Julie Burchill

Julie Burchill

Julie Burchill is a writer living in Brighton. Her Substack is julieburchill.substack.com.

Sunday

Julie Burchill

Nurses deserve more credit

From our UK edition

When I was recently in hospital for almost six months, one of my closest and most impish friends – who knows me very well and figured that I wouldn’t be up for anything serious – would bring me the novels of Betty Neels. Neels is largely forgotten now, but between 1969 and her death in 2001 she wrote 134 novels for the publisher Mills & Boon. Her male protagonists are often Dutch surgeons (her own husband was a Dutch sailor) and the plots are a bit samey: spirited nurse hates arrogant doctor/surgeon/consultant but eventually falls A over T in love with him. At the same time as I was reading Neels’s novels, I was watching with my devious little hack’s eye the interaction between the doctors and nurses around me, and it couldn’t have been more different.

Friday

Julie Burchill

What is the point of Emma Watson?

From our UK edition

I’ve been musing recently how people in the public eye can go ‘downhill’ in two main ways. One can make big, brash, ‘bad’ decisions, ignore well-meaning advice and render oneself an outlaw well into old age, unacceptable in polite company and rejected by one’s more pusillanimous peers. I’ve seen totem poles less wooden than Emma Watson and Daniel Radcliffe There’s a kind of tattered glory in this, knowing that you didn’t toe the line (you were too busy snorting them) because you had talent to burn. Even if you do eventually find yourself on the ropes, you’ll always have the satisfaction of knowing that you inspired a whole bunch of youngsters and were remembered by a whole bunch of oldsters – something which line-toers are highly unlikely to do.

Julie Burchill

Trump’s right, there’s power in positive non-thinking

From our UK edition

Though I’m no fan of Donald Trump, time and again I’m delighted by the alternately crazy and sane things he says, and the way he knows the difference; he’s the antithesis of our politicians, who say crazy things they sincerely believe are sane. This week he spoke to the BBC’s Gary O’Donoghue, who asked him about the Pennsylvania assassination attempt. As the BBC reported: When asked if the assassination attempt had changed him, the president conveyed a hint of vulnerability as he said he tries to think about it as little as he can. ‘I don't like dwelling on it because if I did, it would be, you know, might be life-changing, I don't want it to have to be that.’ Elaborating, he said he liked ‘the power of positive thinking, or the power of positive non-thinking’.

Saturday

Julie Burchill

Wimbledon’s Royal Box has become naff

From our UK edition

As Wimbledon reaches its climax this weekend, those of us neither interested in tennis, nor in taking a fortnight off work for solid perving purposes, are delighted it will soon be over. I couldn't care less about the tennis, but the comings and goings in the slightly obscene-sounding ‘Royal Box’ are impossible to escape from. The comings and goings in the slightly obscene-sounding ‘Royal Box’ are impossible to escape from This year has provided a bumper bonanza: Rebel Wilson, Cate Blanchett, Celia Imrie, Rory Kinnear, Nick Jonas, Bear Grylls, Hugh Grant, Olivia Rodrigo, Priyanka Chopra, Gary Lineker, John Cena, Dave Grohl, Dominic Cooper, Judd Apatow, Leslie Mann, Russell Crowe, David Beckham, Eddie Redmayne, Ronan Keating and Tom Daley have all shown up.

Thursday

Julie Burchill

Have the Gallaghers suffered from ‘naked classism’?

From our UK edition

Though I’d never read any books about Oasis before this one, I’d have bet it would be impossible to write boringly about the band – for two reasons: namely Noel and Liam Gallagher. As the most entertaining men in music, the former could be talking to a goldfish and still end up riffing in an entirely fresh, witty and profound way, while the latter is probably the greatest natural clown since Buster Keaton. I’ll put my cards on the table and admit that I’ve got a chronic crush on Noel. When I interviewed him for the Sunday Times nearly ten years ago, the simpering, gushing and giggling on the tape sounded as though a coachload of Japanese schoolgirls had joined us. He has spoken of how he enjoys the company of journalists – the mark of a reckless man with nothing to hide.

Monday

Julie Burchill

Why celebs hate their fans

From our UK edition

I can’t say I was gobsmacked to read that Miley Cyrus and Naomi Campbell seemed more interested in each other’s company than in their fans when they held a ‘meet and greet’ in London to sign copies of their new single. Some fans complained, accusing Cyrus of ignoring them in favour of chatting with Campbell. Somewhat stung, Cyrus posted nine videos on social media of herself and Campbell pressing the flesh with the little people: ‘To everyone who came out to celebrate our single, we love you.’ Hmm. We’ve been here before. Celebrities promoting their product can be snooty enough when interviewed one-on-one, but put two of them together in front of a ‘civilian’ (as Liz Hurley memorably put it) and you really see how showbiz kids feel about those outside their tribe.

Saturday

Julie Burchill

Tom Skinner and the triumph of Essex Man

From our UK edition

As a teenager, my first husband was an Essex Man. It ended badly – all my fault – but I still retain a fondness for the breed, who I associate with self-made can-do stoicism and optimism; the opposite of, say, Islington Man. An Essex Man is being spoken of as the one to give the ghastly ‘Sir’ Sadiq Khan a run for his money In recent decades, the county has become known as a glitzy, new-money Cheshire-on-Colne, due to the popular television show The Only Way Is Essex, a ‘scripted reality’ show in which a mutating cast of likely lads and luscious-lipped ladies make out and break up at bars and barbecues.

Monday

Julie Burchill

The real reason J.K. Rowling’s critics hate her

From our UK edition

It’s weird to think there was a time when I disliked J.K. Rowling; it seems as odd to me now as disliking words, or fun – she’s so obviously A Good Thing. (Never to be confused with a ghastly National Treasure – see Dawn French, the anti-Rowling.) Irony of ironies, I disliked this woman who shrugs that she has ‘received so many death threats I could paper the house with them’ because I thought she was a wimp – a ‘softy’ even, to use the childish parlance. If asked for evidence, I would probably have pointed to her rabid Remainerism (‘I’m the mongrel product of this European continent and I'm an internationalist’ – who isn’t, dearie?

Julie Burchill

Let teenagers drink!

From our UK edition

There’s not one thing I don’t love about the street in Hove where I live, with the sea at one end and the restaurant quarter at the other; if I had to fetishise a non-sentient thing, like those women who ‘marry’ rollercoasters, I’d be kinky for my street. (‘Avenue’, rather.) One of the lovely things about it is that I can see a section of Hove Lawns from my balcony – the manicured green spaces which differentiate our seafront from Brighton’s in one of many ways. (We smell nice, for a start.) Even better, I can hear Hove Lawns, which was always pleasant for me but – now I’m a cripple – keeps me connected to the beat of the neighbourhood I adore. Recently they hosted a 12-hour tribute band festival and a Soul 2 Soul show in the same weekend – that was fun.

Monday

Julie Burchill

The death of celebrity gossip

From our UK edition

When I was in hospital for almost half a year, learning how to face life as a ‘Halfling’ – a person in a wheelchair, patronised and petted – the thing I looked forward to most was a normal, some would say banal, event. I longed to be in my local Pizza Express, in Hove, reading Heat magazine to my husband as he ‘savoured’ his American Hot. To put it mildly, I am a far faster eater than Mr Raven, and rather than chatter to him and expect an answer, thus hindering his progress still further, I read to him. To add to the fun, I framed the problems of the Beckhams or the Sussexes as those of people we actually know, doing the appropriate voices, which rendered it delightfully bitchy.

Tuesday

Julie Burchill

Reform’s soap opera won’t turn off voters

From our UK edition

The last week has been a rare cheery one for the Left; not only did Elon Musk and Donald Trump fall out and part ways with all the vim and venom of two teenage sweethearts, but Nigel Farage and Zia Yusuf also split briefly – at least until the Reform chairman had second thoughts and returned in a DOGE incarnation. Friend-shedding applies to most of us, unless we’re very dull or saintlike The girl at the Guardian could barely contain herself, writing about the former; ‘Watching two of the very worst people in the world direct their nastiness at each other is extremely cathartic,’ said Arwa Mahdawi. But, this being the Guardian, Mahdawi couldn’t stay upbeat for long: 'So is this the end of a big, beautiful friendship?

Monday

Julie Burchill

There is no dignity in dyeing

From our UK edition

Growing up, like a lot of English girls, I was what was known as a ‘dirty blonde’. (An evocative phrase, the Dirty Blondes are now variously a theatre troupe, a pop group and a restaurant.) In the summer, I would put lemon juice on my hair and watch in wonder as it bleached in the sun; I mainly did it to irritate my mother, who found overly blonde hair ‘tarty’. When I grew my impressive rack and shot up to 5ft 8in at 13, what I thought of as ‘The Bothering’ started – grown men attempting quite openly to pick me up, especially when I was wearing my school uniform. Blonde hair was the last thing I needed. Like many a dreamy teenager of the time – I’m not sure it still happens – I was drawn to the mythical beings of Hollywood.

Wednesday

Julie Burchill

Greta Thunberg’s pathetic Gaza voyage

From our UK edition

When we consider child stars through the ages, the girls generally age better than the boys; Judy Garland, Elizabeth Taylor, Billie Piper all made the seamless switch from winsome cuties to gifted entertainers. The same cannot be said of Greta Thunberg, though she’s certainly remained consistently irritating. Neither a singer nor a thespian, she is a professional tantrum-thrower, more comparable to the fictional horrors Violet Elizabeth Bott and Veruca Salt than the trio of troupers listed above. Was there ever such a show-boating crusading numpty as Greta?

Monday

Julie Burchill

Should we feel sorry for nepo babies like Ella Mills?

From our UK edition

Is sympathy finite? The Rolling Stones suggested that we might extend this tenderest of emotions towards ‘Old Nick’ himself, but I’m not so sure. Can we really just keep feeling sorry for people infinitely, and expect it never to run out? How about empathy – that favourite buttonhole bloom of the slippery self-adoring? Are we required to have empathy with every delicate little flower who claims victimhood or may we sternly put our judgemental hat on and decide ‘No, you’re an over-privileged self-pitier – back of the queue!’ Is it better for nepo-babes to be nice and in denial, or brazenly revelling in it and therefore more honest, but also nastier?

Tuesday

Julie Burchill

Britain still leads the world… in STDs

From our UK edition

When I read on the BBC website that ‘England will be the first country in the world to start vaccinating people against the sexually transmitted infection gonorrhoea’, I felt a flare of rare patriotism. We Brits, far from the no-sex-please-we’re-British libel which self-loathing Europhiles like to paste on us, have been known for our sexual generosity (some might say incontinence) since the dawn of cheap foreign travel, so it makes sense for us to take preventive measures. A tiny, immature bit of me even wanted to snigger, as when I was a young girl the idea of ‘the clap’ was a matter of some amusement on the part of my cohort. However, this is a serious business. It will not be available for everyone.

Sunday

Julie Burchill

No, James Corden: London doesn’t want a mayor like you

From our UK edition

Clown. It’s a great word, and I use it often. Though not a great fan of emojis, the clown face one is the one I deploy most frequently when answering unwanted and insincere private messages on X. I do this because the meaning of the word ‘clown’ has changed considerably over the years. Once it meant a jester, a droll, an entertainer intent on causing jollity. Clowns could be wildly different – from Marcel Marceau to Morecambe and Wise – but their basic purpose was to add to the gaiety of nations. Putting the ‘ick’ into Icarus, James Corden apparently flew too high Comedians aren’t generally like this anymore. (‘Comedian’ has also taken on a less cheery alternative meaning; ‘Looks like we’ve got ourselves a comedian!

Wednesday

Julie Burchill

Do cyclists know how hated they are?

From our UK edition

Cyclists. I’ve become a tolerant cove in my old age but if there’s one word certain to raise my dander, it’s cyclists. In Brighton they think they own the place, enabled by successive stupid councils, who have spent tens of thousands of pounds on cycle lanes and those eyesore e-bikes all over town. With a murderous version of droit de seigneur – at odds with their right-on, self-righteous self-image – cyclists appear to believe that walkers are a lower order who they are free to run over as they please. Cyclists in Brighton seem particularly fond of riding on pavements, where the most damage can be done. It’s like they see pedestrians as targets in some sort of video game – ten points for a man, 20 for a woman, 50 for a child.

Saturday

Julie Burchill

Gary Lineker is a joke

From our UK edition

After a lifetime of being irritated by too many public figures to name, a few years back I discovered a way to bypass this minor but persistent feature of modern life. Whenever their asinine blatherings are splashed over the media, don’t read them as if they were the thoughts and utterances of reasonable – or even real people. Simply think of them as great comic creations of the type we see on screen in a ‘mockumentary’. Nigel Tufnel from Spinal Tap, David Brent from The Office or Alan Partridge. Instantly, your irritation will melt away and you can enjoy a good old snigger instead.

Tuesday

Julie Burchill

A David Bowie devotee with the air of Adrian Mole

From our UK edition

When one thinks of ‘odd’, one might imagine the bizarre but not the boring. Yet odd thingscan indeed be boring – as Peter Carpenter’s book shows. First, a word about my admiration for David Bowie, which began when I was 12. He was a vastly gifted artist as well as being a supremely ambitious man, who once floated himself on the stock exchange and appeared in an ad for bottled water when already a millionaire many times over. He also had sex with children, helping himself to the virginity of a 13-year-old girl as part of the ‘Baby Groupies’ circle. I think of myself at 13. Would I have had sex with Bowie, given the chance? You bet! Do I think it was creepy he seduced 13-year-olds? Without a doubt. No such paradoxes are explored in the pedestrian plod that is Bowieland.

Saturday

Julie Burchill

Why the Germans don’t do it better

From our UK edition

When I was a girl – shortly after the repeal of the Corn Laws – a common rhetorical question was ‘Who won the bloody war anyway?’ whenever the Germans came up in conversation. We were The Sick Man Of Europe; they were My Perfect Cousin. Not any longer: German politics now looks rather chaotic compared to ours. Their chancellor Friedrich Merz stumbled into office this week on the second go. So terrified is the paternalistic, pompous German establishment that they are considering banning the AfD: that notorious fascist party led by a lesbian in a relationship with a Sri Lankan woman. Where did it all go so wrong for our German cousins? No one blames the Germans for wanting to stay in the EU.