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Friday

Tanya Gold Tanya Gold

I am addicted to Rolls-Royce

Rolls-Royce calls the Cullinan Series II, the new version of its 2018 ‘high-sided vehicle’ (read SUV), its ‘most capable’ motorcar. That is an understatement. Rolls-Royces can be understated because they are bespoke and, as such, they are what you want them to be. You are dropping the price of a house on a motorcar, after all – the parallels with sexual longing are obvious, if under-disclosed. For every hot pink, or blush pink, Phantom with an interior ceiling lit up as your late dog’s face or horoscope – they can do this – there is an inky Ghost impersonating Bette Davis’s black silk dress in All About Eve. That’s my

Mark Nayler

All Souls is the SAS of academia

‘What sort of book might Satan write?’ ‘Why do people watch horror films?’ ‘Should we give up hope?’ These were three of the questions faced earlier this year by candidates seeking admission to All Souls College, Oxford, Britain’s most elite academic institution. Founded by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Henry Chichele, and King Henry VI in 1438, the college takes its name from All Souls’ Day on 2 November, the occasion on which Christians around the world pray for the faithful departed (in Mexico it’s called Día de Muertos, or the Day of the Dead). All Souls’s most eccentric tradition is the ‘Mallard Song’, sung twice a year in remembrance of

Wednesday

Tuesday

John Sturgis

The royal love triangle that led to Montecito

Were The Duke and Duchess of Sussex to leave their mansion in Montecito, California, and head a couple of miles across town, to Toro Canyon, they would soon find themselves at the one-time home of a woman whose story they would find rather relatable. Because the former occupant once drove a wedge between the Prince of Wales and his younger brother, Prince Harry. Sound familiar? That former Montecito resident was Beryl Markham, a woman whose destructive involvement with the two English princes decades before Meghan was born bears one or two rather strange similarities with the Sussexes’s own story. The fact that Harry and Meghan chose to make their new

Paula Gahan

The new divide between first class and economy

As cabin crew for an international airline, I love working in first class. In the briefing room, when all the crew are scrambling to bag their favourite positions before the start of the flight, I make sure to insist I’m the first-class dolly for the day. Usually no one minds, as some people are averse to tending to the whims of the upper-class jet set. What they might not realise is, since the dawn of the Ozempic age, working in first class is now much, much easier. There’s barely anything to do. Why? Because nobody eats anymore. Remember that famous line from Kim Kardashian, ‘no one wants to work anymore’?

Robin Ashenden

The curse of cool

One of the freedoms of later life, if you’re not Keith Richards, is that you no longer have to worry about being cool. Cool, far more than money, is the currency of youth, and as a teenager I knew who had it and who didn’t. But what was cool, all those decades ago? Who possessed it, and why did it matter? Coolness, in my youth, seemed in the DNA, something you either had or didn’t There were various things that defined ‘cool’ when I was a teenager, and most of us in some way fell short. It was the ability not to get too excited about things. To feel enthusiasms

Monday

Kate Ferguson

Why girls love fags

I can’t remember exactly when I had my first cigarette, but I remember roughly how I started. I was probably 13. I picked up one of my mum’s packets of ten Silk Cut, which was about half full. I slipped one out, put it in my pocket, saving it for later. My friends and I walked through the streets of Crouch End until we found a corner that was quiet and away from the prying eyes of our parents. At funerals, everyone wants to smoke. People who gave up 20 years before and go jogging five times a week suddenly have a craving We got our matches out, lit it,

Nigel Jones

What’s sadder than an ageing rocker?

‘Old soldiers…’ they used to say, ‘never die. They simply fade away.’ What a shame that the same can’t be said of old rock stars. The old codgers can’t be cajoled, shamed or otherwise persuaded to kindly leave the stages they have profitably adorned for half a century or more. My lifelong rock hero, Jim Morrison of the Doors, had the good taste to die at 27 This unworthy thought came to me the other day as I watched 75-year-old Bruce Springsteen creakily strutting his stuff at a campaign rally for cackling Kamala. I have been a fan of the Boss since the 1970s when the perceptive critic Jon Landau

Friday

Penworthy

Two wagers for the weekend

Dashel Drasher is just the sort of jump horse that I love to watch. A front runner who wears his heart on his sleeve, he will tomorrow embark on his eighth competitive season for his astute Somerset handler Jeremy Scott. Aged 11, Dashel Drasher will make his seasonal debut in the Grade 2 bet365 Hurdle – better known as The West Yorkshire Hurdle – at Wetherby (2.22 p.m.), going off at likely odds of around 4-1. However, there are plenty of negatives for the horse tomorrow notably that the ground is good and he prefers a much softer surface. He also has to give 6 lbs or more to all

Rob Crossan

Below the belt: the indelicate truth about male grooming

Let’s get one thing perfectly clear. I’m British, divorced, ginger-haired and I once accidentally called the late Radio 1 DJ Annie Nightingale ‘mum’ during an interview. So there’s very little I can learn about embarrassment. Or so I thought. My perspective changed somewhere around the moment that a male groomer versed in the nascent trend of the ‘boyzilian’ placed hot wax over my most intimate areas and told me, in the nonchalant manner of a butcher asking me how I’d like my sausages bagged, that I should prepare for a certain amount of pain. A certain amount of pain? I have always considered my discomfort threshold to be somewhere between