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Where are the canvassers?
27th April 2010 | 1 comments | 1 person likes this
Nine days to go till the election and no canvassers have knocked on our door yet. Not a single one. My father, who lives in a small Dorset village, has had political candidates queuing down the lane over the past two weeks. He’s been bombarded with emails and had a flood of literature cascading through his letterbox.
Our house is 100 miles north, slap-bang in the centre of an Oxfordshire market... -
Bit of a Blur goes west
4th March 2010 | 0 comments | 2 people like this
Alex James’s hilarious account of life behind the scenes of Nineties’ Britpop is one of my favourite non-fiction reads of recent years.
In Bit of a Blur the irrepressible James recounts how he was catapulted to fame and fortune as bass guitarist of the rock band Blur. One moment he was a university student living in a slug-infested squat in Camberwell. The next he was living the high life – hanging... -
Bond Street in the country
9th December 2009 | 1 comments | 2 people like this
When I moved to the wilds of Oxfordshire I was amazed to discover we had the out-of-town equivalent of Bond Street right on the doorstep. Bicester Village looks like a quaint New England street, all white clapboard shop-fronts and tasteful landscaping, but in reality it’s a shoppers’ paradise just two miles off the M40.
The 130 or so shops include all the names fashionistas worth their salt dream about, from Vivienne... -
Mud, Glorious Mud
1st October 2009 | 0 comments | 1 person likes this
I’m living in a madhouse. My teenage son, still recovering from smashing his collar-bone in three places, has gone and signed up to do an event called Tough Guy. It’s billed as one of the hardest events a body can endure, takes place near Wolverhampton in freezing January and consists of a cross-country run followed by an assault course through concrete tunnels, muddy ditches and burning bales of hay.
As if... -
Billy No Mates
30th June 2009 | 2 comments | 0 votes yet, click here to agree or disagree
I’ve just been caught red-handed gazing dreamily at a gorgeous honey-coloured cottage for sale in the local estate agent’s window. The manager (who I’ve twice bought and sold houses through) swished past, did an astonished double-take and whisked me straight inside. To my son’s horror, I emerged ten minutes later clutching a sheaf of details of properties we can’t possibly afford.
I’ve got a serious moving habit. One that dates back...
CONTRIBUTOR
Emma Lee-Potter
Emma Lee-Potter is a journalist and author of four novels. She has two teenage children and spends her spare time worrying about the ramshackle farmhouse she bought in the south of France. The wreck has half a roof, assorted wildlife and an alarming damp problem but her friends assure her it all be perfect by 2020. She writes a weekly blog for Easy Living magazine.
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