Rachel Cooke trained as a reporter on The Sunday Times. She is now a writer at The Observer. In the 2006 British Press Awards, she was named Interviewer of the Year.
Is it a legitimate left-liberal position not to want any more cuts, yet still to feel that some people take the piss? Or does that make me Andy Burnham?
Cornell was a wildly prolific artist, yet in this beautifully unfussy, almost minimalist survey of about 80 of his boxes and collages, you will find not a single dud.
I wondered if there had ever been a lover. Had her parents been kind? When she cared for her ailing father, who had dominated whom?
The Gehry worshippers were like fashion editors at a Prada show, only minus the clothes, handbags and hair.
TFI Friday was quite nasty at its edges: it gave off a strong whiff of bullying and low-level belligerence. The male graduate population of north London seemed not to notice this.
I loved Birthday, but the bloggers were mostly unable to see beyond personal experience in the matter of art.
I would love to have been in the meeting when Mellor pitched this version of her drama.
Dominic West and Ruth Wilson are wonderful actors, but no one can claim that The Affair is Mad Men-style high art.
Jonathan Strange is an oddly lacklustre affair, aimed, it seems to me, at a generation brought up on Harry Potter.
For thrills, I would take that exit poll over Judi Dench and Jude Law any day.
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