Enter Farron’s office and you soon notice the signs of his success – an award for best MP on one side, a prize for most social tweeter on another. It’s a far cry from his party as a whole.
Peter Wilby’s First Thoughts column.
In an age of fiscal famine, the tax and spend policies of the past are no longer an option.
China is obsessed with Sherlock, Iran loves Top Gear and Azerbaijan has its own Anne Robinson. But these shows are worth much more than money, writes James Medd.
Is it time to relinquish fantasies of winning in exchange for the greater prize of shared progress?
Will Hillary run for president in 2016? Her memoir is more interested in the fine art of diplomacy.
Are we moving to a federal United Kingdom and a written constitution?
The scene is set in 1984 but it could be any time between 1934 and 2014 in this backwater of the East Sussex coastline far from Thatcher’s Britain.
A 1981 archive recording of the Cider With Rosie author looking at the view from his study in Slad, Gloucestershire.
San Paolo, published posthumously in 1977 and presented here for the first time in English as St Paul, is Pasolini’s screenplay for the life of the apostle.
Wicomb was born in South Africa but has lived in Britain since the 1970s. Like previous work, her latest book revisits themes of homemaking, exile, return and race.
Cuckoo’s Calling sold just a few hundred copies when thought to be by “Robert Galbraith”, then millions when its true author was revealed. But should the mask have stayed on longer?
I loathed pretty much every buyer we saw but I was able to keep my disgust in check by thinking of them as upmarket recyclers.
An unconventional romance between two young cancer patients is not as hard-hitting as it could be.
My politics may place me firmly on the left of Labour, but confess to owning an MCC tie and people start looking at you in a whole new light.
Hunter Davies’s The Fan column.
For generations, people on the periphery have watched their ways of life – often informed by deep wisdom and ancient traditions – being sacrificed for “resources” for those in central nations.
The very alliterative character of pulled pork suggested to me something bogus and contrived; after all, what do you do when you’re sold a pig in a poke if not disgustedly pull the cat meat out?
London is both in my blood and not. I am of the place, and not of it, and I feel or imagine sentimental connections at every twist and turn.
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