Society

Thursday

Henry Donovan

Friedrich Merz is coming to Britain to forget his troubles at home

Friedrich Merz has managed something truly remarkable: he’s simultaneously the most internationally successful German chancellor in decades and quite possibly the most domestically incompetent. While foreign leaders sing his praises and credit him with everything from Ukraine’s weapons supply to Nato’s renewed backbone, German conservatives are discovering they’ve elected a man who can charm Trump but can’t outwit a Social Democratic Party that barely scraped 16 per cent of the vote. The damage extends far beyond one failed nomination The man who promised to clean up the catastrophic legacies of both his predecessors, Scholz and Merkel, has indeed delivered on the international front. In London today, Merz will sign the

The Spectator

Letters: Let the King choose the Archbishop of Canterbury

Supreme idea Sir: My colleague Fergus Butler-Gallie is right about the deficiencies of the Church of England’s system for filling the See of Canterbury (‘Canterbury fail’, 12 July). May I make a modest proposal? Place untrammelled power of appointment in the hands of the sovereign. If there be no providence in Anglican polity we should become Catholics or dissenters. But if we think God is still working his purpose out through the Church by law established, we should have the courage of that conviction. Qualms about monarchs shaping the Church? It was Cyrus who brought the people of Israel back to Judea. We probably would not have the Nicene Creed

Douglas Murray

The pointlessness of ‘smashing the gangs’

‘Smash the gangs’ is the fascinating slogan that Keir Starmer’s government has settled on for tackling illegal migration. What is the government going to do to stop the hundreds – sometimes thousands – of people sailing across the Channel and coming into England each day? ‘We will smash the gangs,’ they say. The slogan is interesting for reasons beyond the tough-guy rhetoric. For it suggests, of course, that it is people-smuggling gangs that are the main problem. Perhaps our government sees them as being like press gangs back in the day, roaming around northern France, waylaying passing migrants and forcing them on to rubber dinghies to begin a new life

Matthew Parris Matthew Parris

Why you should never trust a travel writer

After one of Jeffrey Archer’s minor tangles with the absolute truth, his friend the late Barry Humphries remarked: ‘We all invent ourselves to some degree. It’s just that Jeffrey has taken it a little further than most.’ The remark came to mind last week as the media storm over the veracity (or otherwise) of the Winns’ account in The Salt Path reached its peak. As Dame Edna might have said, all travel writing is invented to some degree. It’s just that Raynor and Moth may have taken it a little further than most. ‘In Patagonia?’ Bruce Chatwin’s lodger is said to have remarked of the eponymous book. ‘I doubt Bruce

Jonathan Miller Jonathan Miller

How I got under Macron’s skin

The journalist Jonathan Miller, a cherished Spectator contributor, died last week at his home in Occitanie, France. Below is an extract from the memoir he had only just completed, Shock of the News: Confessions of a Troublemaker. Here he explains how he came to write about French politics and culture for the magazine. I t was Andrew Neil who prodded me from my lethargy. Andrew lives on the posh Provençal side of the Rhône while we’re on the plouc side nearer Spain. I’m more likely to run into him in England or New York than France. But we keep in touch by email. When Emmanuel Macron began his manoeuvres for

Dominic Sandbrook

Britain fought on the wrong side of the first world war

It’s more than two months since I returned from Dublin, and at last the hangover is beginning to fade. I flew out with our team at The Rest is History to record a series about the Irish War of Independence and Civil War. Our guests were Paul Rouse, a professor at University College Dublin and former manager of Offaly’s Gaelic football team, and Ronan McGreevy, an Irish Times journalist and author of a terrific book about the murder of Sir Henry Wilson. On the first night Ronan took us for an excellent curry; on the second, Paul organised a pub crawl. Well, I say a crawl, but in truth we

Mary Wakefield Mary Wakefield

The radical vegan ‘Zizians’ are the cult we deserve

Every week brings a new revelation about the Zizians: the craziest, saddest cult in recent American history. Eight deaths have been linked to them so far, including 80-year-old Curtis Lind, stabbed with a samurai sword, US border patrol agent David Maland, shot by the roadside in Vermont, and the elderly parents of another member, shot dead at home in Pennsylvania. What’s gripping the American press is that the young Zizians seem to have been such nice kids once. The leader of the cult, Jack Amadeus LaSota, has a degree in computer science from Alaska University and a father who still teaches there. Another Zizian, Daniel Blank, was a straight-A student,

Mark Mason

The wit and beauty of bank notes

William Shakespeare was the first to feature, in 1970. Alan Turing was most recent, in 2021. But the Bank of England is now asking whether anyone else should appear, ever. The Bank’s redesigning our bank notes and wants the public’s thoughts on replacing the famous people who currently grace them with buildings, animals, films, historical events or even food. However the redesign ends up, let’s hope the notes continue to display the wit and beauty they’ve traditionally had. The Churchill fiver, for instance. Look closely and you’ll see that Big Ben stands at 3 p.m., the hour that Winston made his first speech to the Commons as Prime Minister. One

Toby Young Toby Young

Let straight white men write novels!

About 15 years ago, I tried to interest my literary agent in a state-of-the-nation novel set in 21st-century London. My model was Bonfire of the Vanities, Tom Wolfe’s masterpiece about New York in the 1980s. I’d read Wolfe’s essay in Harper’s magazine called ‘Stalking the Billion-Footed Beast’ in which he urges ambitious young authors to dispense with namby-pamby, post-modernist experimental nonsense and follow in the footsteps of Balzac, Zola and Dickens – write realistic novels documenting every aspect of contemporary society in granular detail. I wrote a 10,000-word proposal summarising the story, which began with a black teenage drug dealer coming to the rescue of a posh teenage girl in

Roger Alton Roger Alton

The sorry demise of Windies cricket

The tub-thumping atmosphere in the Long Room at Lord’s was so raucous late on Monday afternoon as India and England fought out the tightest of Test matches that it made a Millwall home game against West Ham seem like the Albert Hall. So a great triumph for Test cricket, yes? Well, up to a point. While England and India were showcasing the five-day game at its most thrilling and competitive, in front of a sell-out crowd for the fifth day running, one of the sadder events in the history of Test cricket was unfolding in front of no one in Kingston, Jamaica, where the West Indies were being flattened by

Luke McShane

Rapid & Blitz, Croatia

Before the SuperUnited Rapid & Blitz tournament, held in Zagreb earlier this month, Magnus Carlsen spoke frankly: ‘Gukesh hasn’t done anything to indicate he’s going to do well in such a tournament.’ That was, in a sense, true. Granted, 19-year old Gukesh Dommaraju has been world champion since December, when he defeated the reigning champion Ding Liren in Singapore. But that match was played in classical chess, the slowest form of the game. Rapid games usually last 30-60 minutes in total, and blitz games less than ten. Success at those faster time limits calls for a well-honed intuition, whereas classical games require more in the way of stamina and an

Mary Killen

Dear Mary: How can I get through a long, exhausting wedding?

Q. When I have an arrangement to meet a certain friend for lunch she sometimes turns up with a streaming cold – and then I catch it. I would never dream of meeting a friend when I am ill; I would always say to them: ‘Do you want to meet me with a cold? It’s up to you.’ She’s a bit fragile, so how do I tell her off without causing any offence? – J.F., London SW12 A. An inoffensive but effective measure would be to update your WhatsApp profile picture to one of you holding a large handwritten sign saying: ‘No colds please!’ The repeat offender is bound to

Tanya Gold Tanya Gold

Picture perfect: Locatelli at the National Gallery reviewed

I feel for Locatelli, the new Italian restaurant inside the National Gallery, whose opening coincides with the 200th anniversary of the gallery and a rehang which I can’t see the point of because I want to watch Van Eyck in the dark. Locatelli must compete with the Caravaggio chicken, which is really called ‘Supper at Emmaus’ if you are an art historian or an adult. In the publicity photographs the chef Giorgio Locatelli is actually standing in front of the Caravaggio chicken. It looks as if Jesus is waving at Giorgio Locatelli but the chicken is unmoved. It stole all the gravitas. ‘Locatelli is the National Gallery’s new Italian master

Luke McShane

No. 859

White to play. Gukesh-Firouzja, SuperUnited Rapid, Zagreb 2025. Firouzja has just walked into a trap. Which move allowed Gukesh to reach an easily winning position? Email answers to chess@spectator.co.uk by Monday 21 July. There is a prize of a £20 John Lewis voucher for the first correct answer out of a hat. Please include a postal address and allow six weeks for prize delivery. Last week’s solution 1 Bf6! Kxf6 2 h7 a1=Q 3 h8=Q+ wins with a skewer Last week’s winner Richard Burrow, Cheshire

Dot Wordsworth

Where did ‘husband’ come from?

‘Am I housebound?’ asked my husband as I was discussing with him the complicated history of the name for his role in life. ‘No, darling,’ I said. ‘You’re the one in the house who just is or lives there.’ Only later did I tell him that the word bond, behind the -band of husband, sank in worth with the years, following the same path as boor, churl and peasant. Whereas I as a housewife enjoy a comparatively transparent label, any husband’s title is obscure. It is simply a house-bond, but the first element of husband, hus-, no longer seems like house, and the -bond element is often mistaken for a

Victoria Lane

Spectator Competition: Some like it hot

For Competition 3408 you were invited to write poems about heatwaves. This comp was inspired by the weather! In the face of lethargy, rage, sleeplessness etc lots of you still managed to put fingers to keyboard with good results. It was almost too hot to choose, but the £25 vouchers go to the following. Long drag the days of lop, of laze,Of no precipitation,Bar slathered factor fifty glazeOn perspiration. And long the nights; too hot, still light,Fans faintly stirring stifleWhile outside, drunks ferment a fightOf some mere trifle. Long seems the spell, Heaven or Hell,When England’s tropic.Waters run short, tempers as well,Heat’s misanthropic. The wave will break; cloudburst, rain slake.Upon

Catriona Olding

I’ve rekindled my love affair with England

Late spring. Sitting in the armchair in the living room, I was chilly and disconsolate. My middle daughter was seven-and-a-half months pregnant and unwell. The pregnancy had triggered two serious autoimmune disorders. She’d been successfully treated for thyroid cancer a few years before, but this new disease was attacking her lower spine; she was exhausted and in almost constant pain. At times she couldn’t pick up her two-year-old daughter. I could barely afford to fill up the car, never mind pay for parking and a flight back to England, and every night lay awake worrying. Beside the chair to the left, a live rock wall, and in front, a wood-burner.

Melissa Kite

How to spot a troublesome Airbnb review

The guest who thought our farm was in the town centre was very cross indeed. She got out of her car by the old fountain and stood hands on hips surveying the meadows sloping from the big old house towards the rugged mountains beyond. She was wearing knee-length khaki safari shorts, so you’d have thought she’d be pleased to pitch up in the middle of nowhere. But she looked askance at the rolling hills and affected to be shocked by the reality of what was clearly pictured and described on the booking site. She asked how she and her husband were supposed to walk to their drinks party in town

Robin Oakley

Labour is risking the future of racing

The only political party with a serious chance of winning office I will ever vote for again is the one which acknowledges that in all probability and at least for a while it will increase taxes. Every party piles up promises that they will be the ones to get Britain working again. But building power stations, reservoirs and schools costs money. So does hiring doctors and nurses, filling potholes and getting trains to run on time. Some claim they will finance their plans by creating growth, some by taxing the rich. Then voters discover that the growth fairy remains elusive and the rich have been re-defined to include them: public