Culture

Boxing Day is the one day of the year when people really come out en masse to support their local hunts. Over a quarter of a million people are expected to show their support wherever the meet may be – in town centres, country pubs or the local stately home. It won’t just be hunt supporters going out, though. Twelve years after the Hunting Act, hunt saboteurs will be out in force as well. This is despite the fact that in the past two years, no registered hunts have been prosecuted under the Act. Surely, many people would argue, this means that hunts are sticking to the law, making hunt

At my local carol concert this week, I couldn’t help but despair at the state of the singing. It was just so dire. And it got me thinking: is the same dreadful crooning taking place at churches and carol concerts up and down the country? Are the tone-deaf spoiling age-old songs elsewhere too? If so, it’s a worrying indictment of just how bad British singing has become. Fortunately, when I was growing up I was always in choirs. Being in the Gluck glitterati, I lived a sheltered life, hidden from the tone deaf and silent myriad. There was never a sermon too dull, or wedding too icky, when I was exposed to the hymn belters.

Christmas is three days away, those heading off to relatives are starting to pack. Booze, books – and, I’d like to propose, one other item: the Spectator’s books podcast. Tis the season for finding a podcast, falling in love with it and downloading several episodes to listen to during a long drive (or lazy afternoons). Advances in technology mean you don’t have to listen to whatever nonsense might be on the radio. A good podcast can take you straight into conversations you’d love to have – which is what The Spectator’s books podcast does. Each week Sam Leith, our brilliant literary editor, talks to authors about their ideas, approaches to their work, about

Since my blog about the new threat to press freedom yesterday, and the notorious Section 40 being consulted on by the government, responses have been coming in thick and fast. A few of you have copied me in to emails sent to Karen Bradley, the Culture Secretary, many of them rather brilliant. More importantly, I’ve been contacted by a software designer who has agreed to make a form that we can use to send a template response to the government’s consultation. This leaves us with one question: what form of words? One form has been created, here. But all you really need to do is mention Section 40 and a new

Despite my ‘difficult’ reputation, I am a cheery cove in real life, all the more so as I get older. But in true Dorian Grey style, I only stay this way by letting my intolerant side rule the roost on Facebook. Every morning my hot little hands positively itch to unfollow, defriend and block: a day which passes without binning a few dim bulbs is a day wasted. I’ve had an especially good run of it this year, as two things in particular have acted as cracking prompts for my ‘negging‘ narrative. One has been the showing of bad attitude on the part of many Remain-supporting mates. I don’t expect

When we redesigned The Spectator six years ago, we spent months working on the launch issue and there was one name we wanted on the cover more than anyone else’s: AA Gill. These six letters could make you smile all on their own. They were a guarantee of wonderfully entertaining writing, gorgeous, unusual turns of phrase and, always, originality and spark. He was rather expensive; we couldn’t afford him very often. But always worth the money, when we had it. It surprised me, at first, to see that he’d phone in his copy, and dictate it. He had written it down, he’d tell me, but it would make no sense

In yesterday’s Guardian Giles Fraser dismisses Louise Casey’s report on social division. Its desire to ‘integrate’ communities is serving liberal capitalist ‘hegemony’. And he dismisses Sajid Javid’s call for all Britons to affirm ‘the shared values that make Britain great.’ This, says Fraser, ‘is actually another way of saying that all must be obliged to pay homage to the real god: the economy.’ Thank goodness there are communities that dissent from ‘the dominant model of middle-of-the-road liberal secular capitalism’. He concludes that Muslims should be thanked for maintaining ‘their religious convictions and way of life. They refuse all that nonsense about religion being a private matter. They stand strong against the

‘Are you Charles Moore of The Spectator?’ I answered to that description. ‘Well,’ said my questioner, ‘I am worried that you’re becoming very right-wing.’ We were sitting by the fire in a charming, smoky hut with no electric light and lots to eat and drink. It was a shooting lunch, the sort of occasion where one is seldom held to account for anything. I could have tried to laugh the question off, but my interrogator exhibited high intelligence and class confidence, so I sensed she wouldn’t let me get away with that. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to answer her. I am not offended by being called right-wing, because I don’t agree

Sometimes a combination of news stories crop up that so perfectly sum up the spirit of the age, its absurdities and hypocrisies, that there ought to be a name for it. This week, for instance, I learned that the Home Office had barred three Iraqi and Syrian bishops from entering the country, the same department that quite merrily welcomes some of the most unpleasant hate preachers from the Islamic world. Elsewhere, there was also a report about racial and religious segregation in schools and the need to teach something called ‘British values’ to children to help them integrate. And finally, the winner of the country’s most prestigious art award was announced, beating competition from

On the few occasions when something I have written has directly affected a person, I have usually regretted it. During the row about the hunting ban, I got furious with Rod Liddle, then the editor of the Today programme, because he wrote an article attacking people who hunt. I composed a thunderous leader in the Daily Telegraph about his shocking lack of impartiality and called for his sacking. Amazingly, the BBC obliged. I was dismayed, because Rod (though indeed preposterous on that particular subject) was one of the few subversive spirits ever to rise to an important editorial position in the corporation. My guilt was only partially assuaged by his