Rod Liddle is associate editor of The Spectator.
From our UK edition
It was in the autumn of 2005 that the Conservative party finally shed its allegedly ‘toxic’ image and embraced modernity and the values of today’s vibrant and inclusive Britain, all through a single photograph on the front page of a tabloid newspaper. The picture showed the future Chancellor of the Exchequer, George Osborne, with a
From our UK edition
At some media whore shindig early in the summer I bumped into Michael Gove and asked, politely, if he would mind very much making me the boss of Ofsted. After all, I had once employed him as a reporter – it seemed the least that he could do. He was sadly non-committal; I have waited
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The Spectator debate next week is about whether or not we should leave the European Union. Luckily, this is one of the very few issues upon which I am undecided and not possessed of an arrogant and fatuous opinion. Luckily, because I am moderating the debate and therefore am required to be neutral. My objection
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A Welsh bloke who snorted half of Bolivia up his nostrils has been told he can carry on his chosen profession – that of a teacher. Huw Davies, who is also a Conservative councillor – which one assumes is how he acquired his stash of gak – was sacked by Brynteg Comprehensive School after being
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Had your fill of 9/11 porn yet? I guarantee if you turn on the TV at this moment on some channel there’ll be a plane crashing into a building and a nutter from the Midwest telling you it was organised by the Jews via the offices of the Zionist Occupation Government, the towers packed with
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Sadly, I wasn’t among the 260 souls who watched Stranraer FC narrowly defeat Berwick Rangers a couple of weeks back. Sadly, I wasn’t among the 260 souls who watched Stranraer FC narrowly defeat Berwick Rangers a couple of weeks back. I’ve only been to Stranraer once, in 1975, when I watched my father stand by
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These are heady days for the proponents of liberal evangelism. Saif Gaddafi had to leave a telephone call because, he explained, ‘There is shooting inside my house’ and a little further away there are people whooping loudly in Tripoli. The news of the rebels’ victory may be a shade premature at time of writing —
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On one of those phone-in quiz shows, as reported by Private Eye, a contestant, when asked to name the capital of Poland, replied with great confidence: “Auschwitz”. I don’t know exactly what proportion of the British public would subscribe to this notion, but I would guess that it is largish. The ignorance compounded, of course,
From our UK edition
Things are looking a little ticklish for Muammar Gaddafi. It would seem that the maniacal and disorganised coalition of rebels, which occasionally breaks off from fighting the tyrant to murder its own leaders, is poised for a famous victory. A consequence, one supposes, of the heavy ordinance expended by the various western allies. Had ol’
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I had a sort of Tottenham High Street moment just after lunch on Tuesday. I was passing a sandwich shop near the Spectator offices and happened to see the slogan beneath its name: ‘Live your life, love our food.’ The urge came, right there and then, to torch the place and maybe rough up the
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When I was ten years old my junior school decamped from its old site and moved to a brand new building which, surprisingly for us, had no classrooms. I remember a bunch of us talking to the headmaster about it. “Where do we have lessons?” “Ah, you won’t be having ‘lessons’, as such.” “What!” “No,
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Should David Starkey be made homeless by his local council for his recent “inflammatory” comments about the riots which have so entertained us recently? I do not know who runs Mr Starkey’s local council and I suppose that he is an owner-occupier, rather than living in accommodation subsidised by the rest of us. But clearly,
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So appalled and incensed am I at the killing of gentle, loving family man Mark Duggan last Thursday that I feel only the immediate illegal acquisition of an expensive consumer durable, preferably a top end watch, will assuage my righteous wrath and lessen my grief. A Rolex should do the job, or at least something
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The Chilcot inquiry is too early to really savage Tony Blair Apparently Sir John Chilcot is likely to be ‘critical’ of Tony Blair in his long-awaited report into the Iraq war. We know this, or think we know it, because the Mail on Sunday has told us as much, in some detail. How does the
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So is Anders Breivik mad, or just right-wing? His lawyer has decided to go with the former, presumably on the basis that the Norwegian courts will look more kindly upon someone who is doolally than on someone who is a shade to the right of centre. He is probably right about this. There is a
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At time of writing I do not know the name of the lumpen oaf who tried to rub an ersatz custard pie in Rupert Murdoch’s face during his testimony to the Culture, Media and Sport select committee. At time of writing I do not know the name of the lumpen oaf who tried to rub
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I’d like the art therapists to be next, if at all possible. I’d like the art therapists to be next, if at all possible. I mean, next in line for the national outpouring of bile and contumely. My closest friend is an art therapist and his smugness is beginning to get my goat, especially coming
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Tony Little, the headmaster of Eton, recently told me that he thought teacher training colleges tended to make people worse teachers rather than better. As the head of an independent school, Mr Little is allowed to appoint who he wants to his teaching staff, and regularly appoints those who have not been through the vacuous
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Do you remember the vicious debates back in the middle of the 1990s about whether or not we should join the single European currency? We don’t have that argument much any more; even the Liberal Democrats keep their traps shut about it these days and try to change the subject when any one mentions it.
From our UK edition
I realise that in most cases, the following is not something which concerns you terribly. Further, the point I’m making has been made over and over again this last decade or so. But this year it’s a sort of parody of a parody itself. Consider; top of the bill the witless showbiz caterwauling of Beyonce,
