Journalism

My A-level results day almost passed me by. It took an early morning email from an editor asking for a piece about the experience for me to remember. After a few clicks – no daunting brown envelope nowadays – I’d discovered my reasonably average grades and continued with my day. No need for celebration, but no sense of disaster, either. Towards the end my first year at college, there came a point in time when I had to make a decision. I knew where I wanted to get to; I had dreamed of being a journalist since I was first allowed to stay up and watch the News at Ten

What a glorious sporting summer it has been so far. For some the highlight will have been Andy Murray at Wimbledon, for others that nailbiting first Test against the Aussies. But for me, none of this comes even close to matching the joy, the exultation, the triumph of the moment on an Atlantic beach a few days ago when our hot young female Portuguese surf instructor took Girl and me aside to comment on our morning’s performance. ‘You, Poppy, and you, James, are both good,’ she said. That’s ‘good’ as in the exact opposite of ‘bad’. Indeed that’s good, quite possibly, as in — though she didn’t actually express this

Courtesy of Time magazine: This article has been changed. An earlier version stated that Oxford University accepted “only one black Caribbean student” in 2009, when in fact the university accepted one British black Caribbean undergraduate who declared his or her ethnicity when applying to Oxford. The article has also been amended to reflect the context for comments made by British Prime Minister David Cameron on the number of black students at Oxford. It has also been changed to reflect the fact that in 2009 Oxford “held” rather than “targeted” 21% of its outreach events at private schools, and that it draws the majority of its non-private students from public schools

The ladies of the London chatterati are at each other’s throats. Left-wing identity politics has been eating itself since the New Year, when the leading feminists of Fleet Street went into battle over who is the better feminist. The  great titan-esses are actually secret subversives determined to surrender their cause to subconscious patriarchy. Well, that’s what you would think if you believe some of the words that have been thrown at the likes of the Times’ Caitlin Moran or the Observer’s Julie Burchill and Suzanne Moore in recent weeks. The barbs are getting sharper. The promotional materials for Be Awesome: Modern Life for Modern Ladies, the latest offering from Hadley

Peter York, the ageing Sloane Ranger and style guru, ditched his popped collar and brogues this morning and took to the stage in a Gaddafi-style dictator’s outfit to present the Editorial Intelligence Commentariat the Year Awards. A wistful David Davis proclaimed that he would have ‘loved to be able get away with wearing that’. The metropolitan liberal elite gathered at 7.30am to heap praise upon itself and toast departed friends like Marie Colvin and Christopher Hitchens. Luckily, there was champagne, tiny bacon sandwiches and poached quails eggs to ease the horrendously early start. Winners included sketch writer Ann Treneman, Conservative Home’s Tim Montgomerie and a near clean sweep for the Times’

Over the pond journalists are one by one being accused of plagiarism, while here our old friend Johann Hari popped back up on my radar. Though the Indy columnist was eventually disgraced for conducting mythical interviews, he never properly addressed other accusations of smearing rivals and colleagues on Wikipedia and in comment sections across the internet. But has he finally apologised to Cristina Odone, one of his more unfortunate victims? She certainly deserves an apology given Hari’s alter ego David Rose falsely accused her of anti-semitism and homophobia. According to Guardian columnist Patrick Strudwick, she has finally received one. While berating journalists for keeping pressure on Hari to own up,