Adam Edwards


The city cyclist

A City PA gets on her bike to pedal her way into her boss’s arms – but could there be a more upwardly mobile catch?

The Saturday hunters

A City broker keen to infiltrate the rural hunting set finds himself lagging behind the field – until he spies a willing fox

The snowboarders

In the midst of the white stuff, a seasoned skier can’t help seeing red when that other alpine tribe starts to take the piste

The car boot sale

A City wife peddling bourgeois bargains for charity finds, to her cost, that one man’s trash really is another’s treasure

The pied-à-terre

With his wife and children newly ensconced in the country, a broker fantasises about weekday bachelor-style bliss
Performing Arts

The nativity play

Summoned to his daughter’s debut school performance, a City banker finds little of theatrical merit – but plenty of drama

The Waitrose shopper

While scouring the sceptred aisles for impeccable ingredients, one yummy mummy gets more than she bargained for

The house party

Will this young buck of a broker, out to impress in the wilds of bonnie Scotland, track down his inner country gent?

The Olympic invite

A corporate entertaining tangle brought on by new government rules throws up a sandy solution – or does it?

Repossessed yacht

An Italian banker and his beloved Riva encounter the rough waters of Italy’s new austerity measures

The ramblers

A public right of way through the middle of his garden? Not if this City financier has anything to say about it...
Gourmet Food

The street party

A village fête for the jubilee brings together a motley collection of neighbours who might just blur the class divide.

The outdoor pool

Plagued by setbacks and unseasonable weather, a Sussex homeowner’s swish pool is left languishing – or so he thinks.

The Marathon

A decidedly slack-ish City worker is coerced by his colleagues into running the famous London race. How arduous can it be…?

The internet date

A high-flying singleton scours the internet for a suitable match. Five million Britons can’t be wrong – or can they?