In May 2006, Coren was bitten by an insect that gave him septicaemia which led to his developing necrotising fasciitis.
He died from cancer in 2007 at his home in North London. Survived by his wife Anne (née Kasriel), whom he married in 1963, and their two children, Giles and Victoria, who are both journalists, he is buried in Hampstead Cemetery. An anthology of his writings, called The Essential Alan Coren - Chocolate and Cuckoo Clocks and edited by his children, was published on 2 October 2008.
Read more about this topic: Alan Coren
Other articles related to "years, later years, year":
... In the United States, elections are held between every three and six years in most states, with exceptions such as the U.S ... House of Representatives, which stands for election every two years ... presidents the President of Ireland is elected every seven years, the President of Russia and the President of Finland every six years, the President of France every five years, President of ...
... I am not who I was ten years ago and certainly not who I will be in twenty years ... The name 2030 reflects my conviction that the years around 2030 will be a magical time ...
... Isabel died before the end of the year, and was buried in her husband's family tomb at Dreux ... Gaston died the following year ...
... Then, some years ago, he shifted his office to the suburbs to make it more convenient for his friends ...
... The regiment served in West Africa throughout the 19th century ... In the early part of the twentieth century one battalion was stationed in Sierra Leone and the other was in Jamaica recruiting and training, the battalions exchanging every three years ...
Famous quotes containing the word years:
“And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.”
—Eugene Field (18501895)
“A few years before I lived in the woods there was what was called a winged cat in one of the farmhouses.... This would have been the right kind of cat for me to keep, if I had kept any; for why should not a poets cat be winged as well as his horse?”
—Henry David Thoreau (18171862)