a Christian bookshop in North Korea
By Jeremy Clarke
The rendezvous with the sausage lady was, as before, the car park of a line of motorway toll booths
By Jeremy Clarke
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
When the nuns begin to sing, their soaring, piercing voices make you look for a microphone
By Jeremy Clarke
For sheer gale-force-10 sexual power, I must mention Christine, a hardworking local waitress in her early thirties
By Jeremy Clarke
The woodman fastened his nose on my Barbour and inhaled fanatically. ‘Barbour,’ he said. ‘Oh-la-la-la-la’
By Jeremy Clarke
It is refreshing and enlivening to be among the poor for a change
By Jeremy Clarke
