The gossip is that the Washington Post is in bad trouble and losing money as only Tina Brown can. Not that Brown has anything to do with the Post. Tina loses zillions for Barry Diller, who finances the Daily Beast at about 10 million greenbacks a year, and is closing the 40 million per annum
Last week I received by post an invitation card from The Spectator office to the Parliamentarian of the Year Awards at the Savoy. My goodness, you should have seen this card. It was handsomely embossed, printed in beautiful copperplate, and so large that the postman couldn’t fit it through the letterbox. The Spectator requested ‘the
Never turn your back on builders. I only nipped out to walk the dog. I was barely gone half an hour. When I left I had one good room. The spare room. The only nice room in the house. I really love the only nice room in the house. I love the jasmine white walls,
The first thing that strikes you when you arrive for an investiture at Buckingham Palace is how polite the police are. In contrast to their colleagues in other grimmer branches of law enforcement, they are friendly, jokey, and brimming with goodwill. Even the security men who search your car for explosives before you drive through
By the time you’re reading this, David Cameron will probably have made up his mind about how to respond to the Leveson report. For members of my trade, it will be the defining moment of his premiership. I’m not all that optimistic. I bumped into a Conservative whip last week who said he thought it
There’s a rough old whiff emanating from Stamford Bridge these days, and the source of the stench is Roman Abramovich, the Chelsea owner. Roberto di Matteo, the manager he sacked last week, was the eighth dismissed since he bought the club in 2003. That’s quite a turn-over, even for an oligarch who likes to get
Q. My son attends a drama school and, while I have always encouraged him to be open about his background, I was somewhat alarmed when he reported the following. He was talking to his fellow students about shooting, how much he enjoyed it — his father did it a lot, too, he added. His audience
A creation myth: Earl -Cadogan wandered into Oriel, the ancient Sloane Square brasserie on his land, like a lardy dachshund, if slightly more cadaverous. For 25 years Oriel served as a second home for the Chelsea hags and, worse, the brats, who still wear strange coloured cords, work in estate agency or PR, and are
‘I wandered home ’tween twelve and one,’ sang my husband, waving his head from side to side in the fond belief that it made him look more like Olivia Newton-John, ‘I cried, “My God, what have I done?” ’ I was feeling a little queasy to start with, and this did not help. The occasion,
