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Today

Nigel Jones

Walking, not working out, is the best exercise

These days almost everyone you meet is a member of a gym, and instead of attending church every week – as they did in days gone by – they make regular visits to these temples of the body beautiful: the new religion of our times. Yet despite these obligatory bouts of body worship, the general health of the nation – physical and mental – does not appear to be improving. The evidence tells us that obscene levels of obesity are at an all-time high, and everyone has heard stories of those struck down in the prime of life by strokes, coronaries or – most common of all – cancer, the

Yesterday

Penworthy

Bets for the Derby and Oaks

The unsettled weather forecast coupled with the number of leading horses who are untried at the distance of tomorrow’s Betfred Derby (3.30 p.m.) have increased the chances of a surprise result. The form of Ruling Court is rock solid but his victory in the Betfred 2000 Guineas at Newmarket came on good ground and over a trip of just a mile. Tomorrow’s contest over Epsom’s twists and turns will be over a mile and a half and it will be on much softer going than at racing’s headquarters more than a month ago. Ruling Court’s style of running and his breeding give every indication that he will stay 10 furlongs

Michael Henderson

The bitter end of bitter

‘Another pint of bitter, love, when you’re ready.’ To those of a certain age the request slips off the tongue like the opening line of a sonnet. A pint of bitter is as English as the first cuckoo of spring or the last rose of summer. It brings to mind a pub, the people in it, and that social phenomenon which binds us to those we trust – the round. And, of course, one pint may lead to another. Television adverts used to be full of jolly pint-swillers. Whitbread ‘Big Head’ Trophy Bitter was ‘the pint that thinks it’s a qua-art’. Tetley of Leeds, a big player in those days,

Mark Palmer

The awkward genius of Cole Palmer

My nephew Cole is either highly intelligent with a wicked but not easily discernible sense of humour – or he’s ridiculously thick. He’s not really my nephew, but I can’t help wishing he was. I always refer to him as a member of the family because he’s arguably the most interesting sportsman in the world right now – and one of the most naturally gifted footballers this country has ever produced. Cole Palmer is 23 and comes from Wythenshawe, Manchester. He’s mixed race in that his paternal grandfather, Sterry Cole, came from the Caribbean island of St Kitts and Nevis and emigrated to Britain in 1960 as part of the

Thursday

Steerpike Steerpike

Zia Yusuf hits back over ‘burka ban’

There’s trouble in paradise, it seems. Perhaps the most eye-catching moment at yesterday’s PMQs came when Sarah Pochin, Reform’s newest MP, stood up to grill Keir Starmer for the first time. The moment was heavily trailed by deputy leader Richard Tice, who promised it would be ‘interesting’ in a video on X. Pochin duly rose and asked Keir Starmer the following:  Given the Prime Minister’s desire to strengthen strategic alignment with our European neighbours, will he – in the interests of public safety – follow the lead of France, Denmark, Belgium and others, and ban the burqa? So, who exactly is speaking for the party on this? Lee Anderson, sat

Wednesday

Rob McMahon

Jeremy Clarkson should love the congestion charge

I confess that I suffer from CBS: Clarkson Bipolar Syndrome. I really like Jeremy: I bought my Land Rover Discovery 3 after he drove one up a mountain in Scotland, and I would happily have a pint with him at his new pub. He knows a lot about cars – but not so much about the economics of motoring. He, of all people, should love the congestion charge. I worked on transport policy in the late 1990s, and the fact that this charge was detested by liberals and conservatives alike suggests that we got the policy about right. Let me explain why you should love congestion charges too – at

Leyla Sanai

Glastonbury has become a very posh problem

I’m afraid that when I read that the posh glamping provider for wealthy Glastonbury fans was going into liquidation, I smirked. The company offered yurts that only look luxurious if you compare them with tents – with a beds, a sofa, a loo and a shower, as well as meals. Pretty basic, biatch. The only exclusive thing about it is that guests can access the hospitality area behind the Pyramid tent, like ageing groupies. The company organising the liquidation sent emails to clients who had already paid for this year’s Glastonbury to say that no tickets had been bought so, oops, sorry. Wealthy customers complained vociferously to the media. One

Julie Bindel

The confusion of fusion food

There’s a joint in east London that describes itself as a ‘family-run osteria’ and posts about the ‘Italian tradition of generous hospitality and simple, beautiful food’. The menu is a combination of several Italian dishes with Japanese ingredients, and I can’t think of anything more inappropriate. One of the dishes described as dolce (meaning ‘sweet’) is a cheese panna cotta with herring caviar. This restaurant has soy sauce nudging the balsamic. Is there no end to the revolting madness that is fusion food? I can understand why young chefs – those tattooed to within an inch of their lives – think they are a cross between Anthony Bourdain and Marco