Society

Listen: The Spectator’s take on the Scottish leaders’ debates

The Scottish leaders’ debate was, so far, the most informative TV debate of the campaign. In a View from 22 podcast special, Fraser Nelson, James Forsyth and I analyse which party leaders gained the most from this evening’s STV programme. Was the SNP’s Nicola Sturgeon successful in defending her party’s record? Did Labour’s Jim Murphy say anything to tempt back the thousands of disaffected Scottish Labour voters? And did the Conservatives’ Ruth Davidson or Liberal Democrats’ Willie Rennie manage to score any points? You can subscribe to the View from 22 through iTunes and have it delivered to your computer or iPhone every week, or you can use the player below:

The Spectator at war: Three month suspension

From ‘A Possible Compromise’, The Spectator, 10 April 1915: If the Government have not the courage to adopt total prohibition, then we reluctantly suggest the following plan. Let the Cabinet adopt the policy of the suspension of the sale of all intoxicants for three months—say from April 20th till July 20th. Such suspension would cover what, as far as we can see, must be the crisis of the war. It would cover also the period when climatic conditions give less excuse for the use of stimulants, though at the same time they increase the temptation to drink on the purely physical ground of thirst. Speaking generally, people drink more in

Being a bit fat can be healthy. But the medical profession doesn’t want us to know

A GP called Malcolm Kendrick has written a book about politically correct manipulation of medical data – and has cropped up in the Independent highlighting the medical profession’s unwillingness to share research suggesting that being a bit fat makes you live longer. Here are two key paragraphs: Despite the fact that study after study has demonstrated quite clearly that ‘overweight’ people live the longest, no one can bring themselves to say: ‘Sorry, we were wrong. A BMI between 25 and 29 is the healthiest weight of all. For those of you between 20 and 25, I say, eat more, become healthier.’ Who would dare say such a thing? Not anyone with tenure

Bored teenagers are the last people we should be forcing to vote

One of the trendy things to worry about these days is political disengagement among young people. A think tank called the Institute for Public Policy Research is so worried it’s suggested people be forced to vote in the first election after their 18th birthday. They say political apathy among the young is undermining democracy, but their solution is rather perverse. People who are so bored by thinking about the future of the country that they can’t be bothered to vote are the last people we should be consulting on the next government; frankly it’s a relief that so many of the least competent voters keep themselves away from the polling

How a weird medieval recipe is fighting superbugs

Medieval medicine doesn’t have a great reputation, it’s fair to say. But one of its recipes may help us tackle the great curse of 21st-century disease control – the growing ineffectiveness of antibiotics. In April 2014, the World Health Organisation warned that we were entering a ‘post-antibiotic era’, an age in which drug resistance could render routine infections deadly. We do seem to be entering this age rapidly; the news is relentless. Now the US Centres for Disease Control are warning that a multidrug-resistant strain of food poisoning, the eerily named Shigella, has reached American shores from abroad. Indeed, physicians and scientists are surprised at how quickly pathogens have been adapting

The doom and gloom of the unions shows how out of touch they are with teachers

From school places to behaviour to teacher training, the teaching unions have excelled themselves with their doom and gloom pronouncements at their conferences this weekend about the state of our schools.  We shouldn’t be surprised, there is, afterall, an election coming up and we all know where the union leaderships’ loyalty lies. But these conferences have simply served to highlight one thing – that the gulf between the leadership of the classroom unions and their members is wider than ever before. Because the unions’ depressing portrait isn’t what I see when I look at England’s schools today. The first commitment I made as Education Secretary was to get out of Westminster

Fraser Nelson

Osborne and Miliband compete to see who has the worst housing policy

So who is talking more nonsense about the housing market: George Osborne or Ed Miliband? From today’s newspapers, it’s hard to tell. The problem: the era of low interest rates has fuelled an asset boom. Perhaps an asset bubble. Property prices are soaring to ridiculous levels, unaffordable for anyone without money in their family. This causes real despair for young people. So what to do? Ed Miliband’s solution: he’ll ‘harness’ (by which he means ‘divert’) money put into first-time buyer ISAs into housebuilding. This policy could only have been devised by a bunch of academics who don’t understand markets. The whole point of ISAs is that people can invest money wherever they like:

Damian Thompson

We don’t think of highly gifted people as mentally disabled. Perhaps we should

I’m intrigued by this recent study suggesting that intellectual gifts and learning disabilities, far from lying on opposite ends of a spectrum of intelligence, sometimes go hand in hand. Intrigued, but not surprised. Very bright people can be odd – we all know that. The eccentric genius is one of the clichés of history and fiction. But it’s rooted in observation. One thinks of wild-haired Oxford dons at high table, singing music hall songs in iambic pentameter while spraying their neighbours in Brown Windsor soup. Or the story of a distinguished academic banned from dining in his own college after – so legend has it – reinforcing his argument about the intellectual failings of women

James Forsyth

Britain might want a holiday from history, but we’re not going to get one

The more I think about the debate on Thursday night, the more I think it was a disgrace that there was no question on either defence or Britain’s role in the world. This country might want a holiday from history. But, sadly, we don’t look like getting one on. On Europe’s Eastern border, the Russians are behaving in an increasingly aggressive fashion. The Times’ account of a recent meeting between ex-intelligence officials from Russia and the US shows just how bellicose Putin is and reveal that Britain might well soon have to decide whether to honour its Nato Article 5 obligations to the Baltic states. On Europe’s Southern border, Islamic

From Russia with love | 2 April 2015

In the James Bond film From Russia with Love there is an evil mastermind named Kronsteen. The character is in some ways based on the Russian chess genius David Bronstein, and the chess game ‘from the Venice International Tournament’ that forms the backdrop to the opening sequence is taken from a game between Bronstein and Boris Spassky. A new book by Steve Giddins, Bronstein Move by Move (Everyman Chess), gives a superb insight into the creative processes of the chessboard colossus through a series of deeply annotated games. This week’s game and notes are based on those in this highly rewarding and entertaining book. Botvinnik-Bronstein; World Championship Moscow (Game 17)

No. 356

White to play. This position is a variation from Bronstein-Zilberstein, Tbilisi 1973. Bronstein has just given up a piece on d5 but has a clever tactical idea in mind. Can you see the key move? Answers to me at The Spectator by Tuesday 7 April or via email to victoria@spectator.co.uk. The winner will be the first correct answer out of a hat, and there is a prize of £20. Please include a postal address. Last week’s solution 1 … Na3+ Last week’s winner Graham Baker, Campsea Ashe, Suffolk

Spectator letters: The modern equivalents of Unity Mitford

Unity’s modern equivalents Sir: I don’t understand why David Pryce-Jones is still banging on about the Mitfords (‘You are always close to me’, 28 March). Of course my great-aunt Unity was misguided and wrong to adore Adolf Hitler. She was not alone, though. In the 1930s millions of Germans and many non-Germans were equally in thrall to the new National Socialist government. A lot of people were taken in by the propaganda. Perhaps Mr Pryce-Jones could more usefully get his few hundred quid fee from The Spectator by writing an article about Unity’s modern equivalents — the idiotic British girls who are travelling to Syria to help Isis, the Nazis of our

Could you afford to take a job with the royal family?

Royally paid Staff at Windsor Castle were balloted in strike action over pay. What can you earn in the royal household, according to adverts on the British Monarchy website? — Housekeeping assistant: £14,500 pa. Duties include ‘preparing rooms and cleaning upholstery’. Meals are provided, as is accommodation ‘for which there is a straight salary adjustment’. — Telephone operator in Privy Purse and Treasurer’s Office: £20,500. 38 hours per week. Includes some bank holiday and weekend working. — Ticket sales and information assistant for the summer opening of the Royal Collection: £8.80 per hour. Contract includes a minimum of 300 hours between June and September. Suicide watch French and German police

The new Fowler still won’t grasp the nettle on ‘they’

I’ve been having a lovely time splashing about in the new Fowler. It has been revised by Jeremy Butterfield, an OUP lexicographer. There’s a new usage in it that I want to talk about, but first a word about the title. The title page says Fowler’s Dictionary of Modern English Usage. In 1996, the previous edition, the third, edited by good old Robert Burchfield, was The New Fowler’s Modern English Usage. In 1926 H.W. Fowler’s celebrated book had been published as A Dictionary of Modern English Usage. We called it Modern English Usage both before and after 1996, and more often Fowler — a metonym and more, as Jeremy Butterfield

Even a perfect opera such as Don Giovanni improves with a good red

End of season is always bittersweet, the melting snows a bit like autumn leaves. But the days are longer and soon spring will chase away any remaining winter blues. The Eagle Club’s closing is a perennial festive day, with speeches by our president Urs Hodler, an almost teary goodbye to our very own Pino — who has seated and fed us for 44 years — and the Taki Cup awards, won the past two years by my son J.T. in record time: 34 minutes to conquer the highest mountain in Gstaad. (Charlotte Cotton was only five minutes slower, an amazing feat for a young woman.) It was a hell of

One day the Condor and the Eagle will fly wing-tip to wing-tip

The pub was disappointingly empty, so I took my first pint of the evening upstairs, where some sort of New Age society was holding a public talk and discussion. I gave the woman seated just inside the meeting room my £5 entry fee and found a spare seat at the back next to a big bloke with a beard. In the five minutes or so before the talk began, I counted 47 other people in the room, all of them white. Five chaps had advanced male pattern baldness, another had very obviously dyed hair (black). The total number of beards was six, including a goatee. Average age, at a guess,

Farewell, Cobham — oh flat, boring, lovely Cobham; hello, Dorking

Farewell then, Cobham. You were the place I ran to when the metropolis became too much, and urban life overwhelmed me. You were to me a shining beacon of blandness in an otherwise frighteningly exotic world. I loved you and held you in mythical esteem. In times of disappointment, I yearned for you every bit as much as Margo Leadbetter did. ‘Cydney! We’re moving to Cobham!’ I would shout at the spaniel whenever Lambeth Council did something Marxist, which was often. We didn’t ever quite move to Cobham, but we kept the horses there. For nearly 15 years, this gave us a bolthole down the A3 to escape to, from

The fox that killed my chickens depressed me more than 250,000 tsunami deaths

It is hard to know how a tragedy is going to move a person who is not directly affected by it. Over a death or misfortune in the family, or among one’s friends, one is sure to feel pain and grief. But what of those other ghastly events involving people, maybe hundreds or thousands of them, with whom one has no connection? They provoke shock, disgust and horror, but not necessarily great personal sadness. Could it be true that I was more depressed when a fox killed all my chickens than I was when the Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004 swept over a quarter of a million people to their