At a certain point in life, we must question beliefs we have long held and understand why we hold them. This is essential if we are to gain sovereignty over ourselves.

Once upon a time, I vowed never to wear jeans again. A garment that brings little comfort to the wearer. Stiff, scratchy, and a poor regulator of temperature. In hot weather, a leg shrouded in denim will pour sweat like a shawarma skewer; in cold weather, it will make the wearer feel as though they’re wearing cardboard.

Living in London is a gamble, and the odds are not in your favour. Each day is a throw of the dice, the outcome of which will either reward you or cut you...

Who is the passive aggressor? They can be immediately identified by a few physical traits: pursed lips, tightly clenched jaws, narrowed eyes, a cold glare, and a twitchy manner.

...my household was no longer monotheistic but multicultural, and I would have to find some way of allowing Christmas into my heart, just as my wife accepted Eid into hers.

Italian cuisine is famed for its simplicity, but simplicity is not easy to achieve. Two conditions must be met: high-quality produce and the fine balancing of ingredients.

When purchasing a car as a family of four, the following must be considered: Is there enough space in the boot for the luggage of a family who often pack as though fleeing a military coup?

No one does satire quite like the British. The Americans, bless them, do try, but their jokes often arrive like a brick through a window. Satire requires a raised eyebrow, not a flashing neon sign.

The term masterpiece is thrown about far too carelessly these days, a word plastered on film posters by studios desperate to recoup their costs.

This was my main feeling with North Cyprus - dissonance. No cohesive narrative I could latch onto to make anything make sense. Ladies in tiny bikinis lounging next to ladies in burkinis. Giant mosques sitting across the road from giant billboards advertising Johnnie Walker.

Monaco attracts the motley crew of characters one expects to find in a place where wealth shouts: Arab royalty, oligarchs, gangsters from the Caucasus, money managers, and escorts from the Eastern Bloc to service them all.

Londoners, who fancy themselves a stoic breed, speak of the Central Line in summer with the same grim resignation that one reserves for Monday morning ‘catch-up meetings’ or the middle seat on an EasyJet flight.