Society

From Francis Fulford Q. Have you any suggestions for what to give my wife for Christmas? She doesn’t want anything practical and was deeply unamused when I gave her a ‘top-of-the-range’ Barbour tweed coat some years ago. So obvious things like gardening forks, dog leads etc are out of the question. My children have suggested that she would like a 50” colour TV from Argos (currently a ‘bargain’ at £299) but I am not convinced and don’t want to have her suffer a major sense of humour failure when she unwraps it in front of all our Christmas guests. A. What do women want? You need look no further than

From News of the Week, The Spectator, 19 December 1914: A SMALL squadron of German cruisers made an attack on Hartlepool, Whitby, and Scarborough on Wednesday morning. It seems that the squadron consisted of at least three battle cruisers and two armoured cruisers. Hartlepool and Scarborough were shelled simultaneously for about half an hour shortly after eight o’clock. The bombardment of Whitby began at nine o’clock, and it is possible that one or more of the ships which took part in it had come from Scarborough, which is only fifteen miles distant. As soon as the presence of the German ships was reported a British patrolling squadron tried to cut

A.L. Kennedy Novelist I dislike dates. It’s either a yes, or a no. Why date? Sadly, I am both bad at reading the signals which indicate the outbreak of a date and attractive to people who are bad at signals. This means that I end up — often in coffee shops — with a variety of men who suddenly exhibit enthusiasms I cannot return. Among these gentlemen would be the portly chap in Day-Glo cycle shorts, the man who brought an ugly plant with him, the man who cried, the man who talked unendingly about the rows he used to have with his last girlfriend, the man who sat next

From The Spare Bedroom, The Spectator, 12 December 1914: OUR national individuality has been threatened, with the result that all English institutions are at this moment specially dear to the Englishman. We are prepared to defend them from first to last—from the system of government to the spare bedroom. Indeed, though we may jestingly call the spare bedroom the least among our typically English institutions, it counts for a good deal in our national life. It has been instrumental in the development of the middle-class Englishman, and be, after all, is the typical Englishman. Among the bourgeoisies of Europe the English- man alone can have a friend to stay. He

Matthew Parris Spectator and Times columnist One evening in 1995 some friends brought a friend to dinner at my flat. His name was Julian, and he seemed rather bright. As it happened, the Nigerian ecological campaigner and fighter for rights of the Ogoni people, Ken Saro-Wiwa, was in prison having been convicted on trumped-up charges of incitement to murder. His case had become an international cause célèbre. His conviction carried the death penalty; and he was widely believed to face death by hanging. I was in full ‘old African hand’ mode, and announced to the table that I knew the ‘African mindset’ too well to believe Saro-Wiwa would actually be

Celia Walden Journalist and novelist It was supposed to be an interview, not a date. But Piers seemed to have other ideas. The Ivy dinner crowd was particularly amusing that day: Baroness Thatcher to our left, Louis Walsh with a group of X Factor ingénues to our right. In the corner, Salman Rushdie was seducing some improbably beautiful girl. Piers spent most of our lunch foghorning out greetings and taunts across the restaurant. I remember thinking that I’d never met anyone quite so loud. Over sticky toffee pudding Piers casually informed me that I was the chosen one. When I dropped him an email the following morning to thank him