Raspberry-coloured walls, chocolate brown carpet, the murmur of a radio. A few paces into Jane Hall's flat you spy a drinks cabinet housing treasures from holidays past - melon liqueur, Grand Marnier and Shamrock Irish County Cream. Then coming into the lounge you are
Democracy’s jet-lagged volunteers stumble out of Simon Bolivar international airport into the full glare of the Venezuelan sun. The two security men, locals employed by the mission, hurry us onto the waiting buses, eyes raking the space like Bren guns. We pile on, bemused by the urgency.
Climate scientists are like an exotic tribe - fascinating, sometimes hard to understand and rarely visited.
Where Bourdain's prose was like someone pirouetting around an abbatoir with a chainsaw, Buford is more measured, offering the inquisitive view of a middle aged ingenu. In the end it gives us a better picture of how a great restaurant kitchen really feels.
In 2017, freelance writer Tom de Castella noticed an elderly woman and her son living on a bench in south London. He discovered they had already been there for two years… which was puzzling. Why hadn't anyone done anything to help them? Why did
Heidi Holland's biography of Robert Mugabe does something deeply unsettling - it makes one feel the dictator's pain.
I'm standing on a sunny playing field in a corner of post industrial Kent, trying to take in the fact that what Im watching is a football revolution.
What do cars actually emit in the real world? It's not easy to find out. What started close to home - will my old banger's petrol engine be better or worse than my father's 2009 diesel - led to an emissions investigation with a troubling discovery about recent models.
So how did an intelligent, articulate man with a successful career come to be subjugated by pictures of strangers having sex? With admirable honesty Mike says he's always been fascinated by porn.
At Linquenda House, Harare's gloomy immigration department, the official inspecting my visa extension form asks me what I do. "I'm a wineseller," I lie.
At Samphire Beach, a Japanese woman stands in front of Dover's white cliffs. It is 10 past seven on a Tuesday morning. Most people will be having breakfast or getting ready for a day at the office. Miyuki Fijita is swimming to France.
In a few hours I will feel elated. Then despairing. But at 11am, as I pull out of my south London street in a Toyota Auris estate, I am trying to feel calm. It’s a new career. I’m about to start my first shift