If the NHS is ‘fair’, give me unfairness any day
I do hope you’ll forgive me for writing about rivers twice in two columns.
Headfirst, sometimes sideways, I was swept down a treacherous, rain-swollen river
Being a right-wing columnist under New Labour’s liberal fascist tyranny is a bit like being a South Wales Borderer at Rorke’s Drift: so many targets, so little time.
The officers who played fireball hockey with me have been scandalously betrayed
Poor Michael Jackson. I know he was (probably) a kiddie fiddler and his music was crap, but that didn’t stop me empathising when watching Michael Jackson’s Last Days: What Really Happened (Channel 4, Sunday).
James Delingpole finds that ‘glamping’ suits the wife
James Delingpole talks to Professor Ian Plimer, the Australian geologist, whose new book shows that ‘anthropogenic global warming’ is a dangerous, ruinously expensive fiction, a ‘first-world luxury’ with no basis in scientific fact. Shame on the publishers who rejected the book
Sporting triumph at school is even sweeter than the smell of napalm in the morning
On the Saturday night of Glastonbury festival I wasn’t off my face in a field listening to some banging techno, but at the Museum of Garden History watching the noted harpsichordist William Christie and two marvellous sopranos perform songs by Purcell.
Conservative blacks are fed up with being patronised by liberals and bureaucrats
Let’s not get too worked up if Guy Gibson’s dog ends up with a PC name
‘Shh! Cricket!’ my grandfather Ken Delingpole used to say whenever the cricket came on the wireless.
The right to swear is integral to being a true conservative
I’ve got this brilliant idea for a Sunday night TV series.
I don’t bait greens only for fun. I do it because they’re public enemy number one
Easily the best thing that has happened to me recently was being called a warthog on TV by Charlie Brooker.
We on the Right have the best jokes because we accept that the world is a bowl of toenails
The phone rang last night, I picked it up and it was our friend Tania.
I ought not to be as wary of the police as I am. They have forgotten what they are for
On the posters in the Tube at the moment are these adverts for Argumental, which is the Dave channel’s first self-generated panel show.
Is it really a six-figure salary? Only, this time last year it wouldn’t have seemed worth it, but now it’s looking almost as attractive as a job in the public sector.
Did you know that in 1970s and 1980s Yorkshire there were death squads of heavily armed policemen whose job it was to assassinate anyone who got too close — be he witness, investigating officer, or informer — to unmasking their mysterious bosses’ sinister web of lies, deceit, corruption, betrayal, wife beating, torture and serial killing? No, I didn’t either.
Jeremy Paxman has a dark secret: in real life he’s an absolute kitten.