An immediate rumour after the opening ceremony at the Beijing Games was that an emergency meeting of the British Olympic Committee was convened in order to find an excuse for cancelling London 2012. There might have been even greater panic because Britain is expected to produce a ‘performance’ of eight minutes as part of the
Monday Copies of lads mags found lying around leaders’ office: 5 (v bad); pounds shed by Mr Pickles in name of Being The Change: 0 (v bad); inquiries about why we haven’t launched any green taxes yet: 67 (v v bad); pages read of Quick Guide To The Caucasus: one and a half (vg). So
One of the great adventures of being an actor is filming abroad, when suddenly you have the opportunity not only to visit, but actually to work somewhere else; to feel temporarily part of another city’s fabric rather than floating along its surface. This, then, comes to you from glorious, sweltering Rome, or more precisely from
Every six months the tabloid press shakes its pudgy fist in ecstatic indignation over some new film (usually French and about as offensive as a French actress’s unveiled breasts). Last week, it was a British film called Donkey Punch which prompted the ever-raging question ‘Is this the vilest film ever?’ The answer, as with all
Monday V nerve-wracking weekend. Thought I was going to get the sack for leaving the mike on during Dave’s meeting with Mr Obama. Wrote a long email of apology to Gary cc Nigel for accidentally forgetting to tell the ABC cameraman that it was pictures only, but Gary sent me a memo back, cc’d every-one,
From London to Bath to Manhattan, ten funerals or memorial services since October makes more than one a month, and attending them can seem a full-time occupation, as well as a sorrowful one. John Biffen, Bill Deedes and Ian Gilmour were full of years and had done the state some service. James Michie and Euan
We’re back in St Tropez after a whirlwind week in London. The party season is in full swing so I dipped my toes in a couple, and what a difference between two of the most high-profile events that week. One, an exhibition of paintings at a Dover Street Gallery, was given in a large airy
Rebecca Newman gives a rundown of her week Rarely in my life have I enjoyed running. A tubby child and then a sickly teen, I spent games lessons hiding behind a piano with a book. Odd then, that this week I completed (half of) one of the toughest marathons in the world. Stranger still, I enjoyed it.
Penny Smith gives a rundown of her week No matter what happens, Friday is always a big day for those of us who do five days of getting up at sparrow’s cough. The prospect of two days of lie-ins is so exciting it makes me feel giddy. My self-imposed rule of no drinking and no caffeine is broken
Monday Hats off to the Major government — it’s not easy managing sleaze. Putting out endless statements explaining why some MP or other isn’t on the take. The reasons are so complicated. Plus it takes ages to calm them down. They ring in on the Helpline practically hysterical. Had one this morning. ‘Have you any
I’m just back from New York, where I met friends from the New York Times. Their morale, they said, was low. This is a typical complaint of journalists everywhere; for not only are they seldom content with their lot but, more than people in any other trade, they love to analyse and expound upon their
The summer solstice is upon us. Time to get out the woad, ramp up the chanting and perform some ancient pagan rituals involving fire, water, air and earth. It might be very cheering to get blue and naked in the countryside, and it would certainly take our minds off the current doom and gloom that
Monday Dave opened the nine o’clock by paying tribute to a great former shadow home secretary whose place in history, and on the back benches, was now assured. ‘We will give him all the space he needs to fulfil his brave quest of being re-elected to his own constituency.’ Then we proceeded to Options For
Another Ark fundraising dinner has come and gone and I can finally get back to running my business. More importantly I can focus on the programmes that the dinner paid for. The stress started in January as Ian Wace (my partner in Ark) and I planned a thousand details for Europe’s largest charity event. It
Monday Fraught morning. Drew the short straw and had to take Mrs Spelperson her camomile tea but couldn’t find her. Looked everywhere. Under the desk, in the filing cabinet. Nowhere. So I couldn’t tick the chart confirming that she had been checked on and given light refreshments. I expect she’s climbed out of the window
Venetia Thompson contends with a broken Blackberry, teeth-whitening kits and cyclists Last weekend I discovered what it is like to be a small furry animal in its burrow, when in an effort to catch up on some sleep and do some work, I had refused to go out and instead sat steadfast in my living-room. I
I co-own a rather jolly children’s shop on Ebury Street and my stock has recently expanded to include a Romanian tramp. I discovered him sleeping on my doorstep after returning to collect a laptop charger I’d left behind. As it was physically impossible to get into the shop without first crushing him, I found myself
Monday Another superb by-election victory party at HQ with lashings of Pol Roger! The vibe v much: ‘Humility and workmanlike determination to get on with the job of serving the British people.’ Jed made a fantastic speech about how jubilation should ring out throughout the land as Our Great Leader Dave basks in this his
The day after my arrival in Harare I attended Evensong at St Mary Magdalene’s Anglican church. The congregation was in a state of shock. Almost every church in Harare had been raided by riot police that morning. In some cases the police blocked worshippers from entering as they arrived, beating up those who tried to
Dennis Sewell on the state of Lebanon and the charm of Guto Harri My earliest childhood memory is of machine-gun rounds coming through the bedroom wall. There were no loud bangs — the cacophony is almost all at the shooter’s end. Incoming, each successive bullet breathed only the softest hiss, of a kind an exotic insect might