Rod Liddle

Rod Liddle

Rod Liddle is associate editor of The Spectator.

Everyone says they’re Charlie. In Britain, almost no one is

Je suis Charlie indeed. This is the problem with placards — there is rarely enough room to fit in the caveats, the qualifying clauses and the necessary evasions. I suppose you could write them on the back of the placard, one after the other, in biro. Or write in brackets and in much smaller letters, directly

Nothing to do with Muslims, of course

Utterly brilliant piece by Brendan O’Neill at Spiked on what would have happened if Charlie Hebdo had been published in Britain, rather than in France. It does not strike me as being terribly far-fetched. Meanwhile, the BBC, yet again, has misjudged the story in its news coverage, wringing its hands over the treatment of French

The utterly ludicrous and petty campaign against Ched Evans

A new name to help us welcome in the new year: Jean Hatchet. A name which is almost certainly too good to be true for a perpetually infuriated radical feminist — much as, say, Roz Termagant or Betty Hitler would be. It is a pseudonym, apparently. Ms Hatchet — I assume that is the title she would

A wonderful time was had by all at the Utter Arse of the Year awards

A glittering cast list, delicious food and spectacular entertainment — I just wish you could have been there. But tickets were at a premium for The Spectator’s prestigious Utter Arse of the Year awards ceremony held, as ever, in the council chamber at Tower Hamlets. The meal, prepared by the exciting left-wing lesbian cook Jack Monroe,

A reliable obesity survey? Fat chance

More excellent news for Team UK. Apparently we are now the second fattest people in Europe – and are rapidly catching up on the humongous, goulash-obsessed Hungarians, who currently hold the coveted number one spot. However – the news gets better. The survey was undertaken before Christmas Day: the morbidly obese Magyars tend to eat

Rod Liddle: my favourite books of the year

I’ve been away in Oslo. Not the world’s most exciting destination, I have to say. And the locals really do talk and smile exactly like Frances McDormand does in Fargo. Anyway, as there’s still a few days left before Christmas I thought I’d mention a couple of my favourite books of the year, just in

The Bird-Bolter plot thickens…

It’s a good name, Roger Bird, isn’t it? The story, or non-story, develops apace. Read Steerpike here for the details of the text messages sent by Natasha Bolter to Mr Bird and which suggest to me a degree of, um, complicity, y’know? Newsnight carried it as their second story last night: Yoda was wreathed in