I know the Daily Mail and the Daily Telegraph well, and I don’t care to see them like this.
The rise of Emmanuel Macron's party has shattered the accepted wisdom.
Your weekly dose of gossip from around Westminster.
Saving my Commons seat, feeling sorry for Black Rod, and banning the bomb.
The fraying of Britain’s public realm risks further tragedies.
After giving testimony in the film Destination Unknown 72 years after liberation, one of the last Holocaust survivors discusses why he never really left.
We desperately need a return to calm and moderation.
He comes from a tradition on the left that sees the EU as a capitalist club.
Nobody told me there’d be days like these.
"I used to think that what I believed to be right was also popular."
The Prime Minister has lost all authority. The Tories will remove her as soon as they feel the time is right.
...and what he got wrong.
My time in the gutter taught me how much the homeless deserve our compassion.
Reports of the form’s death – and rebirth – have always been greatly exaggerated.
Richard O Prum's book mimics the literary output of Charles Darwin.
The author is especially vexed by the barbarous locution “wake-up call”.
A new poem by Gary Allen.
Hopefully, For a Little While will bring the American author the UK recognition he deserves.
We all want to discover who we truly are – but what happens when we don't like what we find?
Both Fathers and Sons by Howard Cunnell and Fathers by Sam Miller chase what can never really be known.
Cass R Sunstein explores how insulation pushes groups towards more extreme opinions.
Author Benjamin Myers's capacity for the grotesque is constantly threatening to breach your tolerance of it.
Korean director Bong Joon-ho works with British co-writer Jon Ronson on this tale of genetically engineered superpigs.
No song seemed to fit the mood on Hayes FM.
A gold star for Ian Hislop's BBC2 immigration documentary.
I’m afraid I am going to have to stick to writing.
A cold war is brewing to the tinkling of "Greensleeves".
Somewhere along the line, I’d lost the punky irreverence that made me delight in iconoclasm for its own sake.
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