British broadcaster, journalist and writer
Works in ChatGPT, Claude, or Any AI
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[on the Aston Martin DB7 sat-nav] Then there's the satellite navigation system which is the most complicated sat-nav system in the world. And the wrongest. Always wants to take you to Bedford. Even if you want to go to Manchester, it wants to go to Bedford, that's all it knows. You want to go somewhere? "Sure, I'll take you to Bedford."
I used to work on a television show called Top Gear and every week the films were edited to a length that felt right. They felt balanced. They felt good. But every week there simply wasn't the time to fit them into the programme- so they'd have to be shortened. And without exception they were better as a result.
I've argued time and again that the old trade unionists and CND lesbians didn't go away. They just morphed into environmentalists. The red's become green but the goals remain the same. And there's no better way of achieving those goals than turning the lights out and therefore winding the clock back to the Stone Age. Only when we're all eating leaves under a hammer and sickle will they be happy.
There's been a massive cock up and as a result, there's a very slim chance some of our Hawkstone CIDER bottles might, there's no easy way of saying this, explode.
If the cap has the code L3160, open it underwater, pour it away and get in touch for a refund.
Really sorry about this but on the upside, the beer is fine and still delicious. As is the cider, in bottles that are unaffected. Which is almost all of them.
[I]sn’t it better to stay in and try to make the damn thing work properly? To create a United States of Europe that functions as well as the United States of America. ... Britain, on its own, has little influence on the world stage. I think we are all agreed on that. But Europe if it were well run and had good cohesive, well thought-out policies, would be a tremendous force for good.
One of the drawbacks I notice quite often is that in South Kensington, which is a leafy part of southwest London, almost everyone is French. The whole area is awash with lovely patisseries and the pavements are rammed with women so elegant and beautiful I have to bite the back of my hand to stop myself from crying out. This is obviously so much worse than if everyone were lurching around in tracksuits looking for somewhere to vomit.
Just up the road, I know of a Polish restaurant where you can buy dainty little dumplings. And for sure this is a huge step backwards from the takeaway joint that used to be on the site. Because who wants to be served a dumpling by a charming Polish man when they could have a polystyrene tray full of slime instead?