Writers like Simon Schama can instill a sense of the ominous in the weather's whims. When he researched Citizens, his interpretation of the French Revolution, he lifted every available stone, leafed through every dusty tome, scoured every gallery and plundered every library to fashion his tale. He revelled...

I accost Stella Duffy just as she steps off a flight from New Zealand. When I tell her what she's missed, she agrees with Miranda, "Mantel wasn't being mean, but she is a very bright woman. She must have known what she was doing.

Stella...

"Margaret Thatcher wasn't a bitch. She was a cow!"

It's Hilary Mantel's fault. El Boyfo and I are engaged in flurry of words over a fretful little cloudburst I've set off by applauding her infamous 'Royal Bodies' speech in an unwittingly controversial manner. To me there is no...

You'll have to excuse me, but when I first read the expression, "A man of most admirable parts," in Charles Wheatly's Book of Common Prayer, I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. I imagine the English liturgist meant well, when he chose those words to describe St Valentine,...

"If you're going to mention us please include our number in the article."

He's handled my call with the grace and professionalism of a press officer who's opted out of journalism to navigate a major charity through the choppy waters of press and media; to wit, I am having...

Programmes on the triumph of the popular song are frequent; they plug gaps in leaky schedules with an exaggerated reverence for the well composed and successfully promoted airs that millions have come to know and love. The tunes are afforded lofty historical portent with hallowing terms like 'the greatest,' 'of...

I had no intention of watching the thing, but it was the polite thing to do.

We were visiting friends in Oxford; they'd scheduled their annual garden party for July 28th, not sussing that that the sporting event of the year would ruffle their delicately considered arrangements somewhat. Many...

Adamski and I are at the supermarket on Wednesday evening. We're about to have tagliatelle at his gaff, so we're here for fresh parmesan and napkins. He's flummoxed and indecisive at the remarkable range of serviettes on offer, including the special edition, Diamond Jubilee Union Jack jobs. Eventually, he opts...

Suddenly he lowers his voice and slows his speech, assuming stern ownership of our telephone conversation, like a grown up instructing a child. I've been frank with him, indicating that my delight at his recent casting as Cassius in Julius Caesar has been tempered by the fact that...

The name Robert Zimmerman impacted on the international popular consciousness in the second half of the last century. It's a name associated with appraisal of the times; they were "a-changing." It was given to a native of a Lake Superior city, a slight Jewish lad who matured into...

On Good Friday I halted myself mid mouth-off:

"Any twit could buy a pork chop, chuck it outside, watch the maggots hatch and the pigeons come; any idiot could stage a meditation on life, death and the food chain in their backyard."

It was the caffeine talking. I...

After the concert I mention the monkey business. There is a prompt harrumph from the Hartlepudlian gentleman who is manning the hotel bar after hours for our delectation.

"I'm fed up with that ****ing story!" he blurts.

Oops.

It's easy to appreciate his impatience with the absurd apocrypha...

Hi. My name is David McAlmont and I blog for The Huffington Post.

I like how that reads. For someone who still harbours inane post-Carrie Bradshaw fantasies of becoming a columnist it feels like a step in the right direction, like I have what it takes. Mind you, I...