Society

Thursday

Anthony Whitehead

A love letter to lonely hearts ads

Published in Britain for at least 330 years, lonely hearts ads are now a rare sight – driven to the brink of extinction by the rise of dating apps. This is a pity. ‘The personals’ were a voyeuristic delight. Even if you weren’t looking for love, you still read them. They could be tragic, comic, or both – like this one placed in an 1832 edition of the Dorset County Chronicle: ‘My wife has been dead 12 months ago, last Shroton Fair. I want a good steady woman for a wife. I do not want a second family. I want a woman to look after the pigs while I am

Mary Killen

Dear Mary: How do I stop my friends going on about their ‘neurodivergence’?

Q. Everyone I know pretends to have neurodivergence to make themselves seem more unusual and so they can talk about themselves all the time. Is there a polite way of pointing out that this isn’t actually an interesting topic of conversation? – V.H., Herefordshire A. You might engage in a ‘bore off’. As soon as your interlocutor announces their diagnosis, retort that you too are quite convinced that you are suffering from a kind of rare condition. Launch into a list of your obscure symptoms. Enjoy letting your imagination roam. Brook no interruption. By the time you have paused to draw breath, they will think twice about resuming the neurodivergence

Bruce Anderson

The lure of St James’s 

Procrastination may be the thief of time, but in the right circumstances, it can be fun. The other day, I was enjoying myself in St James’s, my favourite London arrondissement. There are delightful contrasts, from the grandeur of the royal palaces and the St James’s Street clubs to the charming, intimate side streets and alleys with their pubs and restaurants. The late Jacob Rothschild would often cross from his palatial office in Spencer House to Crown Passage, in order to lunch at Il Vicolo (regularly praised here). His Lordship never bothered to reserve a table. Instead, he would send someone across with his form of booking: a bottle of Château

Rachel Johnson

I’ve lost control of the kitchen

Looking back, I can pinpoint my fatal blunder. It was lunch. It was like the West allowing Vladimir Putin to help himself to the Crimean peninsula without a peep, basically. This is how it happened. My husband had invited two families to stay over the May bank holiday which bled into half term. For four days. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, in light tones, ahead of their arrival. ‘I’ve told them they’re bringing all the food and doing all the cooking.’ As if I’d welcome this wonderful idea, when in fact what he’d suggested was the domestic equivalent of handing over the nuclear football and the codes behind my back. The

Dot Wordsworth

How can ‘sanction’ mean two opposing things?

Sir Keir Starmer said ‘he could “not imagine” the circumstances in which he would sanction a new referendum’ on Scottish independence, the Times reported the other day. The Mirror said Amazon ‘has agreed to sanction businesses that boost their star ratings with bogus reviews’. So we find sanction being used with completely opposite meanings: ‘give permission’ and ‘enact a penalty to enforce obedience to a law’. The latter sense was extended after the first world war to cover economic or military action against a state as a coercive measure. That is the use we daily find applied to action, or the lack of it, against Russia. The diverging meanings both

Melissa Kite

The guest who robbed me of my five-star rating

Bolting down the back hallway, I realised I was running away from the guests. I shut the door marked private and collapsed on to the dirty old dog sofa in the boot room. ‘You’ll never guess what I’ve done,’ I texted the builder boyfriend who was in London. ‘Left the yard hose on,’ he texted back, for I often risk emptying the well when I’m on my own by forgetting to turn off the stable yard tap after topping up the horses’ water at night. ‘No. Worse. The French people arrived and I hadn’t heated the water. You’ve got to get it on a timer,’ I said, attempting to blame

Aidan Hartley

In praise of camels

Laikipia, Kenya For decades now I have kept only cattle, goats and sheep on the farm, but for the first time this week, we have a herd of dromedaries browsing in the valley. To see these beautiful creatures moving through the acacia woodland is a pleasure – and I reckon a shrewd move on my part. Camels nibble back the thick bush, which allows the pasture to sprout in the sunshine, which is good for my cows. Camels bellow yet smell sweet. They have rabbit lips with which they lovingly nibble your collar, big giraffe eyes and long, tarty eyelashes. Camels let down their milk long after cattle udders have

Olivia Potts Olivia Potts

I love sausages!

‘Sausages,’ my son says to me, leaning forward from the back of the car, with the authority and confidence only a three-year-old can truly muster. ‘Sausages?’ I reply distractedly, while navigating a particularly awkward roundabout. We’ve been talking about my job, but I assume his train of thought has taken a lunchier direction. ‘Yes, sausages. You write about sausages. And… things like sausages.’ He sits back, satisfied in his career analysis, probably contemplating whether lunch can indeed also feature sausages. I briefly consider explaining to him the craft of writing, the wider implications of food on politics, race and class, maybe even clarifying that at one point I was in

Susanna Gross

Bridge | 14 June 2025

Gunnar Hallberg is a tall, big-boned Viking of a player, who, three decades ago, decided to cross the North Sea to raid the high-stake bridge clubs of England. He’s lived here ever since, and Sweden’s loss, it turns out, has been our gain. He’s gone on to represent England numerous times in European and world championships (twice winning gold in the Seniors), and is a popular figure who’s always willing to lend his time and expertise to lesser players. Now aged 80 (you’d never guess it), he’s still going strong, still playing for the England seniors and still a fearsome opponent at the rubber bridge table. You can find him

Toby Young Toby Young

Pride continues to crumble

In the canteen of the House of Lords last week, a friendly server asked me if I’d like some ‘Pride pudding’. This turned out to be a rainbow-coloured crumble created in honour of Pride month. ‘Er, no thanks,’ I said, and then noticed a large ‘Progress Pride’ flag behind the counter. Oh dear, I thought. That’ll set the cat among the pigeons. Sure enough, a couple of hours later the GC Cons Peers’ WhatsApp group erupted. This is made up of those dinosaurs who style themselves ‘gender critical’ – i.e. they believe sex is biological, binary and immutable. For the uninitiated, the Progress Pride flag features a large, multicoloured chevron

Luke McShane

Wild horses

Magnus Carlsen slammed the table with such force that the pieces jumped from the board. Immediately, he resigned his game against teenage world champion Gukesh Dommaraju, who thereby achieved his first victory in a classical (slow) game against the world no 1. His comment on Carlsen’s pique was typically gracious: ‘I’ve also banged a lot of tables in my career.’ It was surely the manner of the loss which exasperated Carlsen. The Norwegian had reached a winning position with plenty of time on the clock, but missed opportunities to convert. Gukesh clung on until they reached the position below, when Carlsen, with less than a minute left, made a critical

Luke McShane

No. 854

White to play and win. In this classic endgame, promoting the pawn to a queen allows a knight fork, with a draw. A king move is needed to win – but which one? Email answers (first move only) to chess@spectator.co.uk by Monday 16 June. 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 Qg7! If 1…Ke6 2 Qd7# or 1…Kc5/Kc4 2 Qd4#. Any other move is met by 2 Qe5# Last week’s winner Priyanka Jhaveri, London

Lucy Vickery

Spectator Competition: First thoughts

Competition 3403 invited you to provide an extract from a prequel to a well-known work of prose or poetry. It was a stellar haul this week, with prose and poetry represented equally. I was sorry not to have space for Ralph Goldswain’s ‘Eleventh Night’, Brian Murdoch’s The Lion, the Witch and the Trip to Ikea, George Simmers’s ‘On First Considering Looking into Chapman’s Homer’ or John O’Byrne’s The Pretrial. Also worthy of special mention are Sue Pickard, Alan Bradnam, Mike Morrison, D.A. Prince, Nick Syrett, Joe Houlihan, Sylvia Fairley, Martin Parker and the Revd Dr Peter Mullen. The £25 John Lewis vouchers go to those entries printed below. Had she

Cheesecracker

2707: Get-together

Twelve unclued entries can form six new words (not in the grid) Across 4 Each Chrome browser’s opening changes online site for self-validation? (4,7) 12    No charge for these new dancing routines (9) 13    Goblin at last living in tree trunk (5) 14    Cover turned over, novel is Catch-22? (7) 15    Observe small branch (4) 16    A third of Americans put on weight – belly for some (4) 17    Internally, customer’s right (4) 20    Taking time, sumptuous western showed triumphant joy (7) 21    Carpet fabric, mainly rush, packed into cube (7) 25    Last line of defence – boiler fixed (6) 30    Live start of match involving very good sweeper? (5)

The Spectator

2704: Lookalikes – solution

The words are ‘bomb’ (suggested by BLOCKBUSTER (1A) and EGG (7A)), ‘comb’ (SLADE (18A) and DISENTANGLE (41A)) and ‘tomb’ (SHRINE (20A) and SPEOS (10D)). Together they form EYE-RHYMES (40A-25D) only. OMBRE (31D) is to be shaded. First prize Neville Twickel, Shipston-on-Stour, Warks Runners-up Seonaid Chapman, Brampton, Cumberland; Kenneth Mills, Londonderry

Piers Morgan

In defence of Piers Morgan

‘What happened to Piers Morgan?’ asked a Spectator writer last weekend. The answer, according to slavishly pro-Israel commentator Jonathan Sacerdoti, is that I’m now ‘darker’, ‘degraded’, ‘dismal’ and ‘debase(d)’ – because I’ve become more critical of how Israel is prosecuting its war in Gaza. For a long time on my YouTube show Uncensored, I defended the country’s right to defend itself after 7 October attacks. But I now believe Benjamin Netanyahu’s government has crossed the ‘proportionality’ line with its recent food and aid blockade and relentless bombardment of civilians. Self-evidently, Israel is failing in its mission to eliminate Hamas and get the remaining hostages released. Its forces have been killing

Rod Liddle Rod Liddle

My plan for Prevent

In the autumn of 1940, British cities were being bombed every night by large aeroplanes whose provenance was apparently of some considerable doubt. While the public almost unanimously believed the conflagrations to have been caused by the Luftwaffe, the authorities – right up to the government – refused to speculate. Indeed, when certain members of the public raised their voices and said ‘This is all down to Hitler and Goering and the bloody Germans!’, they received visits from the police who either prosecuted them for disturbing the peace or put their names on a list of possible extremists. The nights grew darker. The number of towns and cities subjected to

Charles Moore Charles Moore

The BBC’s Israel problem

Intrepidly, the BBC dared recently to visit Dover, Delaware – source, it implied, of starvation in Gaza. I listened carefully as its State Department correspondent, Tom Bateman, hunted down the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation in the state which, he explained, is ‘a corporate haven for those who like privacy’. Brave Tom did not find much, but that only proved to him that ‘The main ingredients of this aid are its politics’. The foundation’s chairman says he is a Christian Zionist which, for the BBC, is almost as bad as saying you are a neo-Nazi. The portentousness aside, it is reasonable to ask tricky questions of the American/Israeli organisation which claims it

Louise Perry

Why OnlyFans has young British women in its grip

The porn star Bonnie Blue offers a straightforward explanation for her decision to join OnlyFans. She was in her early twenties, married to her teenage sweetheart, pursuing a career in recruitment and living in Derbyshire, the county of her birth. As she told an interviewer last year: ‘I used to work an office job, nine to five, sit in rush hour, get given 20 days’ annual leave. And for a while I’d accepted that. I was like “OK, this is what life is. This is as good as it can get.”’ But Blue (whose real name is Tia Billinger) wondered if life might not have more to offer her. So