mrs miniver's daughter

Of all the paintings I saw yesterday when I was tootling around (one big exhibition, three little ones) this was the one I most wanted to t...

Long-listed for the Booker Prize. Short-listed as possibly the most tedious, banal, pretentious load of tripe I've ever had the misfort...

I never imagined I could be so engrossed in a novel, translated from the Norwegian, about one small family scratching out a living on a tin...

You wouldn't look at this and immediately think Lucian Freud, would you? And I can't say I've thought of pairing daffodils and ...

I've been promising myself a blast of Hockney colour for weeks now and it was actually a mild - dry! - sunny afternoon when I finall...

If only it would stop raining, I might have something to write about - but though I tell myself bracingly that I won't dissolve in the...

I've been away for far too long to play catch-up. The Downton Abbey flower show at Kew Gardens was hilariously bonkers; that's the ...