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Wednesday

Robin Ashenden

Britain needs Peter Mannion MP

The current Labour government grows ever more farcical. Despite its promise to ‘tread lightly’ on people’s lives, we’ve seen war declared on farmers, private schools, pubs, humour at work and even allotment owners. This week came the news that drivers over the age of 70 must take compulsory driving tests, with a mandatory ban if they fail – presumably so that, when younger relatives start ushering them towards the ‘assisted dying’ clinic, they won’t be able to make a quick getaway. Starmer, on winning the election, promised the ‘sunlight of hope’, yet things have rarely felt gloomier. Rachel Reeves may have wept for the nation in parliament last month, but

Jim Lawley

How England can finally win the Ashes

With the summer’s Test matches over, England’s cricket coach and captain will now be wondering how to avoid our usual trouncing in Australia this winter. Normally we try to win and we get walloped. On the last three occasions we’ve ventured Down Under, Australia have either whitewashed us 5-0 or beaten us 4-0 with one game drawn. And, weather permitting, Australia don’t just win – they usually crush us by massive, embarrassing margins: an innings and 123 runs, ten wickets, 381 runs… These humiliations show that on their home turf Australia are approximately twice as good as we are. Australia often score more runs in one innings than England can

Katherine Dee

Phones are drowning out our inner lives

I’m sitting in a meditation class at a yoga studio in Chicago, neon lights pulsing pink and purple while the instructor talks over a movie soundtrack. I almost can’t believe I’ve paid $30 to be here. When she runs out of scripted wisdom about mindfulness and presence, she starts ad-libbing: ‘And that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t respect yourself…’ I try to tune her out, focus on my breath, but it’s impossible. She demands our attention. I went to six classes before deciding it was a waste of time. Each week, fewer people showed up. By the sixth class, it was just me and this 40-year-old instructor. Isn’t meditation supposed to

Tuesday

Leyla Sanai

Do you have a Facebook stalker?

We’ve all seen appalling stories of people, usually – but not exclusively – women, being stalked by a spurned suitor, and how this can have terrifying and sometimes life-threatening sequelae. However, the popularity of social media has brought about the advent of the less dangerous but mighty irritating social media stalker – or ‘smalker’, as I like to call them. The smalker is usually a spurned friend who has been chewing her lips with fury since you removed her from your Facebook ‘friends’ list. Sometimes they only requested to be your ‘friend’ in the first place so they could lurk on your page, twisting their face into a sucking-a-wasp grimace:

Nigel Jones

The Isle of Wight is an England that time forgot

‘August for the people and their favourite islands,’ wrote W.H. Auden. My own favourite island in Britain is the Isle of Wight, even though my introduction to it was less than ideal. I was seven years old and had been sent to the island for the ritual initiation for British middle-class males of my generation: immersion in a boarding school with around 50 other pre-pubertal boys. I was, in fact, the youngest boy in the school and this was the first time I had left home. I have already written in these pages about my five years at a boarding school on the island; bizarre and bewildering rather than the

Julie Bindel

I’ve finally come round to honey

Honey enjoys almost superpower status. It is credited with healing viral infections, cuts, hay fever and insomnia, to name but a few of honey-curing maladies. On a regular basis, a particular honey is discovered that bodybuilders swear by, or religious leaders have considered akin to holiness. I had never been keen, considering it an overly sweet inconvenience of a food: however fancy the spoon used to dispense it, it somehow always ends up on my hands (and my hair) before it reaches the yoghurt. I have tended to stick with a very good quality dark brown sugar when in need of something to take the bitter edge off English strawberries.

Monday

Julie Burchill Julie Burchill

The politics of nudity

A recent, rather beautiful piece published here told of how the writer, Druin Burch, initially somewhat alarmed by the variety of naked bodies he unexpectedly encounters while swimming in the Med (‘I wouldn’t mind if it was only young women,’ he says to his wife) comes to appreciate the loveable imperfection of the human form. I can’t say I’m with him on this. I totally understand fit women wanting to take their tops off in public as an expression of sheer high spirits; as a teenager, I used occasionally to do it. But humanity generally? Put it away, puh-leeze! As a resident of the fair city of Brighton and Hove,

Zak Asgard

The decline and fall of TfL

Don’t get me wrong: London’s transport system is still one of the best in the world. I’d sooner have a backstreet dentist with jittery hands pry my right molar out with a rusty wrench than wait for a bus in Naples or attempt to understand the New York subway map. But that doesn’t mean Transport for London is without fault. The mere thought of the Central line during rush hour is enough to turn the sanest of commuters into a babbling, dribbling, catatonic mess.  TfL customers are dissatisfied: staff are nowhere to be seen; criminals use the Tube network like a labyrinthian tunnel system, evading prosecution at every turn; and

Monica Porter

Am I cursed when it comes to my pets?

You could say my unfortunate track record with pets began in the cradle. At the time of my birth my Hungarian parents had a dachshund named Herr Doktor (because of the serious expression he always wore), or Doki for short. He was very put out by my arrival, as I received much of the attention previously afforded to him, and because my fastidious mother wouldn’t allow him into the nursery. So he upped sticks and moved in with the family next door. But as Doki was unfamiliar with the terrain there, one day he darted on to their driveway at the wrong moment and was run over and killed. While

Sunday

Mark Nayler

All the fun of the feria: why August is the time to visit Málaga

If I were a doctor specialising in alternative treatments, and someone came to me feeling depressed, I wouldn’t send them off with a herb-based elixir or a bunch of St John’s Wort. I wouldn’t cleanse their chakras or refer them to an acupuncturist. I’d send them off to Málaga’s annual fair, which this year runs from 16 to 23 August. Summer in Andalusia is feria season – the best cure that I know of for a bout of the blues. Usually lasting three or four days, or an entire week in the regional capitals, ferias are occasions of pure alegria (joy) and inclusivity. Happiness is taken very seriously in Spain,

Saturday

Rob Crossan

Let’s scrap football’s post-match interviews

‘The view was stunning.’ ‘The hotel room was well appointed.’ ‘It’s a city of contrasts.’ Such numbing clichés in travel commentary are considered, by anyone remotely au fait with Eric Newby or Patrick Leigh Fermor, to be unacceptable. But if you watch Match of the Day, you’ll know the footballing equivalents of these kinds of asinine blandishments have long been deemed worthy of the kind of critical scrutiny usually reserved for Jonathan Franzen novels. After following the game for 40 years, I’ve finally reached breaking point with the abysmal drivel that comes out of the mouths of players, pundits and managers alike. Of course, they aren’t being paid to be

Friday

Penworthy

Four wagers for York and Ascot

Ascot’s Shergar Cup meeting tomorrow is a fun event but, in terms of good bets, it is York’s Ebor meeting later this month that excites me more. The four-day event starts in less than two weeks and, unless there is a drastic change in the weather, racing looks likely to take place on fast ground. The most likely winner of the Sky Bet Ebor, Europe’s richest flat handicap, on 23 August is Hipop De Loire, who was desperately unlucky in running in this race a year ago when fifth to another Irish raider Magical Zoe. Willie Mullins’s eight-year-old gelding showed he is in good form when winning easily over hurdles