I have been toying with the idea of founding a Cyclops Club, drawing its membership from the dwindling band of individualists who persist in defying the zeitgeist of Cool Britannia by wearing a single eyeglass, commonly known as a monocle. We are a species threatened with extinction and we probably qualify for victimhood, as an
Golden days, golden child, as good as gold, heart of gold, golden oldie – from the cradle on, gold plays an important part in our language and imagination. The word ‘gold’ is used in praise, celebration, congratulation and reward. Yet few of us have any notion of where it comes from, or even why gold
I have always really, really hated flying. The first whiff of an airport and I’m scared out of my wits. But not only am I terrified; I also loathe and resent the contempt in which passengers are generally held by the airlines – the way we’re herded like cattle and the way we’re expected to
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the fullness of Time, even Rolexes rust. Fast cars, foxy clothes, fancy wines and fine jewellery are fun while you can enjoy them, but when you find yourself facing Eternity, you can’t take those goodies along. When push comes to Judgment Day, all such trinkets turn to trash.
It seems that hardly a week goes by without the threat of another great work of art leaving these shores. Certainly Tate director Sir Nicholas Serota must think so. Just as he announces, with palpable relief, that a private benefactor has stepped forward and promised £12.5 million to ‘save’ Sir Joshua Reynolds’s celebrated portrait of
Those of us who worked at the Arts Council of Great Britain, some 40 years ago, were as often as not introduced, even by our own families, as being at or from ‘the British Arts Council’. In vain did we explain that lumping these two institutions together was utterly inaccurate, that the Arts Council brought
If there is any justice in the world, Captain Duane Haddock of US special forces is due a medal. He was, we can reveal, the first coalition soldier to find something approaching concrete evidence of Saddam’s evil arsenal of weapons of mass destruction; to wit, a trailer believed to be a mobile bio-weapons laboratory found
Colin Powell has said that he can see signs of progress over the Middle East road-map. Israel, he noted, had taken measures which ‘constitute the beginning of the road-map process’. Well, that’s just terrific, Mr US Secretary of State, because we all know that the big issue is that Israel has not accepted the road-map,
Emma Williams says good and conscientious Israelis live in denial of what is being done to the Palestinians Living in Jerusalem for the past two and a half years has meant living Israeli fear: the fear of taking children to school and hearing a suicide bomber detonate himself outside the school gates; of not wanting
Like most New Labour ministers, David Blunkett gets considerably more things wrong than he does right. Up to now, his tenure at the Home Office has been characterised by a series of ill-thought-out reforms, half-baked policy proposals and regular verbal gaffes. In three years we have had the draconian Anti-Terrorism Crime and Security Act –
I like my Vespa. In fact, I can’t think of anything that has improved the quality of my life in London more in the last couple of years than my slightly retro 49cc ‘Chelsea blue’ Piaggio ET2. Getting around town takes half as long as it once did by bus, car or taxi; scooters are
Tories are used to getting blamed for many things, but to be blamed for a Labour Cabinet minister’s lack of principles is surely a first. That was their fate at the hands of Clare Short. For weeks, people have struggled to understand the former International Development Secretary’s failure to resign after calling the Prime Minister’s
Anyone inclined to despair at the European Union’s headlong rush towards statehood should visit Poland. It is impossible, when one talks to the Poles, to imagine that having survived Hitler’s and Stalin’s attempts to destroy them, they will allow their nation to be drafted out of existence by Valéry Giscard d’Estaing and the other notables
A photograph was taken of the Blair Cabinet immediately after the 1997 general election. There is a bemused, nervous air about the Prime Minister and his colleagues, as if they had just won the National Lottery but weren’t quite sure whether the cheque had cleared. But there is also a palpable sense of common purpose.
Although best known as political cartoonist of the Daily Telegraph, and for his eye-catching covers for The Spectator, Nicholas Garland trained as a fine artist, and never stopped drawing even during his active though short-lived career in the theatre. Recently, he has focused his energies on print-making and is about to open his first exhibition
Why is Tony Blair regularly lampooned as George Bush’s poodle? It is a fate that Margaret Thatcher never suffered, despite her long and intimate alliance with Ronald Reagan. The reason is not that difficult to find. Thatcher was perfectly willing to swing her handbag at the Americans if she judged that British interests required it.
You are leaving the civilised sector. These words were pinned, in German and English, to the outside of the fence which protects the American embassy in Berlin. In order to get through that fence, you would have to persuade the gallant, bone-headed men of the Bundesgrenzschutz – Germany’s frontier police, who also guard government buildings
I’m in a Swiss mountain village. I’ve spent the day glacier skiing, and now I’m showering in my steamy hotel bathroom. The water is crashing off my ample curves, my muscles are aching pleasantly and I’m looking forward to a convivial evening. But, damn, it’s difficult to get out of this shower – it’s just
If you read only the Daily Mail, you would think the Labour government was taking the middle classes, like the mountain gorillas of Uganda, to the brink of extinction. ‘Middle Britain could be forgiven for feeling under siege from a government that remorselessly stakes new and higher claims on its income – while treating its
Right! You’ve got 40 minutes,’ says Nick Wood, Iain Duncan Smith’s spin doctor, in the manner of a game-show host. We are sitting round a table in IDS’s office. Nick has a large glass of red wine in his hand and I have water. Iain can’t have a drink, I soon realise, because it would