Mr Eugenides, guest-blogging in fine style at Jewcy, fills you in on the sad yet stirring story of Shambo, South Wales’ latest celebrity. Read all about how bureaucrats are doing their best to slaughter this sacred, er, bull, here.
The most surreal question from last night’s YouTube debate in South Carolina between the Democratic primary candidates.
Both sides in the Iraq debate tend to ignore, or downplay, the downside to their preferred course of action. On Meet the Press, New York Times columnist David Brooks put the dilemma that both sides need to address: So are we willing to prevent 10,000 Iraqi deaths a month at the cost of 125 Americans? That’s a tough moral issue, but it’s also a tough national interest issue because we don’t know what the consequences of getting out are. And the frustration of watching the debate in Washington, very few people are willing to, to grapple with those two facts, that there’s–that the surge will not work in the short-term, but
There is a fascinating, and worrying, poll in the FT this morning about people’s attitudes to globalisation. Remarkably, about 60 percent of the electorate in the UK favour government imposed pay caps for the heads of companies. Less than 20% think globalisation is good for this country. Indeed, of the six countries surveyed—Britain, France, Italy, Spain, Germany and the US—we are the least positive about globalisation. But, interestingly, only the Americans are more confident than us Brits about people’s prospects for social mobility.
In Competition No. 2503 you were invited to supply new words for the British national anthem, to be sung to the original tune. Spain’s opposition leader Mariano Rajoy recently called for its anthem to be given words following complaints from athletes who were fed up with humming self-consciously or staring solemnly into the middle-distance while it was playing at major sporting events. The story prompted the Today programme to invite the poet Murray Lachlan Young to come up with new words for ‘God Save the Queen’ which would reflect our changing political society. His opening was pretty feeble: ‘On this Atlantic rock/ We do complain a lot/ And like a
Why Russia’s defensive Sir: The only pertinent fact from Fraser Nelson’s anti-Russia diatribe last week is that the country’s defence budget is 5 per cent that of America’s. (The New Cold War, 14 July). The rest of the article is scaremongering. An evening spent in Moscow should convince anyone that Russia has not left ‘the orbit of the West’, rather that it has embraced our way of life with gusto. Five minutes spent in a supermarket in Saint Petersburg, Saratov or Volgograd nails the lie that ‘the free market has perished in Russia’. And why should not Russian gas companies start to charge market prices for their output, after years
On board S/Y Bushido Last Friday the 13th was not a good-news day. I was in Ibiza, sailing around, when the papers were brought in and I read about the death of my old and very good friend Nigel Dempster. Actually, it was a blessing. He had been suffering for years and every time I spoke with him – to him, rather, as he was unable to towards the end — it was getting worse. Talk about the end of an era. How I miss the good times with him. Then over the telephone we heard that Huntsie Schoenburg, my 19-year-old nephew, a six-foot-four blond Yale student, and the sweetest
I spent much of my early boyhood in a disused cemetery — a Gothic beginning to my adolescence which was the result of nothing more romantic than the fact that only a high wall, over which I could climb with the help of an elderberry tree, divided our back garden from the overgrown graves. I spent much of my early boyhood in a disused cemetery — a Gothic beginning to my adolescence which was the result of nothing more romantic than the fact that only a high wall, over which I could climb with the help of an elderberry tree, divided our back garden from the overgrown graves. It was
I miss Issie. I am waiting outside in the Orangerie in the Parc de St-Cloud, in Paris, where the Chanel show is about to begin. The incessant driving rain, the clouds, thick, and black with purpose, as another deluge begins. The huge white bright spotlights shining undiminished give a silvery magnificence to the scene. The team of Karl Lagerfeld and Chanel, undefeated by the elements, succeed in staging one of the best couture shows I have seen, and I have seen quite a few. Contrary to what one might expect, the rain heightens the senses and gives it a poetic surrealism. Showtime. The moment the first model exits to explosive
Monday What a day! Just back from Service of Thanksgiving in the All-Faiths-And-None Prayer Room. Jed read an excerpt from Franklin D. Roosevelt’s inaugural speech about having nothing to fear but fear itself (I thought J.F.K. said that but never mind). It was v moving. Just like the American people in 1933 the citizens of London are about to be given back their energy and hope. Boris himself was going to pop in and address us briefly but apparently he couldn’t work out the entry system. Tuesday DD really enjoying the New Cold War. Says it’s even better this time around because the kit’s more advanced. Foxy ringing non-stop asking
Fortnum & Mason has its own range of wines, and as you would expect, they are very good indeed. These are not simple house wines, trading under an anonymous label; they are selected by Fortnum’s chief buyer, Tim French, as the best example he can find of each type of wine. As well as the F&M imprimateur on the label, you’ll find details of who made the wine, how they made it, and where. They are not cheap, but they range from very good indeed to stunning. And, as an introduction to Spectator readers, Tim has discounted them all. Two are somewhat pricier than usual, so there is a pair
As Spectator readers would have expected, this magazine was an early and enthusiastic backer of Boris Johnson as the next Mayor of London. On 4 July we gave him our official endorsement and urged him to run on our Coffee House blog (new.spectator.co.uk/coffeehouse). Now that he has thrown his bandana in the ring, we shall be providing regular updates on Boris’s progress: Toby Young, who will cover the campaign in these pages and online, delivers his opening despatch on p14 and his first video diary can be seen on our website.Yet our support for a former editor reflects much more than tribal loyalty. His entry to the race has been
One of the main drawbacks to living on the south Devon coast is the number of drivers on the road who are over 80. I’m not saying they shouldn’t be there. One of the main drawbacks to living on the south Devon coast is the number of drivers on the road who are over 80. I’m not saying they shouldn’t be there. I just wish they’d speed up a bit. The lanes around here are narrow and winding. Overtaking opportunities are rare. Get stuck behind a 90-year-old creeping along at 15 miles an hour in the latest Vauxhall Vectra, and if you aren’t prepared to overtake on a blind bend
Keeping thin enough to star in your sixties comes hard, and the recently sadly deceased George Melly once inquired of Mick Jagger why the rock supremo’s face was so lined. ‘Laughter lines,’ replied the Rolling Stone. Keeping thin enough to star in your sixties comes hard, and the recently sadly deceased George Melly once inquired of Mick Jagger why the rock supremo’s face was so lined. ‘Laughter lines,’ replied the Rolling Stone. ‘Nothing’s that funny,’ replied Melly. But, facial creases or not, Mick Jagger still pulls in the millions because he has star quality. On the racing scene we have been yearning for a British sprinter with enough star quality
John Gray’s latest work brings together many themes that will be familiar to fans of this scintillatingly gloomy intellect. It denounces neo-liberalism and neo-conservatism as forms of utopianism, destined like all previous forms to shipwreck upon the hard facts of human existence. It emphasises al-Qa’eda’s roots in Western political extremism rather than Islamic tradition. It envisages a world in which history, far from coming to an end, has resumed its usual bloody course against a background of dwindling oil resources and proliferating weaponry. And it insists that our only escape from this miserable farrago lies in the company of ‘mystics, poets and pleasure-lovers’. All this is vintage Gray. What is
Morgan Stanley has just hosted its first ‘early access’ event for young women: 75 girls from 15 top schools were taken on a tour of the trading floor (I bet there weren’t many traders off sick that day) Morgan Stanley has just hosted its first ‘early access’ event for young women: 75 girls from 15 top schools were taken on a tour of the trading floor (I bet there weren’t many traders off sick that day) and given ‘networking’ sessions in which they could talk to female staffers. Morgan Stanley says the event was part of its strategy to ‘bring women in’, and it is not alone in this worthy-sounding
It’s not every day a former KGB spy invites you to interview him. But Alexander Lebedev is not your typical KGB spy. He’s made billions in stock-market trading, he throws lavish parties in London attended by the likes of Tom Wolfe and J.K. Rowling, and he might just be the most serious critic of Kremlin policy still standing. Naturally I accept, and go to meet him in the Hyatt hotel in central Moscow. He’s sitting at the back of the bar, dressed more like a rock-band manager than a billionaire spook. Lebedev joined the KGB in the early 1980s and was sent to London in 1988, operating out of a
The wet weather this summer has made me think about umbrellas, and the curious moral associations they attract. It is not so in the Orient, where they were invented (in China) sometime early in the first millennium bc. There they were designed to protect exalted persons against the sun. They were carried by attendants in state processions and were associated with power, privilege and class. We would call them parasols. The plebs were not allowed to possess or use them and often they were carefully graded, in size and elaboration, in accordance with the dignity of the owner. There are occasional hints of similar status-parasols in the West. Thus Louis
A friend twisted his knee badly playing football last week. In considerable pain next morning and able to bend the knee only with difficulty he contemplated going to an Accident and Emergency unit at a London hospital. The alternative was to assume his injury was what he took it to be — a twisted knee, no more — and that there was no point in queuing for many hours only to be told to bandage it up, take a painkiller and anti-inflammatory tablets, borrow a pair of crutches and try to rest the knee as much as possible. Such things he could organise without specialist advice. But he opted to
Dr Andrew Wakefield, if he is still a doctor by the time you read this, seems to be a baddun. A disciplinary panel heard that when children arrived at his house for a birthday party he grabbed a syringe and extracted blood from each one of them, giving the kids five pounds in exchange. Some fainted or vomited following this unexpected procedure, just before the cake was cut. So, already we have a vampire trope to be going on with. Also, he now works at a clinic in West Texas, the last worldly refuge of all manner of scoundrels. As he arrived at the General Medical Council hearing which was