Is it too late for a letter of no confidence?
‘Is it too late for a letter of no confidence?’
Uncategorized
Wednesday
‘There’s a new Taylor Swift album’
‘There’s a new Taylor Swift album’
I’m defecting to Reform
‘I’m defecting to Reform.’
Who would dare mock Paddington?
The State of California v. OJ Simpson, Oscar Wilde v. the Marquess of Queensberry, Galileo before the Inquisition… now our age will be able to add its own entry to the annals of famed legal proceedings. Because Paddington is suing Spitting Image. It is the barmiest news story of late against fierce competition. The Telegraph has revealed that Canal Plus, the holders of the rights to Michael Bond’s furry Peruvian, are launching an action against Avalon, the makers of Spitting Image. You may be surprised to hear that Spitting Image is still a thing. After an ill-advised revival on ITV in 2020, via the now-defunct streamer BritBox, it has recently
Never climbed Everest
Would you prefer to hear your operation’s been cancelled by email, post, SMS, phone, WhatsApp, Google Chat – or all of the above?
‘Would you prefer to hear your operation’s been cancelled by email, post, SMS, phone, WhatsApp, Google Chat – or all of the above?’
I would aim one at the Tory conference but the chances of hitting anyone are remote.
‘I would aim one at the Tory conference but the chances of hitting anyone are remote.’
Conker fight
Thank God, that’s the Christmas shopping finished
‘Thank God, that’s the Christmas shopping finished.’
Leave Barbour alone
Please, make it stop. No sooner had I dug out my Barbour for the wet and windy winter months than I saw another of the brand’s distressing collaborations, this time with fashion designer Sir Paul Smith. Sir Paul, luvvie fashion grandee and founder of the eponymous line that began as a Nottingham-based shirt outfit in the 1970s, has teamed up with Barbour to distil ‘the wit and character’ of both brands. But I don’t need Sir Paul’s ‘signature stripe trims, colour pops and patchwork’ to be persuaded to wear a Barbour. And I’m pretty sure most people who live in the country would say the same. I like my 12-year-old
Why antiques are cheaper than Ikea
As we all know, only the best friends can deliver bad personal news. And so it was for me about six months ago, over a seafood lunch, that one of my closest pals gave me the ghastly tidings. My friend had just stayed in my small but fabulously located London flat for a fortnight, while I was travelling. He was suitably grateful, but less than effusive about the living conditions. After some humming and hahing, he got to the point. ‘Mate, your flat is a dump. Great location and all that, but eesh, when did you last do it up?!’ O for the gift to see our homes as others
Tuesday
Jilly Cooper and the art of not taking life too seriously
When I found out about the death of Dame Jilly Cooper while waiting for a train, I said, out loud, ‘Oh no!’ with such vehemence that several of the commuters around me shuffled away, clearly frightened by their proximity to a madman. Cooper’s death at the age of 88 – a good innings, but also wholly unexpected, occurring after a sudden fall – brings to an end the life of Britain’s pre-eminent romantic novelist, aka ‘the queen of the bonkbuster’. It is testament to her vast popularity that many of her millions of readers felt that they knew her intimately, and those lucky enough to meet her were invariably charmed
Taylor Swift is increasingly horny and increasingly mean
Time was, posting anything negative about Taylor Swift would be personally dangerous, given the famous passion, obsessiveness and sheer numbers of the Swiftie fandom. In recent years, the great and the good have also piled into Swiftiedom. Her 2024 Eras tour was a must-attend photo opp for royals, senators and prime ministers’ wives (recall Victoria Starmer’s free tickets to two concerts at Wembley). The V&A hired a curator for Taylor Swift ephemera. Academics have lauded her: Harvard poetry professor Stephanie Burt taught a class on Swift last year and has a forthcoming book out called The Poetic and Musical Genius of Taylor Swift. But with the release of her 12th
In the forests of Germany’s soul
There’s good reason oak leaves have long been incorporated into German military decorations like the Iron Cross. The oak tree is the tree of Germany – its leaves standing for strength, courage and tradition – something I witnessed while hiking from Berlin to Erfurt through the former communist lands of the Deutsche Demokratische Republik. Traversing what used to be East Germany on foot, I realised the extent of its forest cover (and how poor the UK’s is in comparison). There are forests everywhere – about a third of present-day Germany is covered by woodland that is also protected thanks to the political influence of the Greens – and these enclaves
Monday
Has Taylor Swift broken music’s last taboo?
As a woman in my early thirties, it is my God-given right – arguably my duty – to have an opinion when Taylor Swift releases an album. And it’s a role that I’ve always performed without compunction. But on this occasion – the release of album 12, The Life of a Showgirl, my ability to get into the weeds (does ‘The Fate of Ophelia’ represent close text analysis of Shakespeare?) was hampered by my shock at one particularly audacious lyric. Previous albums have had the the odd raunchy moment. So when, on this new album, she sang ‘His love was the key that opened my thighs’ in a song titled ‘Wood’,
‘Lazarus pubs’ are a cause for celebration
The mood music around pubs lately has felt as if it were being played by the band on RMS Titanic while the industry goes down with the loss of all hands. Even before the body blow of the pandemic, people were generally drinking less, and more of what they did drink was from supermarkets. Then the spike in energy costs was particularly grave for publicans, who need to heat large rooms for 12 hours a day. Most recently, in the last Budget, they faced a hike in employer national insurance contributions, a parallel minimum wage rise and cuts in business rates discounts – with all of this offset by an insulting
Driving an automatic car is cheating
Most of the time cheating is frowned upon, but a quarter of all driving tests in Britain are now taken in automatic cars and apparently that’s fine. The trend is only set to continue, too, as more and more people pretend to care about the environment to take advantage of this loophole and obtain a driving licence without the slightest concept of clutch control. It’s absolutely outrageous, not to mention completely unfair. I spent hundreds of pounds being taught to drive properly, in a manual, only passing on my second attempt, because mastering a gearstick is hard. Copping out and taking your test in a glorified fairground dodgem isn’t just
What makes a gentleman?
The venerable magazine GQ, or Gentlemen’s Quarterly, has issued some 125 diktats about what it takes to be a gentleman in this world of Zoom calls and equality. GQ is, however, no longer quarterly, and some might say it hasn’t been read by gentlemen for some time. Ought we, then, to listen to it? Many of its ‘expert’ pronouncements are baffling: what is ‘popping a Zyn’? Most of the suggestions are about bringing fancy olive oil or luxury candles to parties. (Note to readers, though you won’t need it: don’t.) It also suggests that gentlemen should beclothe themselves in ‘loungewear’, a word which ought to make anyone shudder. Well, I’m sorry, but unless it’s
Sunday
Running is being ruined by the ‘wellness’ brigade
Is there a more obnoxious introduction in 21st-century Britain than the words ‘I’m a runner’? ‘I’m a runner,’ followed by the gulp of a protein shake or (shudder) the announcement of a 5k personal best. ‘I’m a runner,’ from a wheezing wannabe in carbon-plated trainers: ‘The shoes Kelvin Kiptum wore when he broke the marathon world record? Yes, yes they are.’ I am no Kelvin Kiptum. I’m not even Simon Pegg in Run Fatboy Run. But I am a runner, with the blackened toenails, tight hamstrings and race medals to prove it. It seems that those things are no longer worth much, though. Just as walking was subsumed by step counts, food by calorie trackers
