Imagine a footballer who skilfully dribbles the ball past five players, beats the goalie, and only has to tap the ball into the net... ... only to trip up over his feet and miss the goal. What would he be remembered for? A brilliant player who ran rings round his opponents, or that idiot who missed an open goal? I make the analogy because last week I missed an open goal right here in the Good Life Letter. I'll let John, a fellow Good Life re ..

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In the olden days, I was an active person. I commuted to work, buzzed around a busy office, and played rugby at the weekends. These days I'm a bit porkier... a bit greyer... and it feels like somebody's attached hunks of lead to my feet. On the occasions when I guilttrip myself into going for a jog, I hobble through the streets like Jimmy Saville in the London marathon. 'It's not pretty,' says Lara. The problem is, since I became an independ ..

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There's something lurking in the depths of my wardrobe that's too terrifying to think about... It scares the family, shocks strangers, and even frightens fish... And in a couple of weeks, it's about to be unleashed on an unsuspecting holiday resort in Morocco... -------------------------------------- Blame the body, not the swimming trunks -------------------------------------- I'm taking Lara and the kids to Marrakech for a few days over Eas ..

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This is awful. I have caught a bunch of terrible diseases... and I don't know whether I'll ever be able to cure them. Every night I wake up in a cold sweat, panicking about my problems. Lara has to stay up on nightwatch duty. And during the day, the kids take it in turns to bring me cups of herbal tea just to calm me down. What's wrong with me? Well... I have to tell you... EVERYTHING. I've got 'Social Anxiety Disorder'... 'Compulsive Writ ..

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