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The show is a relaxing irony-free zone in a wearingly postmodern world. The nearest GoT gets to being ironic is the long sequences devoted to smelting.
It is all about her, even if that means killing the party she loves: the ultimate example of a love that is utterly destructive.
Perhaps there were relatively few hoarders in the past because not many could afford the space. These days, everyone with broadband is a potential hoarder.
Earth’s human population has doubled since 1970, to 7.6 billion, with devastating consequences. One million plant and animal species are now at risk of imminent extinction.
One of the waiters dropped a mustard pot, which splashed Ian’s brown jacket; I leaned over to help, napkin in hand, and draped my sleeve in beef broth.
The whistle would blow and on everyone would come, in a stampede, while the players dashed for safety. Not any more.
It is towns such as this that have shaped the Labour leadership’s Brexit approach, rather than a long-term commitment to quitting the bloc.
Your weekly dose of gossip from around Westminster.
The rapid pace of online news and conversation seldom rewards humility or equivocation – if you want to be heard it’s better to offer a bullshit “hot take” than a more considered one.
The plight of pregnant women in our overstretched prison system.
Labour's recent losses are about more than Brexit.
Gould’s Euroscepticism now seems prophetic, but it blighted his promising career.
Such states define themselves not as nations but civilisations – in opposition to the liberalism and global market ideology of the West.
Britain in the late 1970s was gripped by dark visions of socialist dystopias or racist authoritarian states. The old order was dying and the new was struggling to be born.
The characters’ exuberant interconnected stories are drawn from a wide range of backgrounds and heritages that encompass modern Britain.
Paul-Henri Campbell’s translation of Lichtgesang/Light Song gingerly feels its way in English, but is never quite at home.
Trying to placate the Nazi leader was like “scratching a crocodile’s head in the hope of making it purr”.
How we can control our technology habits.
As John Humphrys’ resignation nears, Evan Davis seemed to tell us that BBC cupboards are being cleaned. Gone are the interrogation years.
Set amid the dramatic millstone grit escarpments of South Yorkshire and Derbyshire, poet Helen Mort’s first novel inhabits a female-focused world within a machismo climbing scene.
In this film shot entirely in a studio, Denis sacrifices a crucial component of her range.
How Letitia Elizabeth Landon sold her image and bought poetic fame.
This finale is the ropiest bit of work Jed Mercurio has ever made.
Celebrities do not find it hard to be beautiful. But the Met Gala does not ask its guests to be beautiful.
The first view of the new stadium was a disappointing, shapeless mishmash. But inside, oh my goodness, it is all of a piece, a perfect whole, a theatrical marvel.
The past two decades have seen a seismic change in the working conditions and morale of doctors.
The unique club night at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern has been running for 20 years, and remains the only place I’m allowed to play what I really want to dance to.
Well, the Russians, as it turned out, were very nice, almost certainly not criminals, and very, very dull.
For the same price as a one-litre spray gun, I can buy a 200ml bottle of concentrate that will make up to ten litres.
The historian was prescient in warning that the value of facts depends on who wields them.
The writer and director talks Los Angeles in the 1970s, The Count of Monte Cristo, and his musical parrot.
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