The Pope’s become an Anglican, Ducks are walking around in high heeled shoes and, strangest of all, Giles Coren has given up drinking.
His father Alan Coren, the funniest columnist I’ve ever read, would be distraught.
Here are some reasons I loved this man apart from that very lived–in face, things he wrote:-
On the Dutch:
“Apart from cheese and tulips, the main product of the country is advocaat, a drink made from lawyers”
On an Italian about to say “no”
“A long, soft sigh, one of those very Italian sighs that express so much, that say "Ah, signor, if only this world were an ideal world, what would I not give to be able to do as you ask, we should sit together in the Tuscan sunshine, you and I, just two men together, and we should drink a bottle of the good red wine, and we should sing, ah, how we should sing."
On Dennis and Margaret Thatcher and those poor landmines
“Does not even the most sexually democratic of us, among which number I unquestionably count myself, not choke back the tiniest sob at the sight of poor old Denis stumbling along behind, struggling pitifully to hold his trilby on, as the PM strides across Goose Green with the wind managing only to make her hair look more Medusan, and the very mines praying she will not crush them under-heel?”
And on dying
“In the days when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened, I know one boy who won't be sweating. I intend to raise my coffin-lid briskly, throw a few things into an overnight bag, and, whistling something appropriate, prepare to meet my Maker.”
And share a glass of this stuff whilst Giles sips a glass of Hildon water. How sad.