London

The postman at the door is stooped by his burden like an allegorical statue of Labour Oppressed by Capital. His wearisome, low-waged task is to deliver a copy of Thomas Piketty’s Capital in the Twenty-First Century — or perhaps multiple copies all round the town, since this breezeblock of a thesis on the iniquities of accumulated wealth stands second in this week’s bestseller lists, pipped only by the life story of someone called Guy Martin. His core argument — the celebrity French economist Piketty, that is, not Martin, who turns out to be a celebrity motorbike racer and lorry mechanic — is that the return on unfettered capital will always

Mr S attended the international rugby union 7s tournament at Twickenham on Saturday, which was graced by some 76,000 people – mostly yuppies on the razzle by the look of things. I regret to report that this crowd of genteel, if beery, English people loudly and roundly booed the Scottish team. The Scots ran in several tries against the hapless Portuguese, and each score was met with open resentment, while every Scottish handling error, missed tackle or infringement was cheered with glee. The noise was shattering, the atmosphere hostile. No other team received a barracking (as is right: booing is abhorrent). Even the Australians, who are the default villains at Twickenham, were given a measure of respect. When

The new Shangri-La hotel opened its doors to Mr S last night. Located on floor 35 of The Shard, the luxurious establishment was only, in fact, semi-open, since three ‘signature suites’ and an infinity pool are yet to be unveiled. The exhibited areas were abundant in opulence and splendour. The great and the good of luxury journalism were out in force. William Sitwell, editor of Waitrose Kitchen, Mark Palmer, travel editor of The Daily Mail and The Guardian’s Amelia Gentleman were all present to admire interior designer William Leung’s latest venture. All other glamorous guests appeared to have got lost in the lift on the way up. Entertainment included a

It used to take one hour and forty five minutes to get by train from where I live in Canterbury to central London. Now, as a consequence of HS1 and the rather annoyingly named “Javelin”, it takes a little over fifty minutes. There is not the remotest doubt that the new service has greatly improved the prosperity of the area, and made life more pleasant for the likes of me. An entire swathe of south-eastern England has been suddenly rendered commutable as a consequence – a good thing, seeing the cost of housing in London. (I don’t commute, as it happens, I ought to add.) The trains are frequent, reliable

As Michael Bloomberg approached the end of his time as Mayor of New York, Americans expected him to run for the White House. He had the money, the profile and the ego to be President. But the problem, as it turned out, was his ambition — he had too much of it to settle for the Oval Office. As he put it: ‘I have my own army, the seventh largest in the world. I have my own state department and I don’t listen to Washington very much.’ His ambition, it turns out, was not to be the next President of the United States. He wants to be Mayor of the World.