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Donald Trump will go down as the most corncobbed president in history.
The northern Italian town of Predappio is the birthplace of Il Duce (“the Leader”).
At the turn of the 20th century, discussions about degeneration became entangled with fears of national decline.
The Prime Minister does not name names.
The car has long been synonymous with success.
Dara Khosrowshahi has a daunting in-tray.
Her departure is unlikely to occur at a time of her choosing.
We’ve kept all the duties, the dehumanisation, the gilded cages; but now the poor bastards don’t even get to invade France in return.
Jeremy Corbyn has to placate three different views of Brexit within the party.
A little over 20 years ago, I saw a slender-billed curlew. Now it’s extinct.
Trump wants to “make America great again”, but as Great Little America.
An Irish book with little to say about nationalism or the church is a breakthrough – though that's where the innovation ends.
Rosen has the knack of instantly grabbing your attention.
Gunn's formal craft and intelligence is up there with the best of our 20th-century poets.
The author of Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha punctures the comedy of Irish storytelling.
We cared nothing about his work or the famous people he met.
A young Yorkshire farmer meets a Romanian labourer.
The BBC detective programme's seams are showing, but at least it's not as silly as the return of ITV's royal biopic.
This concert in a Peckham car park offered an unusual sonic experience.
Charles Darwin: Victorian Mythmaker portrays the naturalist as an unscrupulous self-promoter who directly influenced Nazi eugenics.
I accept that things are getting out of control.
The ankle is far and away the commonest sprain site we see.
In the old days, Brits dominated the transfer headlines.
The colour orange was named after the fruit, not the other way around.
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