Spectator Life

Did you know that an expert on mosses is called a bryologist? And did you know that there are 754 species of moss in The British Isles? No? Well then you can be forgiven for not knowing that my brother, Mark, I write with pride, recently discovered another moss – number 755 – new not only to The British Isles but also to science. Only about 40 naturalists actively study mosses in Britain Poking around along the banks of the River Camlad (the only river, I’m told, that flows from England into Wales) in Montgomeryshire, Mark came across an unfamiliar plant growing in dispersed patches on a riverbank at the edge of a pasture.

We all know that the saddest words in the English language are ‘too late’. We also know that ‘procrastination is the thief of time’ and that ‘punctuality is the politeness of kings. However, since this piece was published a couple of weeks ago, many have got in touch to point out that, very often, ‘the tidy’ are also ‘the early’. Their irrational obsession with being tidy is matched by an equally irrational terror of being late. They’re missing out on the joy of spontaneity, the thrill of uncertainty and of going with the flow I’m not advocating a slack attitude to timekeeping. If you’re late for your train, your plane or your appointment at the Palace to receive your OBE, you really will miss it.

It’s a pretty typical 1930s-built semi in the outer London suburbs: four bedrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen, average back garden and unusually large front garden with a lawn and mixed shrub borders. Or rather that’s what it was until it changed hands earlier this summer and the new owners had different ideas. Now that that front lawn and its surrounding borders are gone. In their place is an extended paved area that has enough space to park at least six cars, maybe eight. Not a blade of grass has survived. The bulldozing of this domestic garden in north London coincided with the Ulez expansion, joining other recent anti-car measures like 20mph speed limits and LTN-closed streets, in an effort to reduce air pollution.

Thinking of adding another six strings to your bow? You wouldn’t be alone – lockdown inspired plenty of people to learn the guitar. The trend may have lessened as people return to the office, but it has still meant UK and European sales for the guitar maker Fender are £5 million higher than before Covid. The company say that almost half of its guitars are sold to people playing the instrument for the first time. Should you follow their example? The short answer is ‘yes’. The same instinct that gets you holding a tennis racket in front of the mirror means that when you progress to the real thing, the one you want is a Fender Stratocaster. Buddy Holly played one, which was why Eric Clapton wanted one. And after Eric Clapton played one, every guitarist since has wanted one.

Back in the early days of the motor car, Rolls-Royce would sell you a ladder chassis and drivetrain, but for the bodywork you’d have to consult a coachbuilder and write a separate cheque. It wasn’t until 1946 that Rolls-Royce provided its own. Henry Royce dealt with the oily bits, but when it came to the styling, his patrons had to visit the likes of Park Ward, Mulliner, James Young and Hooper. There were dozens of firms to choose from and the outcome would be a collaboration between designer and client, not unlike tailoring. There was an upside to all of this: Rolls-Royce customers often ended up with something unique, or at the very least rare.

The Guinness Book of Records states that I have carried out ‘the longest continuous vigil hunting for the Loch Ness Monster’. Others call me the world champion at looking for something that’s not there. Personally, I view it as an act of patience. However you describe it, my world record currently stands at 32 years, two months and a couple of days. I spend my days watching and waiting, full time, summer and winter, for one good glimpse of the Loch Ness Monster.  There is an energy that pours off the Loch. I feel it enter my chest and almost lift me My mission these past three decades has been to film one of these animals and also to bring any evidence that I find to the general public’s attention. It’s a slow job.

My first encounter with the cargo bicycle came more than ten years ago. I was a features writer at the Sunday Telegraph and had three very small children; my assignment was to spend a few weeks trying out three different designs for ferrying kids and shopping and then reach a verdict on which was best. What is a cargo bike, I hear you ask? Put simply, it is a monumental pain in the arse What is a cargo bike, I hear you ask? Put simply, it is a monumental pain in the arse. It is either a bicycle or a tricycle with a box bolted to the front, in which you put your children and other things.

Vogue recently announced that Harry Styles had travelled to Normandy where he had his portrait painted by the British artist David Hockney. It wasn’t the meeting of two cultural icons that caught my attention, or the fact that the unphased Hockney described the world’s biggest popstar as ‘just another person that came into the studio’, but instead it was Styles’s sartorial choices.  https://twitter.com/TheHarryNews/status/1686731114033938432?s=20 The gym bros I went to school with are downing a protein shake in pretty pearl necklaces Styles has long been associated with the gender-bending fashion trend we have seen in recent years.

I am happy to add my name to many reactionary causes, but sorry, I draw the line at trying to save the urinal from the onward march of the unisex loo. On Sunday, equalities minister Kemi Badenoch published proposals to oblige every new building to incorporate separate toilet facilities for men and women. To be fair to her, she isn’t trying to prevent architects from designing unisex facilities where every loo is in effect a little private bathroom, with hand-washing facilities incorporated – her beef is with the subtly different ‘gender-neutral toilets’, which are large rooms full of toilets and sinks which can be used by members of either sex. In some cases, these have been known to force women to walk past men standing at urinals.

Bill Maher has many fans. But no one is a bigger fan of Bill Maher than Bill Maher. His smugness is as apparent as it is nauseating. That self-satisfied grin, forever etched on his face, gets on my nerves. I’m sure I’m not alone. Twenty years ago, Maher, the human equivalent of Marmite, made his first appearance on HBO. Since then, his show, Real Time with Bill Maher, has grown in popularity – and for good reason. It’s a great show. Good comedians must be able to poke fun at themselves, not just members of the audience. Maher obviously never got the memo Not necessarily because of Maher, but more because of the eclectic guests (one of his very first guests was Ann Coulter) and supremely talented joke writers. You see, Maher is a poor interviewer and an even poorer comic.

Rat girl summer is a typically absurd TikTok meme that most women –indeed, most humans – born before 1990 would probably struggle to understand. But it’s a thing. And here’s what it means, according to the Washington Post: it is ‘a TikTok movement that emphasizes living like a rat: scurrying around the streets at all hours of the day and night, snacking to your heart’s delight, and going to places you have no business going to’. After a content creator called Lola Kolade encouraged followers to ‘embrace the rodent energy’ in June, #ratgirlsummer has been shared over 25 million times on TikTok.

I felt a flash of affection reading that Boris Johnson’s plan to build an outdoor swimming pool at his second home in Oxfordshire may be stalled by the presence of great crested newts. What a very Bojo situation; seeing the big picture, seeking fun, determined to do things large – but hampered all the way. Carrie will probably have told him that it will be lovely for their three kiddies and that they’ll save a fortune on days out in the school holidays. But, trust me, as someone who was owned by a swimming pool for the best part of a decade, this may well be one folly too far, even for Boris.

Participants in a 12-step programme generally identify a point of no return where things have become so bad that they must seek help. That moment should have come when I accidentally bought the emerald ring. Yet nothing seems to temper my addiction to online auctions.  As a woman who likes the occasional flutter, it’s easy to get carried away during the actual bidding For the blissfully unafflicted, the-saleroom.com is a site that lists hundreds of thousands of lots, up at auction at houses all over the UK and Ireland. In other words, anyone can engage in online bidding wars without having to jump in the car and drive to a draughty warehouse.

Do you have a favourite petrol station? I do. It’s a scruffy little place in East Bergholt in the wilds of north Essex. It has two elderly-looking pumps that I think have padlocks on them when no one is around. I’ve never managed to buy fuel from them, but I’m determined to before it’s too late. Where it takes about two minutes to fill up a car with petrol or diesel, even the fastest electric car chargers take 30 minutes Because with the headlong rush to buy electric cars (or EVs as they’re so romantically known) fast coming, the humble British petrol station seems under threat.

The eight-year-old me hated Barbie. My family couldn’t afford the impossibly-proportioned doll that my friends gleefully dressed as an air hostess or housewife. I made do with her cheaper, lumpen British equivalent, Sindy, instead. And yet I shall be in the queue for the Pepto-Bismol explosion of neon that is the new Barbie movie, starring Margot Robbie as my friends’ brash plastic heroine made real. Our gang includes a retired barrister and a graphic designer who started skating in her late sixties What won me over is not that the film stars bare-chested Ryan Gosling, as Barbie’s anatomically-challenged boyfriend Ken, although obviously that is quite a pull.

Jane Birkin, who died this week at the age of 76, appeared to be a delightful woman – attractive, adventurous and stoic. Nevertheless, I had to look twice at the Daily Mail headline on Monday which screeched 'Jane Birkin, a true style icon who put today's trashy celebs to shame'. Are they talking about the same Jane Birkin, I wonder? The one whose first film role, when still a teenager, was as a naked, nameless model ‘romping’ in a threesome with David Hemmings and Gillian Hills? I mean, talk about nice work if you can get it – but pretty ‘trashy’ if you want to fling around words like that about actual human beings, which I generally don’t.

There were a couple of moments where this year’s Goodwood Festival of Speed might’ve been a little dicey. Day three of the four-day extravaganza, on Saturday, was cancelled due to 50mph winds. That may not sound all that alarming, but the ‘central feature’ at the Festival of Speed amounted to nearly 100 tonnes of steel sculpture soaring eight storeys over Goodwood House – seat of the Duke of Richmond since the 17th century – with typically several thousand petrolheads picnicking below. It also included six valuable Porsches hovering just below the clouds, and with the public told to stay away there was still every chance His Grace might suffer a Blaupunkt 962 stuck in his roof. The steel sculpture over Goodwood House [PA] The Goodwood hillclimb takes place on a 1.

In my day job, I work with children. Well, OK, they're in their twenties, but when they ask me who my favourite musician of all time is, and I say Madonna, they usually look blank. That funny-looking woman who had a few hits in the 1980s? Meh, what about Taylor Swift? Madonna may not have topped the charts for a few years, but for me and many other women of my generation, she is the greatest. And she always will be, in a way that the pop stars of today – derivative, airbrushed, on-message and PRed to the max – can only dream of.

I doubt many people reading this have much sympathy for Prince Harry, but spare a thought for those who have become the collateral damage in all the Harry hate: his fellow redheads. Our precarious fortunes seem to be pegged to the popularity of the most famous male member of our kind. When Harry was loved, people would tell me that he was the ‘only ginger they fancied’, but now that he’s in the doldrums, his hair colour is spat out with scorn. It’s often the first thing people attack about him. Nasty comments about red hair are nothing new. But since the whole ‘Ginge and Whinge’ phenomenon, I’ve heard more negative comments about red hair, in the media and just in ordinary conversation, than I ever have previously.

The Volkswagen ID Buzz is a pretty car, though so innocent-seeming you would forgive it anything. It succeeds the equally pretty T2 campervan, the Betty Boop of 1950s vehicles. The T2 was so convincing – cars, like everything, vary in charisma – it is one of the most famous vehicles in the world, so much so that I can’t think of one without seeing Don Draper’s face. Iconic is a stupid word, but the T2 was iconic, and in testament you will pay £20,000 for the bones of one, though you shouldn’t. I should have waited for Exeter and topped up at Bristol, as the delivery driver counselled, but I wanted a McDonald’s as much as you can ever want a McDonald’s But life is renewal, and here is the Buzz, which charms me. (I wonder if the name is supposed to invoke insect life.

At first glance, the substantial yellow house on the turn of the country road could be a Trollopean rectory, one long sold off to a lawyer or boardroom executive. This is Castle House in north Essex – set in the flat, luscious landscape made famous by John Constable – which was for 40 years the home of the artist Sir Alfred Munnings. Since his death in 1959, it has been a museum dedicated to his life and work. There is an overwhelming sense of tranquillity, a peculiar bucolic permanence, like the memory of a hot sunny day from childhood Munnings, you may recall, painted horses – that’s what the Oxford Dictionary of Art and Artists will tell you, at least – but he did so much more than this, as the contents of this magnificent house reveal.

Like everyone else I’m enjoying the boozy antics of Man City’s Jack Grealish. He’s spent the last few days partying following Man City’s victory in the Champions League, behaving exactly how a 27-year-old who earns £15 million a year should behave. He’s having a ball and who can blame him? But there’s a difference between Grealish and the rowdier footballers of not so long ago – Wayne Rooney, say, or Gazza. It’s the accessories: Grealish keeps photographing himself in a pearl necklace. He and his Man City teammates have been seen clutching man bags that look suspiciously like handbags. Indeed, in 2021, Grealish was photographed wearing a £1500 Christian Dior ‘crossbody man-bag’ which looks like something a gaudy aunt might want.

I’m writing this with headphones in, sitting at my desk on Old Queen Street. Please don’t tell Debrett’s. Apparently listening to headphones in the office is a huge faux pas, akin to cutting camembert with a fish knife. The company’s etiquette adviser, Liz Wyse, told the Times: ‘If you work in an open-plan office where there is frequent conversation and interchange of ideas between colleagues, do not wear AirPods or headphones.’  The worst thing that happens when zoned out on David Bowie is that a colleague has to wave near your eye line We will, she assures us, be ‘much more valuable staff members’ if we instead choose to ‘tune into conversations’ and ‘stay alert’. Beep boop. Jeeves3000 has spoken.