Suzanne Moore is a writer for the Guardian and the New Statesman. She writes the weekly “Telling Tales” column in the NS.
“Weren’t you meant to see Blair this morning?” “Um, yeah. I didn’t really feel like it.”
Was I projecting my own disturbance on to him? If so, it felt like a void that I could not bear.
My feet were burnt from standing in very high heels and everything deteriorated quite quickly.
The left has a strange relationship with its workers. Love, not money, counts.
You know when kids say “It’s so unfair”? Well. They’re right.
Our casual affair became more serious when we went to meetings in a back room of a pub on Holloway Road.
Never trust a hippie.
The ex-cop talked a lot of Zen stuff about waiting for the perfect moment, the lining up of the cross hairs. Letting the gun tell you when to pull the trigger. Aim for the head. Or heart. What a rush.
The bit they don’t tell you is that agency workers are often brought in when something bad has happened.
We notice you have ad blocking software enabled. Support the New Statesman’s quality, independent journalism by contributing now — and this message will disappear for the next 30 days.
If we cannot support the site on advertising revenue, we will have to introduce a pay wall — meaning fewer readers will have access to our incisive analysis, comprehensive culture coverage and groundbreaking long reads.