Society

Thursday

Dot Wordsworth

Non-existent phrases

‘Ten Norwegian phrases that don’t exist in English but should,’ said the headline. So I had a little look, as the writer on the internet, one Kenneth Haug, intended. Here’s one. Takk for maten. Should it exist in English? It means: ‘Thanks for the food.’ English, being a cousin of Norwegian, also used to employ meat to mean food, and we still run into the archaic sense in such contexts as the Bible. ‘The life is more than meat,’ says the Authorised Version in Luke 12:23, as the equivalent of Anima plus est quam esca. The 10th century gloss in the Lindisfarne Gospels made that ‘Se sauel mara is thon

Dumpynose

2208: Mort

Two words form the name of a fictional 28, described by his creator as a ‘22A/31/26’. Remaining across unclued lights are associated with the first word and down ones with the second. Elsewhere, ignore an accent.   Across   1    Jackanapes swimming away from Jamaica belly-flops (8) 6    Taxmen laugh at seventy retired coppers (6) 11    Trifler enthrals former railman (10) 14    Old statesmen stands beside painter in food shop (8) 16    Some sham or phony rogue … (5) 17    … uttered marks (unacceptable) he had (7) 19    Most severe wind is in the Camargue (9) 23    Place with a birch tree (6) 24    Home Secretary boards train for subdistrict (6)

Dumpynose

To 2205: In shape

Unclued lights were set out in the form of two squares in the grid (shown here in red). The theme word was 18. 1, 10, 12 and 38 are defined by it in one sense; 15, 19 and 43 in another. Highlighting TIMES (square) gave the fourth example of a city square. First prize K.D. Birkett, Heysham, Morecambe, Lancs Runners-up R.A. Percy, Southport, North Carolina; Kenneth Robb, Linlithgow, West Lothian

Robert Van Egghen

God bless Peter Hendy. We all know London’s commuter services are awful

Anyone who has spent some time travelling on Southeastern’s packed-to-bursting commuter lines – elbows in the back and heads tucked under armpits – will no doubt today be cheering on the Transport for London commissioner Sir Peter Hendy: London’s commuter services are, as he says, ‘shit, awful’ and like ‘the wild west’. Hendy singled out Southeastern as being the worst offender — and he’s right. I travel on it almost every day. Since the closure of much of London Bridge due to refurbishments, the trains at my home station of Orpington have become ever more crowded. People are forced to cram on to an ever dwindling number of services. The

Julia Hartley-Brewer

Does Jamelia not know the first rule of Fat Club?

The first rule of Fat Club is: don’t talk about Fat Club unless you are yourself ‘big and beautiful’, or what most of us would call ‘grossly overweight’. Or just plain ‘fat’. Otherwise it’s as much of a no-go zone as the salad bar at a Weight Watchers’ meeting. So it didn’t come as much of a surprise when Jamelia, the former pop star and Loose Women panellist, came under sustained attack this week for talking about fat people. As a beautiful and effortlessly slim young woman, Jamelia is, of course, not allowed to talk about fat people. Those are the rules. So what outrageous hate-crime did Jamelia commit? Did

Sebastian Payne

Should politicians leave the wealthy alone?

Bashing the rich has become trendy. Last night, the Spectator hosted a debate at the Guildhall School of Drama on whether the rich have contributed their fair share to society, or if we should ramp up wealth taxes. It’s a very emotive topic and each of the speakers made a solid case for and against the motion: politicians should leave the wealthy alone — they already contribute more than their fair share. Proposing the motion, Spectator editor Fraser Nelson described how London is a city ‘shaped by the super rich,’ pointing out the number of places that serve a £20 vodka martini. But Fraser argued that society needs these wealthy people and

Fraser Nelson Fraser Nelson

At last, tax receipts are surging as Osborne’s recovery continues

The economic good news continues. Until now, the Achilles’ heel of the recovery was weak tax revenue – in part deliberate, as Osborne’s tax cuts meant the thousands moving into work got to keep more of their money. But figures out today (pdf) show that the tax haul was up 5.3 per cent in the second half of the financial year, twice the rate of the first half. Wages are finally rising – in the private sector (i.e. most jobs) wage growth is at a six-year high. All this means a deficit of £87bn last year, better than the OBR’s forecast £90bn. In short: it’s all coming good for George

Sebastian Payne

Lutfur Rahman removed as Mayor of Tower Hamlets

The Mayor of Tower Hamlets has been kicked out of office. Lutfur Rahman was found guilty at a High Court hearing this morning of ‘corrupt and illegal practices’ and the result of the 2014 mayoral election has been voided. Rahman has to pay costs of £250,000 and has been barred from standing in the next election after Judge Richard Mawrey said he’d ‘driven a coach and horses through election law and didn’t care’. The list of offences is long. Rahman has been found guilty of allocating grants to buy votes; his supporters were found to have been involved in the rigging of votes; he wrongly branded his Labour rival John Biggs a

Steerpike Steerpike

David Cameron: ‘The selfie will come, the selfie will go’

Given that David Cameron posed for a selfie alongside Barack Obama at Nelson Mandela’s memorial service, Mr S was surprised to hear that the PM has now tired of the trend. Speaking to Mr S’s colleagues James Forsyth and Fraser Nelson in an interview in this week’s issue of The Spectator, Cameron says that the selfie lacks longevity, claiming ‘the selfie will come, the selfie will go’: ‘It is an extraordinary phenomenon and it sometimes makes part of the process of politics quite difficult. Everyone wants a selfie rather than to have a conversation, and sometimes that’s a bit frustrating, particularly with your party activists. I want to know what they are finding on the doorsteps, but

Mary Wakefield Mary Wakefield

Patriotism isn’t uncivilised – it’s what makes civilisation possible | 23 April 2015

Is it racist to be patriotic? Is patriotism, by definition, small-minded and exclusive? When you strip away the onion layers of sentiment about history and hymns, Shakespeare and lawn clippings, does it have a hateful heart? I ask because, as I’ve written before, I feel patriotic, and until recently I’ve considered this to be a good thing. I felt particularly patriotic at a service in Ravenstonedale, Cumbria, last week. I slid in late and guilty, amid snippy Sunday stares. After the sermon we trooped outside and in the suddenly sunlit graveyard the vicar whipped a trumpet from his cassock and began to play. A pair of starlings began their electric

Sebastian Payne

Podcast: the passion of David Cameron and whether 2015 will be another 1992

Should David Cameron be showing more passionate in this election campaign? On this week’s View from 22 podcast, Fraser Nelson and James Forsyth discuss their interview with the Prime Minister in the magazine this week and whether Cameron is feeling optimistic about his reelection chances. Was the PM open about his apparent failure to sell the successes of this government to voters? Will Cameron convince the country that he really does want a second term? And with two weeks to go, is the election a done deal? Matthew Parris and Martin Vander Weyer also look back at the 1992 election campaign and whether the Tories can hope for a similar last

The Spectator

The Spectator at war: Soldiers of Italy

From ‘Soldiers of Italy’, The Spectator, 24 April 1915: It is winter in Florence. The sun shines, but snow lies low on Monte Morello, and the tramontana blows cold as ice, out of a piercingly blue sky. The streets and squares are crowded. Bells are ringing, bands playing, troops marching. The soldiers are coming back from Tripoli. There is to he a reception at the station. A burst of cheering, a scattering of flowers, a blare of music. Here they come. Bronzed, hardy-looking men these, in their war-worn uniforms, swinging along among the crowds and flowers. But the welcome is not altogether joyous. There are wet eyes amongst the onlookers. Wives

The Spectator

Florence weeps

From ‘Soldiers of Italy’, The Spectator, 24 April 1915: It is winter in Florence. The sun shines, but snow lies low on Monte Morello, and the tramontana blows cold as ice, out of a piercingly blue sky. The streets and squares are crowded. Bells are ringing, bands playing, troops marching. The soldiers are coming back from Tripoli. There is to be a reception at the station. A burst of cheering, a scattering of flowers, a blare of music. Here they come. Bronzed, hardy-looking men these, in their war-worn uniforms, swinging along among the crowds and flowers. But the welcome is not altogether joyous. There are wet eyes amongst the onlookers. Wives and mothers

Bruce Anderson

A taste of heaven on earth

The supermarket chains are not always blameworthy. Their missionary efforts have helped to ensure that wine drinking in Britain is much less bedevilled by social anxiety than it used to be. There was a time when Mateus rosé, God help us, exploited that in its TV ads. The boss invited home for dinner: how could the husband navigate the social minefield of serving wine? Answer, Mateus rosé. How sad. If I am ever asked about wine by someone who professes to know nothing, I always make three points. First, trust your taste buds and your nose. If the wine smells like a car engine, there is something wrong — and

Douglas Murray

The Plame game

Nothing is capable of undermining American democracy more than its legal system. Amid the plea bargains, perp walks and 95 per cent conviction ratings for some crimes, one feature of the system stands out as particularly rank — the role of ‘special prosecutor’. A new piece of evidence relating to a high-profile conviction eight years ago provides a perfect demonstration. The case relates to a legal dispute spanning President George W. Bush’s period in office. In late 2003 the situation in post-war Iraq had already begun to go horribly wrong. In the US, many who had eagerly supported the invasion and warned of the risks of WMD were flaking away

Rory Sutherland Rory Sutherland

Let’s rethink the working week

Whenever I hear the phrase ‘hard-working families’ a little voice in my head asks ‘what about the lazier, chilled-out families? Shouldn’t we think about them too?’ If Cameron simply abandoned this Stakhanovite fetish and announced Britain’s move to a four-day working week, he could win the election outright. It may take decades, but the work week is due for a rethink. It is hopelessly restrictive. Given the attacks on zero-hours contracts, you may be astonished to hear that over 80 per cent of employees on such contracts actually like them. I suspect many are people — carers, parents, students, the semi-retired — who can only work if they can work flexible hours.

Aidan Hartley

Wild life | 23 April 2015

 Laikipia When I was a boy in Devon we had an orchard. On a string of autumns, as the fruit ripened, the orchard became a battlefield of apples between my two brothers and me. My older siblings could launch apples at me with such force they fizzed like bullets through the air. A hit with an unripe Russet or Pippin could hurt like hell, so I became adept at dodging incoming missiles. A childhood of scrumping came in handy this month when a mob of Samburu tribesmen attacked me. In what has become a routine activity at home these days we were attempting to prevent trespassers flooding into our farm

Henry Jeffreys

Wine tasting

One of the great jokes of the wine trade is: ‘Have you ever confused Burgundy with Bordeaux?’ ‘Not since this morning!’ A few weeks ago, I realised it isn’t a joke. I’d been invited to take part in the Varsity Blind Wine Tasting Match. It’s sponsored by Pol Roger champagne and they thought it would be fun to have a team of journalists from The Spectator compete against the students from Oxford and Cambridge. Our crack squad was made up of the in-house drinks supremo Jonathan Ray, the sommelier and writer Douglas Blyde, Spectator adman Nick Spong, and me. As soon as I arrived at the Oxford and Cambridge Club

James Delingpole James Delingpole

It really must be a mid-life crisis. I’ve fallen in love with a pony

Because I’m reckless, stupid and irresponsible, I normally get landed with the biggest, most obstreperous hunters. But the other weekend the riding school boss, Jane, decided to allocate me a different horse to ride. It was a smallish grey called Potato. ‘What’s he like?’ I asked one of the regulars. ‘Oh he’s lovely!’ she said. But I didn’t necessarily believe her. One of the things I’m learning about riders is that they lie through their teeth about how nice particular horses are. Something to do with the convention that misbehaviour is always the fault of the rider, never the horse. ‘He’s not very big,’ I complained. ‘How does he jump?’