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Today

Zoe Strimpel

Bring on the sexy builders

The premium on a good tradesman remains extremely high. Is AI going to come and paint your walls or hang your pictures? No, and the unsung heroes of the AI age are still those who are good with their hands. Indeed OpenAI, the US industry giant, has urgently called for a massive ramping up in skilled labour. It declared: ‘The country will need many more electricians, mechanics, metal and ironworkers, carpenters, plumbers, and other construction trade workers than we currently have.’ Sounds good to me. Meanwhile Larry Fink, the CEO of BlackRock, the world’s largest asset manager, said America needs for 500,000 electricians. Yes please! No doubt Britain is going

Henry Jeffreys

In celebration of solo drinking

‘Be not solitary; be not idle,’ wrote Robert Burton in The Anatomy of Melancholy. Now, 400 years later, one bar is taking his instruction to heart and banning solo drinkers. An Altrincham venue which goes by the gloriously 1990s nightclub name of Alibi will only allow groups in after 9 p.m. Owner Carl Peters said he introduced the policy after certain individuals had been ‘mithering other groups’ – ‘mithering’ being a northern word meaning to pester or make a fuss. Alibi also has a strict dress code: ‘No sportswear/trackies, no Stone Island, no ripped/frayed jeans, no baseball caps, no roadman vibes.’ I should point out to Spectator readers that a

Yesterday

The Spectator

The Spectator presents The Year in Review

From scandals and cabinet chaos to Trumpian theatre and the ‘special’ relationship that some say is anything but, The Spectator presents The Year in Review – a look back at the funniest and most tragic political moments of 2025. If you missed out on a ticket, you can still watch via livestream. The Spectator’s editor Michael Gove, deputy editor Freddy Gray, political editor Tim Shipman, deputy political editor James Heale, parliamentary sketch-writer Madeline Grant and special guests will all share their favourite moments from the past 12 months. The livestream is exclusive to Spectator subscribers. The Year in Review will be livestreamed on Wednesday 10 December from 7pm. If you would like a reminder, please enter your email

Wednesday

Henry Hitchings

What not to say when visiting Santa’s grotto, and other tips from Ben Schott

Where might you observe both form policing and labour pains? What’s the difference at a casino between a flea, a vulture and a fish? Who talks about plate spinning, monkey branching and hard nexting? Why would a devotee of competitive eating (otherwise known as a gurgitator) exploit a manual typewriter yet shun the Roman method? Should you worry if a sommelier tells a colleague you are a whale and ready to drop the hammer? If a doctor identifies you as a Honda, is that praise or disapproval; and how should you feel when prescribed a therapeutic wait? This handsomely produced volume, a field guide to the esoteric languages of different

Sean Thomas

Is it over for antiques dealers?

It is estimated that, sometime in the past few months, the content on the internet produced by AI finally overtook content produced by the human mind. In other words, if you go online these days – from YouTube to X, from Facebook to TikTok to can-that-really-be-a-fetish.com – you are more likely than not to be looking through, gasping about, or getting horribly enraged at something created by a silent machine. And I am afraid to say The Spectator, at least in this article, is not going to be an exception. What I am about to tell you, or show you, is partly written by AI – in this case GPT5.

Patrick Kidd

There is still hope for the Ashes

It is, England cricket fans must remember, only one match in a five-Test series. They began the Ashes needing to win three Tests and the requirement remains the same despite the humiliation in Perth. There is still a reason to get up at 4 a.m. tomorrow for the next game. Lightning need not strike twice, even if the foolhardy way that England bat reminds me of Terry Pratchett’s line about the man who stands on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting: ‘All gods are bastards!’ Even those who made an 18,000-mile round trip to see the Ashes begin two weeks ago and got three extra

Alexander Larman

Save the cigar lounge

If you’re fortunate enough to have been well-lunched at an establishment like the Ritz or 5 Hertford Street, your host may ask if you fancy a cigar. You would be forgiven for declining the opportunity to step out into the December chill. Say as much and a proud gleam may then enter your host’s eyes as he tells you that there is no need to shiver on a wintry terrace or, even worse, stand in the street. There are two dozen premises, mostly around St James’s Street in the centre of London, that managed to evade the vagaries of the smoking ban in 2007 and continue to offer their patrons

Tuesday

Julie Bindel

Why are hotel breakfasts so bad?

Where else would you see anyone wandering around with a plate heaped with such incongruous ingredients as bacon, olives, blueberry waffles and a side order of yoghurt and prunes? Nowhere but at a hotel breakfast, of course. More often than not, the food is inedible, and nothing works properly. The coffee machines always seem to be faulty, although even this is preferable to being served from a silver coffee jug filled with tepid, muddy brown, tasteless water that leaves you hankering after service-station machine coffee. Then there is the room: inevitably, it is dark and windowless, usually in a basement that smells vaguely of damp underneath the stench of cheap

G.V. Chappell

The horror of the festive period

I was driving my daughter to school recently when we tuned into Heart Breakfast. A caller was attempting to answer five Christmas-related questions that, if successful, would mean that the countdown to the big day could ‘officially begin’. They weren’t hard but when the questions were answered correctly, there was pandemonium in the Heart studios. Everyone gushed with excitement and wished each other a Merry Christmas, co-host Amanda Holden cried, and the first of very many broadcasts of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas’ began. It was 10 November – more than six weeks before Christmas Day. It was so unseasonably warm that people were still in shorts. The