Society

Friday

3 Jan 2014

Martin Vander Weyer: In my hospital bed, I saw the future of the NHS

I blamed the pheasant casserole, but I did it an injustice. Its only contribution to the drama behind my disappearance in mid-December was a residue of lead shot in the small intestine that briefly confused the radiologist. The real villain revealed by the scan was my appendix, which had taken on the raging, bull-necked, bug-eyed appearance of Ed Balls faced with a set of improving growth figures. And so it was that I spent a week in the Friarage at Northallerton, a small ‘district general hospital’ that has survived every NHS restructuring to date and is cherished by the citizenry of rural North Yorkshire. For someone who hasn’t been hospitalised since

Hugo Rifkind

Hugo Rifkind: Why isn’t eating meat as bad as bestiality?

So what I’ve found myself wondering over the festive period, again and again, is whether it would ever be OK to have sex with a sheep. I mean, jeez, don’t take this the wrong way. I am not thinking of a particular sheep. There is not one in my shed right now, emitting worried, stricken bleats. Nor indeed am I thinking — that way — of any sheep at all. I’d be lying if I said sheep never crossed my mind at all, in the small hours of a cold and lonely night, but when they do I can only swear it is in a manner both chaste and numerological.

James Delingpole

James Delingpole: Those bitcoin weirdos might just be right

Here’s a thought to kindle a lovely warm glow of smugness and schadenfreude as we enter a new year: you didn’t lose your fortune in the great bitcoin bubble of 2013. The reason I know you didn’t is because few Speccie-reading types of my acquaintance even understand what a bitcoin is, let alone how you might go about buying one, or why it might be important for the future of everything. So let me try to explain from the perspective of a fellow Luddite and techno-phobe. You think about bitcoin, if at all, as one of those newfangled things that young people and child pornographers and hackers and other unsavoury

Rod Liddle

Rod Liddle: Try my new year resolution – ignore the internet

At last, it has been scientifically proved that Jesus Christ is better than Muhammad. We’d always known that our lad with the beard and the holes in his hands was far superior to that arriviste Arabian chap who hung around in caves. But tell that to a Muslim and they become unaccountably frosty and defensive. Now, though, a couple of scientists have used algorithms and quantitative analysis to prove that Jesus Christ was the most significant and important human being ever to have lived, while poor old Muhammad managed to slink in at number four: Champions League spot, sure, but no cigar. The Prophet was beaten by both Napoleon Bonaparte —

Martin Vander Weyer

The pleasures of the Dordogne

Call me a trencherman or worse, but I tend to think of the Dordogne as a giant restaurant-cum-farm shop, set in a wooded riverside picnic park. And I have a feeling that’s how its native residents think of it too, so central is the well-filled table to their traditional way of life. ‘Dordogne’ of course refers both to the department of south-west France and to the river, famous for the medieval châteaux along its cliffs, that rises in the Massif Central and flows into the Gironde near Bordeaux. It also, I suppose, refers to a certain English idea of the essence of Frenchness: mellow stone, soft rain, warm sunshine, deep

Kate Eshelby

Islands fit for Ingmar Bergman

Who would have thought of staying in a factory? My view is of a grey industrial building, a gravel pile and a crane standing like a metal giraffe at the end of the pier. It’s not your usual picture-postcard hotel vista, but it’s oddly beautiful. Instead of following the masses to the Mediterranean, we had headed north to the Baltic islands off Sweden’s coast. Gotland is Sweden’s biggest island, and it’s here that the Fabriken Furillen hotel sits, on a remote peninsula in the far northeast of the island. This hotel is the brainchild of photographer Johan Hellstöm. It takes an unusual man to see that an abandoned limestone quarry

Jonathan Ray

Havana – a party girl of a city

I have always longed to get on a plane and command, ‘Take me to Cuba!’ Well, the other week I did just that. Sadly, it fell a little flat, the stewardess’s wintry smile telling me that she got a lot of that on the Gatwick-Havana flight. Still, it kept me chuckling for the next eight and a half hours between movies, meals and snoozes in Virgin Upper Class. Havana was humid and sticky and it was as stifling inside my elderly rust-bucket of a taxi as it was outside. ‘Air-con on half?’ grinned the driver, winding down his window halfway, ‘or on full?’, winding it down as far as it

Cosmo Landesman

It’s a stupid lie to say we’re all bisexual

It was lust at first sight and love after the third martini. Over a get-to-know-you-dinner I discovered all I needed to know: I had found the Perfect Woman. All the boxes were ticked and the taxi was winding its way to my bedroom when she said: ‘You should know that I’m bisexual.’ She must have seen the frown on my face because she quickly added, ‘But everyone is bisexual.’ ‘No. I’m not,’ I said gently. ‘Yes you are,’ she insisted. ‘No, I’m a heterosexual,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘No, we’re all bisexual,’ she said with muffled exasperation. There followed an infantile exchange of Yes you are!/No I’m not! that

Sybil Kapoor

A cook’s tour of China without the crispy caterpillars

As I pick my way around the debris in Zhongyi market in Lijiang, our guide points out the yak section. Windpipes, cleaned intestines and huge wobbly magenta livers are neatly laid out on the filthy floor, while the more expensive cuts are arranged on trestles. My eyes are drawn to a row of small boys enthusiastically slurping up noodles swimming in a dark beefy-looking broth. ‘Would you like to see the dog section?’ our guide asks politely. ‘Umm, no, that won’t be necessary,’ we say quickly, then head out to the bustling, willow-lined streets. It’s October and National Holiday Week and the stone-paved streets of Lijiang (a Unesco world heritage

Alex Massie

High tea in Sri Lanka’s Hill Country

In the bar of the Hotel Suisse, perched above the lake in Kandy (pictured), high up in Sri Lanka’s Hill Country, a driver touting for business smiles to reassure me that the British ‘left us many good things’. Trains, roads, the English language. And cricket, I remind him, ‘Oh yes, sir, cricket.’ I wonder what he says to French or Australian tourists. The Hotel Suisse was used as Louis Mountbatten’s South-East Asia Command headquarters in the second world war; these days it has something of the feel of an old-fashioned and slightly eccentric English prep school. If the Hill Country is not quite the last redoubt of Sri Lanka’s British

Michael Ware

The great recycling myth

My frail elderly mother has recently moved in with us in Epsom and in so doing has joined the 15 million people worldwide who spend their days sorting through rubbish. Mum, however, does not get paid $1 a day. She does it for nothing. This is because we now have five separate bins and every morning she and the other 10,000-plus members of Surrey’s army of housewives sort through their rubbish to make sure it all goes into the right one. I am of course describing the phenomenon known as kerbside recycling, and Epsom Council would like you to think that it is good for the environment. But my day

Jane Kelly

A dying estate agent helped me see the light

I recently decided to move house. It started with a resentful yearning to own two bedrooms, but I quickly discovered that to afford a spare room, I must leave my seedy area of west London for a worse one, or leave London altogether. Not easy after 30 years. Since I made up my mind to move, my normal life has disappeared. In the ceaseless hunt for houses I have no time for blogging, writing, painting, exhibitions or sociable lunches: the things that used to give life its shape. As there are not enough affordable houses, there is intense competition involved, which has changed me into something like the unpleasant yuppie

Mary Dejevsky

Why doesn’t Russia have a Yad Vashem for the gulag?

Yad Vashem, Israel’s vast Holocaust memorial complex, dominates a hillside above Jerusalem, surrounded by bare rock and pines. Vast though it is, it manages to be both harrowing and restrained; both rooted in the times it commemorates and thoroughly modern — not just in style, but in the way it harnesses the most advanced technology to its cause. As an enterprise, let alone a monument, it is impressive: a testament to the commitment of Israel and the survivors of Europe’s Jewry to ensure that what happened is never forgotten. But it aspires to more: to convey a sense of the communities that were destroyed and to memorialise, so far as

James Bartholomew

James Bartholomew’s diary: Give up the Today programme – you’ll feel better

It’s amusing to see serious journalists and authors struggling to use Twitter under instruction from their newspapers and publishers. They realise they lose dignity by condensing their great thoughts into a mere 140 characters: it is inevitable, whoever you are. Imagine Jesus had been obliged by his Father to tweet. It just wouldn’t have been the same: ‘Might be a bit short of loaves and fishes on the mt today. Take a miracle to feed everyone!’ or ‘Great supper with the lads tonight — worried that tomoro might not go so well. #nastyfeeling’ This year the referendum on Scottish independence takes place at last. Oh, please, may the Scots vote

Raymond Keene

Vale Vishy

Viswanathan Anand, the 15th world champion, suffered a complete meltdown in his title defence against Magnus Carlsen towards the end of last year. Anand was an impressive match player, defending the title successfully against challenges from Kramnik, Topalov and Gelfand. He was also world champion for around six years. In his latter period as champion, though, his tournament results were largely unconvincing. How does Anand figure in the pantheon of champions? I would say that as champion he is more or less on a par with Capablanca, Petrosian and Kramnik. His record as champion was superior to that of Euwe, Tal, Smyslov and Spassky and way ahead of Bobby

Raymond Keene

No. 295

Black to play. This position is from Kramnik-Anand, Nice 2008. Both sides have dangerous-looking attacks. Can you spot Anand’s brilliant move which ensured his got in first? Answers to me at The Spectator by Tuesday 7 January or via email to victoria@spectator.co.uk or by fax on 020 7681 3773. The winner will be the first correct answer out of a hat, and each week I shall be offering a prize of £20. Please include a postal address and allow six weeks for prize delivery. Last week’s solution 1 Qxf6+

The Spectator

The first world war in numbers

Centuries of conflict 2014 marks the 100th anniversary of the war which was supposed to end all wars. Has the toll of war since 1918 been lesser or greater than in the century before 1914? 1815-1914 saw the tail end of the Napoleonic Wars (5m deaths), the Zulu Wars (2m) and the US Civil War (750,000). In China, the Taiping Revolution of the 1860s cost an estimated 60m lives and the Dungan Revolution of the 1860s and 1870s 10m. These, along with the Mexican Revolution (1m) and the Paraguayan War (1m) total about 80m. 1918–2013 Mid-estimate for second world war death toll: 55m. A further 7m died in the Russian

Mary Killen

Dear Mary: Lunch vs the novel

Q. I travel internationally two or three times per month for work, often with one or two colleagues. While the working day and the evenings inevitably involve prolonged contact with these colleagues, at breakfast-time I wish for a little ‘alone time’ to eat and read the paper, without company, but also without remaining in my soulless hotel room. How can one most tactfully ensure that one is left alone, while still taking breakfast in the hotel dining room? — J.B., Earlsfield, London A. Why not sidestep the problem by asking your colleagues, the night before, what time they are planning to go down to breakfast. If they say seven, then

Peter Jones

Why does the year start in January?

The ancients were an inquisitive lot, a characteristic shown to best effect in works like Aristotle’s Problems (‘Why do sex-maniacs’ eyelashes fall out?’) and Plutarch’s Greek and Roman Questions. Among much else, Plutarch asked, ‘Why do Romans adopt the month of January as the beginning of the new year?’ He began by doing the maths: July used to be called Quintilis, ‘Fifth’ (subsequently named after Julius Caesar) and August Sextilis, ‘Sixth’ (named after Augustus), while September to December covered the Roman numerals seven to ten. So, since the year contained only ten months, March must have been the first. He concluded that, to stay roughly in synch with the solar year,

The Spectator

Spectator letters: Defending super-heads, and how to drink your yak’s milk

In defence of super-heads Sir: I would like to defend head teachers all over the country from the assertions made in Mary Dejevsky’s article (‘Super-heads will roll’, 7 December). The international Pisa studies — which proved how urgently the English education system needs to improve — show that greater autonomy for head teachers within proper accountability structures produces better results for children. That is why this government’s reforms have been designed to transfer powers to heads, away from council control. We’ve balanced this increased autonomy with sharper, stronger accountability. Head teachers are charged with spending taxpayers’ money wisely and honestly and, as accounting officers, are personally responsible for the resources