JOHN MARTIN

I do not know where my son got the idea that Eric Clapton was the first man on the moon. Oh yeah, probably me. Jack was six at the time, so those were the days he believed everything I said. And to be fair to me, I did not say Slowhand was the first man on the… Continue reading One small step for man, one giant leap for Slowhand

Some writers choose to hide in the wardrobe each day and pretend they’re in Narnia. For me, my imaginary place of writing is up a narrow flight of stone stairs leading to an apartment in the village of Saint Chinian, near Beziers in the south of France. I was there for real on holidays. My… Continue reading Mais oui, my new writing studio

Dear manager,I am writing to ask you to look out for a hat which I left in one of your taxi cars on Tuesday. I would also like to complain about your employee who drove that car. I don’t get out very often — in fact, last Tuesday night was the first time in eight… Continue reading Letter to the taxi company from a disgruntled customer

If only Dutch artist Willie van Dork had listened to reason, he could have been just as famous as Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn. He had a lot in common with Rembrandt and some learned observers early in his career thought he was technically a better painter. But Willie carried a flawed gene that made him… Continue reading Living next door to Rembrandt

Hey, have you seen any icy-cool, super-intelligent women with big, pointy ears around? I only ask this because I have been surfing the Internet for Valentine’s Day sites. One, dubbed the Love Calculator, told me that my relationship with my wife Katherine has only a 13 per cent chance of success. Another site told me… Continue reading Mr 13 per cent longs for love