I decided to rewild Norman
‘I decided to rewild Norman.’
 
			
		‘I decided to rewild Norman.’
 
			
		 
			
		‘What do your parents feel about us moving in together? Have they got room?’
 
			
		 
			
		 
			
		‘Nobody leaves the room until we’ve agreed on watching Conclave.’
 
			
		 
										Are you hungry, peckish, esurient? Join me at Josie’s diner in Lexington, Kentucky, in the heart of Bluegrass country, where the horses are lean and very many people are, let me be frank, not. Josie’s is heaving at 8 a.m. as the well-upholstered clientele arrive for the morning feed. A mercifully slim student at the University of Kentucky is my waitress. ‘Hi, y’all! I’m Madeline Rose and I’ll be your server today,’ she announces, in the earnest tone of wait staff in a country where the credit card terminal offers the option of a 25 per cent tip. The menu she hands me is already expansive, but there’s more. She
 
			
		I was recently lent the latest Subaru Forester to test drive, and I enjoyed its sturdiness, its space and the frugality of its 2.0 hybrid engine. But as my mileage progressed over the course of a week’s bombing around the back roads of north Norfolk, I started to have a hankering for a nose ring, a tattoo of interlocking female glyphs, and to dye my hair pink and blue and wear dungarees. I put on a k.d. lang playlist, drove home, and watched Angelina Jolie in Gia. Was the Subaru turning me – a bloke, with no unusual pronouns – into a lesbian? Let me explain. In the 1990s, Subaru
 
			
		Why do we allow our public spaces to be taken over by chuggers? Whenever I exit my office above Charing Cross station in search of lunch, I am immediately confronted by no fewer than three charity muggers – each decked out in a garish uniform promoting whichever charity they are being paid for that day. It is best to avoid eye-contact – otherwise prepare to be bombarded with a flurry of phoney scripted sales patter. ‘Didn’t we go to primary school together?’ Unlikely, I suggest, given our age difference. ‘Still, it must be a big school given you said the exact same thing to the fella five paces in front
Saying that national generalisations have fallen out of fashion is an understatement. Stereotypes have become less common and less tolerated. But not all is unblemished improvement, and something of value has been lost. National generalisations – often misnamed racial – now veer close to thought crimes. A pity – national generalisations are a basic tool for making sense of the world, and for understanding how people’s backgrounds shape their values, character and culture. Abusus non tollit usum – that something can be misused does not mean it should not be used. As a man with a very limited range of anecdotes and conversational gambits, I frequently repeat myself. Handily, I
 
			
		 
			
		In Alex Garland’s new film Warfare, one detail stakes the film’s claim to be the most honest depiction of combat yet. Not the severed foot left lying on an Iraqi street after a bomb blast, nor a wounded US soldier’s screams as a medic bandages up what is left of his leg. Instead, it is that throughout the film’s 20-minute-long gun battle, only one insurgent is shown being felled by a bullet. In real-life combat, enemy fighters do not obligingly linger centre stage – they lurk behind cover, as hard to get a bead on as possible. This was particularly true of Iraq, where most of the fighting was against
 
			
		Right beside the airport I often use to fly home from Italy, there is a pod hotel where I am becoming a regular client. These, as most will know, are dirt-cheap places where sleep is stripped down to its absolute core. For about £35 a night here, you get a tiny berth of a room – a ‘capsule’ about 4ft wide and 6.5ft long – with a narrow bed, a socket to recharge your devices and, if you want to work, a fold-down mini-table for your laptop. It is a bit like you imagine a rather poky Swedish prison cell, decorated with Nordic minimalism: white bed, white walls, fluorescent light,
Filthy, foetid and fraught with danger. A magnet for hooligans, hard drinkers, a few saints and plenty of sinners. And that was Fleet Street before the newspapers moved in. This ancient thoroughfare, in use since Roman times, is one of London’s most famous occupational streets, much as Jermyn Street is known for its tailors and Harley Street its medics. The difference is that Fleet Street is inexorably linked to newspapers despite the fact journalists have not pounded its pavements for decades, the trade having moved on to Wapping and beyond at the tail end of the last century. Now Fleet Street is on the cusp of another new era, with plans to replace many of its historic buildings with modern office blocks. According to
 
			
		 
			
		The news that Terry Pratchett’s 2002 novel Night Watch has joined the ranks of the Penguin Modern Classics series may seem, to the Pratchett uninitiated, something of an eyebrow-raiser. Penguin has proudly announced that the book ‘which draws on inspirations as far ranging as Victor Hugo and M*A*S*H, is… a profoundly empathetic novel about community, connection and the tenacity of the human spirit’ and that it was ‘written at the height of Pratchett’s imaginative powers’. All this may very well be true. But many people, even those millions well disposed towards Pratchett, might be asking another question: why this book, and why now? During his lifetime, Pratchett built on the legacy of
 
			
		Without much fanfare, the Nokia phone has died. I got my first mobile phone, a Nokia, at an age that is by most lights too young. I was in what Americans call the fourth grade, which means I was ten or 11. The phone in question was a cutting-edge Nokia 6820, which a contemporary Nokia press release claims was ‘specifically designed for enterprise use, with a full keyboard to offer faster text-input and easy navigation for advanced messaging like mobile e-mail’. I certainly had never sent an email at that stage in my life, and I operated no enterprises. At first I thought very little of that phone, by
Let’s cherchez un violon petit! Skiing is now too pricey for the middle classes. According to a recent flash poll by the Telegraph’s ski section, 70 per cent of readers now think skiing holidays are unaffordable. For the bourgeoisie, skiing – along with many of the other trappings they used to take for granted, such as being able to afford the fees for a private day school or a daily takeaway coffee – ce n’est pas possible. Quel dommage! (Let’s parlez anglais now; I think you get the point.) It’s not just the accelerated cost of living in the UK – or Liz Truss personally putting our mortgages up by
 
			
		Today, millions of people will watch the funeral of Pope Francis taking place at the Vatican. The ceremony, expected to be attended by thousands of people and world leaders including Prime Minister Keir Starmer and United States president Donald Trump, will take place outdoors, in front of the Saint Peter’s Basilica. Afterwards, the Pope’s remains will be buried in the Basilica of Saint Mary Major where he will have a simple burial, as per his wishes set out in his testament: “The tomb should be in the ground; simple, without particular ornamentation, bearing only the inscription: Franciscus.” These are the final wishes of a modest man who, despite his apparent
 
			
		 
			
		Hello and welcome to my podcast Are you a high agency individual? My name is Muscle McSteroid Face, but my friends call me the Beast for short. Please enjoy the next 135 minutes while I talk about myself and make you feel inadequate. I am a high agency individual. I was born this way, but you can learn my skills for an introductory offer of $59.99 a month (link in my bio). A high agency person is a risk taker. We are mavericks. We are the writers of our own destiny, the authors of our own story. We are leaders. We make tough decisions. If you were stuck in a
 
										The Dan Skelton versus Willie Mullins battle reaches its finale at Sandown tomorrow when one of these two brilliant trainers will be crowned Britain’s champion National Hunt trainer for the 2024-5 season. Skelton, who trains in Warwickshire, goes into the final two days of the season with a narrow lead over Mullins, who trains from his all-conquering Irish yard in Co. Carlow. However, with all the firepower at his disposal, it looks highly likely that Mullins will overtake Skelton’s prize money total tomorrow, given the latter’s lead is less than £60,000. For example, Mullins fields no less than ten runners in the bet365 Gold Cup Handicap Chase (4.10 p.m.), worth
 
			
		 
			
		I learned recently that Mumsnet is 25 years old, and my immediate reaction was: who the hell is still using Mumsnet? And then I read that Mumsnet has nine million unique users every month, and my immediate reaction was: who the hell are these people? According to Mumsnet, they’re almost all women, but I don’t seem to know any of them. I’ve never used Mumsnet, and when I conducted some forensically accurate research, I struggled to find any friends who are well acquainted with it. One friend amuses herself occasionally with how middle-class the posts can be, with lots of queries about Eton and sneering at double-barrelled designer baby names.