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Today

Daniel Raven

What happened to comic con?

As a child, superhero comics felt like a guilty secret – their devotees part of a secret society who found refuge in the musty, cardboard-scented havens of comics conventions. Back then, girls were absent, dressing up was unheard of, and even children weren’t especially welcome. So when a gang of teenage girls not only turned up to Avengers: Endgame but openly wept at Iron Man’s death, I felt something close to vindication – and perhaps a twinge of envy for today’s young fans, who can indulge their obsessions out in the open. Those same musty rooms of old cardboard and grown men was what I was anticipating when I booked

Yesterday

Nicholas Farrell

How to deal with a crying woman

A woman crying elicits sympathy – even if, à la Rachel from Accounts, she is some kind of nightmare soap-opera figure from the suburbs of south London. When a woman we do not know bursts into tears in public our gut reaction is to assume she must have a good reason for doing so. She has, until proven otherwise, right on her side. And even if she does not, it does not usually matter. She may be wrong in terms of the rational truth, but she is right instinctively. Otherwise she would not have cried – would she? Let us be clear: women often cry, men rarely do. I speak

Penworthy

Four wagers for Haydock and Sandown tomorrow

I  am pretty sure that MINSTREL KNIGHT is a well-handicapped horse off an official rating of 87. However, there is no doubt that he is a better horse with cut in the ground: he won at Haydock on heavy ground and at York on soft ground at the end of last season. With very little rain over the spring and early summer resulting in predominantly quick ground up and down the country, Minstrel Knight has only run once to date this season, when he was fourth on good to soft ground in a modest handicap at Hamilton. That was almost certainly a prep run for a bigger target. The problem

Philip Womack

Pixels are replacing paper

Those of us of a certain vintage will remember the National Record of Achievement, a brown, crummy-looking folder, sent (personally, I like to think) by Tony Blair to every schoolchild in the country. We were encouraged to keep our certificates within its corporate leaves, from Swimming Level 1 Goldfish to Duke of Edinburgh. Presumably, before the government had this idea, people didn’t know what to do with certificates. Perhaps they were used as kindling, or eaten. Receiving a certificate was a moment of fulfilment. If it came in the post, anticipation was part of the process. Being awarded one in person had extra frisson. Some certificates were better than others. The

Wednesday

Flora Watkins

Oasis nostalgia is a form of mass delusion

Rolling Stone magazine once quipped that grunge was what happened when the children of divorce got guitars in their hands. If you take this theory and tweak it, then one can reasonably conclude that Oasis is what happens when children who grow up in a house devoid of books decide to form a band. The bilge that’s been written about Britpop and the wallowing in 1990s nostalgia since the Gallagher brothers announced their reunion tour last year (it kicks off in Cardiff this Friday) is approaching fever pitch. Tatler even has one of Liam’s children on its cover. You may have gleaned by now that I am not a fan.

Rob Crossan

Fat people are being fed lies

Every afternoon, I witness the unedifying spectacle of teenagers waddling out of the comprehensive school on my street in south London. Many of the 14- and 15-year-olds appear to weigh the same as their age. Few manage to make it past the chicken shop without buying a box of deep-fried nuggets to share between them. It crossed my mind that teenagers, cruel as they are, can no longer call a kid ‘Fatty’ (or ‘Tubs’ if they’re in private school). Shouting that in a playground would cause a Spartacus-esque reaction. In my school in the mid-1990s, being overweight was an oddity suffered by a maximum of two children in every year