Society

Thursday

Janna Lawrence

Processed food is dangerous. It’s time for radical action that libertarians will hate

Two very different but valuable crops are grown in Central and South America. After hours of toil, each is carefully harvested. But it’s not the plant itself that is prized: it’s the product inside. So both crops are subject to a process of extraction. The aim is to have a high concentration of pure product. One of the crops is sugar cane and the other is the coca plant, which contains cocaine alkaloid. Consuming either sugar or cocaine stimulates the brain’s pleasure centres. When they are purified, this effect is heightened, producing an exaggerated biological response. For example, coca leaf has been chewed in Central and South America for hundreds of

The Spectator

The Spectator at war: President Wilson’s mistake

From ‘President Wilson’s Mistake’, The Spectator, 27 March 1915: President Wilson’s attitude can only be described as a tragedy. We do not believe that there was a man more determined than he was when he entered office to conduct his administration on moral lines, and to show the world that morality and politics are not incompatible, and that cynicism need not really be the rule for statesmen. Alas for the President that he did not follow his own natural instinct for the right instead of his reason. It would never have betrayed him. Instead, it would have led him on the road which he really wants to travel. It would

The Spectator

March Wine Club | 26 March 2015

Chateau Musar is one of those delightful oenological quirks – a remarkable wine of great style produced under extraordinarily difficult conditions in the most unlikely of places: Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley. If the success of past offers is anything to go by, Musar has a huge following among Spectator readers and we’re delighted that both Chateau Musar and the Wine Company have decided to offer the latest vintage of the estate’s grand vin – the 2008 – in these pages, before anyone else in the UK has it. Not only that, in this fascinating six-bottle selection we also have two previous fine vintages of the main wine, plus a mid-range and

Lucy Vickery

End paper

In Competition No. 2890 you were invited to imagine that one of the major newspapers has ceased publication and provide a verse lament for it. In his 2004 book The Vanishing Newspaper Philip Meyer predicted that the final hard-copy newspaper will plop through someone’s letterbox in 2043. So who’ll be the first to go? Over to you. D.A. Prince pockets £30; her fellow prize-winners earn £25. No more the morning doorstep thumps that bring news and opinions from the public sphere. The Guardian’s laid to rest where angels sing and deadlines are no more, is grieved for where the muesli-ed tables sit, forlorn and sad. No more the Toynbee fire

The Spectator

Better off out

From ‘President Wilson’s Mistake’, The Spectator, 27 March 1915: The Americans have a world of their own in which to take sides physically, and are perfectly entitled to say to Europe: ‘You must do your own police work and restrain your own malefactors. Europe must not expect from us more than abstract sympathy in regard to a European struggle.’ On the whole, and in spite of ex-President Roosevelt’s generous and chivalrous attitude, we are strongly inclined to think that this is the right attitude for Americans to adopt. At any rate, it is the attitude that they do adopt.

Aidan Hartley

The warrior arched his body, readying to sling his spear at my chest

 Laikipia With a shriek, the warrior arched his body, readying to sling his spear at my chest. The tear-dropped javelin point flashed in the sun. In the heat, dust swirled up from the hooves of the young blood’s cattle invading my farm. In his hand, the seven-foot shaft lance quivered, ready, poised for release — and then he yelled again. This is March 2015, I reminded myself, not AD 991 at the onset of the Battle of Maldon. I had asked the man to come with me to the police, where he would be arrested for trespass. The spear flashing was his response. He had pushed his cattle into what

Rory Sutherland Rory Sutherland

A lesson in decision-making from the world’s worst road sign

Driving from Dover on the M20 a year ago I missed the turning for the M25. A month later I did it again. Then again. ‘You bloody idiot — you missed the turning,’ I said to myself each time. Eventually, after I had missed the turning five times in ten journeys, I wondered if it was really all my fault. So I logged on to Google Street View and retraced the stretch of the M20 leading up to the junction. That’s when I found the image below. Perhaps it doesn’t look odd to you. It took me a while to spot why it is a contender for the world’s worst

Bruce Anderson

Wines to toast a warrior saint

Towards the chimes at midnight, a few of us left a — respectable — establishment near Leicester Square. Eight or nine youngsters were brawling vigorously, boots and fists. 999 was dialled, and the response was admirably fast. The cops would no doubt have recorded it as just another trivial incident in the life of a British inner city. But how squalid. That day, there was a story about undergraduettes moonlighting as lap-dancers or strippers, or worse. We have suffered a loss of civilisation since Newman: most of the ‘universities’ to which those girls were accredited should never have received that status. Until the day before yesterday, they would have been

David Prycejones

‘You are always close to me’: Unity Mitford’s souvenirs of Hitler

The English aristocracy has had its fair share of misfits, and one of the most far-fetched was Unity Mitford. No novelist would dare invent the story of a young woman of 19 who settles in Germany in 1933, determines to captivate Hitler, and succeeds. Eva Braun, the long-term mistress whom Hitler married in the last days of his life, gives way in her diary to jealousy and spite. There is evidence provided either by Unity herself or Nazi officials that Hitler held her hand, stroked her hair and called her ‘Kind’ (child). During his preparation for world war in the summer of 1939, he found time to arrange for a

Jenny McCartney Jenny McCartney

Belle Gibson and the pernicious cult of ‘wellness’

Belle Gibson was a publicist’s dream: a ‘wellness guru’ and young mother with a wholesome blonde beauty, a wide white smile, and just enough tattoos to look modern. She had already encountered appalling adversity for one barely into her twenties: in 2009, she revealed, doctors had diagnosed her with malignant brain cancer and told her bluntly: ‘You’re dying. You have six weeks. Four months tops.’ Sickened by two months of chemotherapy and radiotherapy, Gibson said, she had abandoned conventional treatment in favour of a range of holistic treatments, including Ayurvedic medicine and oxygen therapies. She embarked, too, on a gluten-free, refined sugar-free diet which she detailed on her 2013 Instagram

Mark Greaves

Rise early to see the Vatican at its best

The sun has only just risen in Rome and we are standing bleary-eyed in a short queue outside the Vatican. Our guide, Tonia, takes us through security, and within minutes we are in a nearly empty Sistine Chapel. In an hour it will be crammed with tourists — sweating, gawping, getting in each other’s way. Vatican officials will be shushing and clapping to quieten the chatter. Now, though, we are free to contemplate Michelangelo’s swirl of naked bodies in peace. Michelangelo claimed that he painted the ceiling entirely on his own. In fact, Tonia explains, he started off with 15 helpers, though he got rid of them all along the

Ysenda Maxtone Graham

In praise of messy old kitchens

‘I love my new kitchen heart of the home let’s fill it with friends happy.’ So says the thought bubble in the current ad for the estate agents Rightmove, part of their ‘Find your happy’ campaign. Don’t even get me started on the lack of punctuation — or the use of ‘happy’ as a noun. What I’m worrying about is the kitchen itself. Glimpsing Ed Miliband’s second kitchen last week, we came face to face with the drabness of today’s hyper-hygienic kitchen. Is the kitchen really ‘the heart of the home’ in Rightmove’s imaginary domestic paradise, or is it in fact one of those spotless, minimalist, metallic kitchens, all hard

Stephen Robinson

The return of the fountain pen

Every working day before I start pounding the keyboard of my ridiculously flashy 27-inch iMac, I perform a little ritual. I straighten the fountain pens I keep on my desk, and make sure they are fully inked. Though I always have an eye for my next acquisition, I currently have just six pens, which are fuelled by four bottles of ink I keep next to them — Waterman black and serenity blue, Pelikan turquoise and Parker red. Three of the pens are Parkers, and my clear favourite is the greatest mass-produced pen of all time, the sleek Parker 51, with the distinctive hooded nib which first appeared in 1941, yet looks

Philip Delves-Broughton

That’s not a ‘sharing economy’: that’s an invitation to sell your whole life

Technology businesses have a genius for inflicting indignities on us and spinning them as virtues. When they don’t want to respect copyright, they talk about the ‘democratisation of content’. When they want to truffle through our contact lists and browsing histories, they talk about ‘openness’ and ‘personalisation’. A hundred years ago, when a widow had to take in lodgers to pay the bills, it was called misfortune. Today, when an underemployed photographer has to rent out a room in his house or turn his car into a taxi, it’s called the ‘sharing economy’. First Google took his job. Now Airbnb wants his house. Next they’ll be after his pets. In

James Delingpole James Delingpole

From teapots to rare meat, my Britain is becoming a lost country

There was a letter to the Daily Telegraph last weekend which depressed me more than anything I’ve read in ages. It reported the visit by a social worker to an elderly woman who made her a cup of tea. The young social worker was shocked by what she saw. Not only did this bewildered old woman insist on using leaves rather than a bag but she first poured some hot water into the pot, swirled it round, then wasted it by putting it straight down the sink. Here, clearly, was evidence that grandma was incapable of looking after herself and should be put into care immediately. This put me in

Martin Vander Weyer Martin Vander Weyer

So the FTSE100 has finally broken its record – it’s still not doing nearly as well as executive pay

The FTSE100 index has at last breached 7,000, surpassing its peak of 30 December 1999 and provoking moderate celebration among investors who have enjoyed such poor returns all these years. A thousand pounds invested in FTSE100 stocks on Millennium Eve, with dividends reinvested, was worth £1,670 by last month, an annual return of 3.4 per cent compared to inflation over the period of around 2.9 per cent. The same sum invested in a London house would have been worth £3,200, nearly twice the return on shares if we ignore running costs and the leverage effect of mortgage borrowing; invested on the rollercoaster of gold bullion, it would have been worth

Wednesday

Alex Massie Alex Massie

The BBC was right to sack Jeremy Clarkson

There’s no cause so disreputable it cannot find adherents. And, failing that, apologists. Take, for instance, the apparently simple case of a powerful man – powerful in status more than physique – who assaults one of his junior helpers. In ordinary circumstances –  that is, if this assault took place in a cheese factory or on a farm or in an insurance brokerage – everything would be pretty bloody simple. It’s not really OK for senior folk – even if they are the talent – to start lamping their subordinates. Said lamper would ordinarily – and quite properly – risk their job by hitting their junior colleagues. I guess my view

Rod Liddle Rod Liddle

The real reason Jeremy Clarkson’s gone? The BBC loathed his politics

I still don’t know which way John Humphrys votes and I’ve been a friend of the chap for more than a quarter of a century. Hell, we’ve been on holiday together, twice. I have very few friends in mediaville, but John is certainly one, and the oldest friend within that milieu, at that. But I still couldn’t tell you what way he votes. That fact alone might well signal to you that he tends to the Right; liberals are so unstintingly forthcoming about their fatuous opinions, so ready to declaim and shriek and disparage anyone who might dare gainsay them. But even then I wouldn’t be too sure. It’s probably

Damian Thompson Damian Thompson

Cardinal Nichols attempts to silence faithful priests. This will backfire

[Update: On looking more closely at the list of priests, I’m astonished by some of the names I see there – clergy I wouldn’t have described as conservatives, let alone traditionalists. It reinforces my sense that vast numbers of priests, however much they admire Pope Francis, are worried about the direction of this pontificate – or, rather, its lack of direction.] Cardinal Vincent Nichols has slapped down nearly 500 priests who signed a letter to the Catholic Herald expressing concern about the Synod on the Family this October, which is to debate sensitive questions of sexual morality. This is a significant blunder by the Cardinal that exposes both the inflexibility of his

Camilla Swift Camilla Swift

We need to remember that lynx aren’t simply the big pussycats that they appear to be

As our Barometer column reminded us this week, a campaign is underway  to reintroduce the Eurasian lynx – which became extinct in the UK around 1,300 years ago – to the British countryside. But is bringing back lynx to the wilds of the UK really a good idea? Well, for starters there are many farmers and livestock owners who certainly won’t be very pleased to see them. Lynx UK – who are behind the plans – have claimed that they are willing to subsidise farmers for any loss of livestock that the lynx are responsible for. But that probably won’t put farmers’ minds at rest – especially hill farmers, whose animals would