Nicholas Lezard
New Statesman
United Kingdom
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Past articles by Nicholas:
During a meal at one of London’s finest restaurants, I put my life in mortal danger
By the time the sponge pudding arrived I was snapping my fingers at the risks and signed on the dotted line. → Read More
Buying a nine-pack of loo rolls, I worry they might outlive me
Why do the doctors call it a “chest” X-ray? Surely they mean “lung”. → Read More
Sunday, mid-afternoon, and the doorbell rings. It could only be a bailiff
Walking back from the seafront I passed a hotel that had a sign in the window saying “Receptionist wanted”. I must say I am tempted. → Read More
In Edinburgh, I find both the perfect pub and the world’s most objectionable drunk
The man waves a bottle of beer at us and tries to climb over the railings. He is at that stage of the evening where doors are boring. → Read More
An almost sleepless night, until I have an anxiety dream about this magazine
One of the new, exciting developments in my life lately is insomnia. Why had no one told me about this before? It’s life-changing. It’s particularly apparent – comes into its own, as it were – when I am behaving well and going to bed early. Take last night. In bed by 9pm, lights out by 10pm. Nothing to drink except one glass of wine and one small glass of whisky. A little read of something… → Read More
If I had my time again, I’d go to the party I snubbed – full of rich, single women
A call from my friend Ben in Brighton. There is going to be a party starting on Saturday afternoon and he wants me to go along with him and his wife. He says it will be in a big, lovely house and will be teeming with attractive women who work in PR. I am not entirely sure what he is implying by this – are attractive women who work in PR attracted to indigent men in their late → Read More
In Brighton, you never know who might run into you. Or who might run you over…
As I write, Brighton swelters, and so do I. The window is wide open, bringing in the city sounds: traffic, ringtones, angle grinders and hammers from the building works next door. The wood pigeons have been drowned out. I am lying almost nude in bed. Having lost some of my lockdown paunch since being given the boot, this is not as distressing a sight as it could have been. → Read More
Looking at the smashed teapot lid, I thought: there, in a nutshell, is my life
First the teapot lid rolled off the kitchen counter and broke into three pieces. I thought of sticking them back together but then remembered the last time I tried to fix something with superglue. It didn’t go well. (I think I remember first learning about superglue when I was a kid, watching Tomorrow’s World, or something like that. Uh-oh, I said to myself, as did the → Read More
My sporting summer had all too short a lease, which is why I want my heroes to go on and on
I write this the morning after England beat Denmark. By now you’ll know whether we’ve beaten Italy or not, of course, but let’s just remember the good feelings from 7 July. I’m very glad England won, not just for the country’s sake, but for mine. I had been feeling melancholy all day, and then someone on a social media platform posted Gavin Ewart’s poem about a cat being → Read More
Time’s wingèd chariot is getting close – I fear I may never don cricket whites again
It turned out I hadn’t broken my wrist after all. The pain abated the next day, and although it means that I doubt the crowds will be seeing my crafty off-breaks at any point this season – it still hurts, and the thought of bowling wrist-spin is actually making me feel a little faint – but at least I don’t have to wear a cast. This is actually more depressing than I am letting → Read More
A steep hill, a bellyful of Chinese and wine, and a pair of posh shoes… disaster beckons
To London, to have lunch with Roger, possibly the Moose’s oldest friend, for a reminisce and a catch-up. The plan is to have the traditional Moose luncheon experience: a few kirs in the French House, then a trip over Shaftesbury Avenue to Chinatown, and the Golden Dragon on Gerrard Street for dim sum. The French House has smartened itself up quite a bit since I was last there, and I don’t like… → Read More
With any luck, I won’t perish in a blaze – but I fear my fire alarms might be the death of me
Big day today: the fire alarm tester is coming round, some time between 10am and 2pm. Or, more accurately, considering the time I am writing this, between 10.32am and 2pm. I am told to expect someone from a firm with the slightly disturbing name of Pyrotec Ltd. (The name suggests a company whose expertise lies in starting fires, not putting them out, don’t you think?) This → Read More
When I look at my achievements in life, the one that stands out is my success in pub quizzes
When bad things happen, it is important to take stock, to find comfort in one’s achievements, to count one’s blessings. And right now all I can think of that fills me with any degree of pride is that my team has now won the weekly Covid Arms quiz nine times. There’s another team that has also won it nine times; but no one has won it more often. No, really: this is important. → Read More
I was born to bask in the Mediterranean sun, not write under the bedcovers for warmth
I am sick of these cold, grey skies. I want to grapple with my internal troubles in a warm harbour café with a chilled carafe of local white wine. → Read More
I’ve never been a Dominic Cummings fan but right now he is giving the nation what it needs
It does the soul good to see front-page headlines in the Daily Mail denouncing our ridiculous, mendacious and villainous Prime Minister. → Read More
I wonder if there is a right way to contemplate the success of someone who broke my heart
I took a certain pleasure in noticing that the article I read written by an ex-lover of mine was actually quite dull. → Read More
My rock and hard place: the price to pay for loving the pub is the price of going to the pub
To put it brutally, the only way I have managed to remain financially afloat this year is because my local has been shut. → Read More
It seems a bottomless pot of couscous may be a good way to test my sanity
Watching Ridley Scott’s The Martian, I feel a sudden affinity with Matt Damon eating his umpteenth meal of the same old same old. → Read More
I’m not sure which I fear more, Legionnaires’ disease or the thought of a stranger in the flat
After me only two people have ever been inside my home, largely because it is rarely in a fit state to be seen. → Read More
The working-class boy, the Balliol bar and an encounter with the young Boris Johnson
A nasty story from the Prime Minister's university days has reminded me that it is a fallacy to expect progress in those younger than you. → Read More