And Finally

Forties’ love: tennis serves me a perfect midlife crisis

There comes a time when every man must choose how to tackle an impending midlife crisis. A Maserati? A marathon? A mistress? Lacking the wealth, stamina or sheer Italian-ness for any of the above, I’ve plumped for that most gentile of sports to feel alive again: tennis. The problem with a new hobby, of course, is that you immediately feel more infantile than raffishly young. Picking up fresh skills means relearning how to learn, decades after university, when you actually had the appetite for self-improvement. Sure, tennis is, as studies have found, one of the most effective activities for staying healthy. But it’s also infuriatingly finicky. Technique-wise, I can fire off a decent groundstroke (forehand and backhand), thanks to lessons as a mopey teen.

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restaurant bill

Is it ‘common’ to look at a restaurant bill before paying?

Q. My sister has married in later life and we all like her husband. They have moved nearby and now join us in the weekly pub quiz. I am not competitive but just enjoy taking part. My brother-in-law went to Harvard, and although I went to St. Mary’s Wantage I am able to hold my own when socializing with very bright people and have never felt “inadequate.” At the quiz, however, whenever there is a trivia question on pop or soap operas he looks at me and says, “Go on – you’ll know this one.” I shouldn’t mind this but I find it maddening. – O.I., London SW13 A. Chippiness is the wrong response. Instead roll gracefully with the punches and each time there is a really difficult question, turn the spotlight on him saying, “Go on, you’ll know this one!

My points-based system for choosing our leaders

Our esteemed London editor was once excoriated for saying that the public had had enough of experts. "The people of this country have had enough of experts from organizations with acronyms saying they know what is best and getting it consistently wrong." His remark sits within a fine conservative tradition: there is William F. Buckley, who stated: "I would rather be governed by the first 2,000 people in the telephone directory than by the Harvard University faculty." There is Thomas Sowell, who wrote: "Intellectuals are people whose end products are intangible ideas…Whether their ideas turn out to work... is another question entirely." And of course there is Edmund Burke: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to read PPE at Oxford.

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psychodrama

When does a drama become a psychodrama?

When Labour blocked Andy Burnham from standing as its candidate last time around, Douglas Alexander, the Scottish Secretary, rejoiced at avoiding "three months of psychodrama – who’s up, who’s down, who’s getting on with who…" But as Gareth Roberts remarked in The Spectator’s Coffee House, "I’m not quite sure what the difference is between psychodrama and good old-fashioned plain original-flavor drama." Indeed, Mr. Alexander’s characterization of psychodrama sounds like the essential lineaments of pure politics: "Who loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out," as King Lear puts it. King Lear itself might be a classic psychodrama, if madness is the defining feature.

Can British democracy survive the ‘bad chaps?’

What is the greatest threat to British democracy? Zack Polanski’s call for “building a society” that “doesn’t include” people who “identify as right-wing?” Labour’s efforts to flood the Upper House with party apparatchiks? Islamist extremism? The correct answer is Reform UK. That, at least, is the conclusion of a new book called What If Reform Wins by the Times reporter Peter Chappell. Before I get to its flaws, I should acknowledge it’s an enjoyable read, with plenty of deft, comic touches. It imagines that Reform wins a majority in June 2029, and then gives a blow-by-blow account of the constitutional crisis that follows, with the informal rules and conventions underpinning our democracy being stress-tested and found wanting.

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Why does everything now pivot?

“As the door turneth upon his hinges,” says the Book of Proverbs, “so doth the slothful upon his bed.” But today nothing turns, neither the door, nor the slothful, nor his ox, nor his ass. It pivots. I read in the paper that Meg O’Neill, the new CEO of BP, is “expected to double-down on the pivot back towards oil and gas.” Doubling down on a pivot must take some gymnastic skill. Saudi Arabia meanwhile is trying out a new snooker shot: “to pivot away from less lucrative projects” – such as snooker. Here the writer might as well have said “turn away,” as in the Bible. Pivot has the restrictive extra sense of remaining in one place as you turn. We English borrowed the noun pivot from the French in the 14th century, and they used it to mean “hinge.

Who cares if fridge magnets are tacky?

Let’s dispense with the obvious question first. Are they common? While there’s a clear temptation to consult Nicky Haslam on such matters, I don’t think I can be bothered. Not least because first, I am a Prusso-Italian immigrant, second, I was born in Essex and third, I adore fridge magnets. We should be honest and admit that, like everything in life, they are signifiers. The aim is to show our friends how cultured, traveled, well-read, ironic and amusing we are. They are our lives writ in ceramic. Where to begin? One of my favorite magnets, designed to strike fear and dread into any intruder, dates back to Iraq circa 2004: “Caution Stay 100 meters back or you will be shot.” No punctuation, not even an exclamation mark!

Dear Mary: How can I stop my husband from interrupting?

Q. My husband worked in an office for 25 years and now works from home. As well as the interaction with colleagues, he clearly misses hearing the sound of his own voice. I sympathize, but during the day I obviously need to tell him various things, and almost as soon as I begin to speak he starts interrupting with fatuous prompts such as “And then what did he say?” or “And did you tell him you were wondering when he was going to ring up?” When he keeps interrupting, I lose the thread of my message. How can I keep things pleasant? – S.R., London W12 A. Next time you have some facts which need to be conveyed, open a file on your computer and type out what you would say were you not to be interrupted.

The ‘airport effect’ that’s ruining modern life

The phrase “computer says no” now has its own Wikipedia page. The first recorded use dates back to a Stasi-era 1970s East German film segment titled Der Computer Sagt: Nein. However, its idiomatic use arose in 2004 via a series of sketches in Little Britain, each illustrating an example of technology--enabled bureaucratic intransigence, typically flying in the face of common-sense human judgment. It is perhaps the 21st-century equivalent of “jobsworth.” To behavioral scientists, the phrase illustrates something known as “defensive decision-making,” whereby the primary motivation for a decision is not the likely quality of the outcome but the decision-maker’s often unconscious urge to use any available means to offload accountability for his actions.

The American dream is dying. Good

The American dream is dying, according to the Times of London. To mark the US’s 250th anniversary, the paper commissioned YouGov to explore whether the country’s citizens still believe that if you “work hard and play by the rules” you will eventually be successful. Turns out, only 38 percent of the respondents think this applies to all Americans, while 59 percent think the American dream is now less attainable than it was when they were growing up. In addition, 38 percent rated today’s quality of life as “excellent” or “good,” compared with 60 percent who said the same about 1976, the bicentennial year.

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The joy of licorice

“I’ll swap you two of my rolls for three of your spogs.” That was the sort of thing you’d hear round the tuckshop in morning break when we schoolboys swapped and bartered our Liquorice Allsorts. We all had our favorites, spogs being the round pink or blue jelly buttons that had a coating of tiny sugar grains, while the pink or yellow coconut rolls featured a plug of licorice surrounded by coconut ice. Pontefract Cakes were another schoolboy favorite: small round discs of licorice that were allegedly one of, if not the oldest commercial sweets in the world. In the 11th century, Benedictine monks introduced licorice to Pontefract, Yorkshire. At that time, the plant’s roots were commonly chewed to soothe sore throats, ease coughs and help digestion.

Dear Mary: should guests offer to reimburse me for charging their electric car at my house?

Q. I’m an artist and work from home painting people’s pets from photographs. While working I take a lot of FaceTime calls from friends, with my phone on a stand. My problem is that my husband is in the racing world, and when they glimpse him in the background they want to ask him for tips. How can I say “Sorry he is too busy” without sounding rude? – Name withheld, Newmarket A. FaceTime offers “portrait mode” which blurs the background while keeping you in focus. Tap the screen, then the effects option, then “enable portrait.” While this will not fully hide background objects, it makes details harder to see.

The BBC’s shameful treatment of Top Cat

Films nowadays often come with advance warning of “smoking,” “partial nudity,” “drug use” or something called “language” (presumably to prevent alarming people unaware of the invention of the talkies). Yet language can be triggering. I know that from watching the BBC as a child, when two linguistic absurdities drove the seven-year-old me practically insane. One was the Blue Peter habit of referring to Sellotape as “sticky-backed plastic,” a phrase unspoken by anyone else in any other circumstances, except in parodies of BBC children’s programs.

A journey to the dark side of the Moon

The climax of the Artemis II mission lasted just a few hours. The capsule, named Integrity, rounded the Moon, the crew becoming the most distant humans in history as they moved from its sunward side into its shadow. The familiar features of the permanently Earth-facing side made way for the more heavily cratered far side. This is not the Moon we know. The far side is different. It has a thicker crust, no major solidified lava plains and is more heavily cratered, like the aftermath of the final war. Before reaching it, the crew saw two Apollo landing sites: Apollo 12 touched down on Oceanus Procellarum (Ocean of Storms), and Apollo 14 landed on the plains of Fra Mauro, the target for the aborted Apollo 13 mission. There have been travelers here before, but not like this.

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Dear Mary: how can I tell a friend she has Mounjaro face?

Q. Like many women of a certain age, I’m “on the pen.” I’ve lost about 20lb on Mounjaro, which I judge to be enough. However, the friend who urged me and many others to try it has lost more than 60lb. Not only does she have the dreaded Mounjaro face – deeply lined – but she wears short, sleeveless dresses that reveal arms and legs that are, bluntly, not those of a 20-year-old. Mary, I have always felt that tight garments are both unflattering and vulgar. I am also anxious because this well-meaning friend has become a subject of private mockery for turning herself from a voluptuous size 18 beauty to a haggard size 10. How can I tactfully suggest that she needs a bit more flesh? – C.P., London NW1 A.

The real reason we should be burning our own gas

Regular readers of this column will be familiar with my promoting an idea called a “Paceometer.” Rather than presenting speed in, say, miles per hour (distance/time), it presents speed the other way round, in minutes per ten miles (time/distance). Created by the cognitive scientists Eyal Peer and Eyal Gamliel, the Paceometer shows something which is mathematically trivial but completely nonintuitive. Quite simply, the faster you are going already, the less time you save by going 10mph faster still. Accelerate from 20 to 30mph and you save ten minutes on a ten-mile journey. Accelerate from 70 to 80mph and you save just over a minute.

chairlift diplomacy

The noble work of chairlift diplomacy

In 1956, three British MPs encountered a group of Swiss politicians in the bar of the Hotel Flüela in Davos and after a few drinks challenged them to a ski race. A timed slalom contest took place the following day, with the three-person Swiss team beating the Brits by a combined four seconds. Not willing to take this lying down, the MPs insisted on a rematch the following year and thus was born the Anglo-Swiss Parliamentary Ski Week, which celebrated its 70th anniversary earlier this month. I heard about it from my friend Dan Hannan shortly after I became a peer, and immediately put my name down, imagining it to be a massive freebie. Not so.

A guide to Strait talking

I little thought in 2023, when writing about dire straits, that we’d so soon be pushed into them by trouble in the Straits of Hormuz. In discussions of these on the wireless, I find that even the best-informed commentators begin by referring to this geographical feature as the Strait of Hormuz but before long fall into calling them the straits. Insisting on the singular strait seems sterile pedantry. The Oxford English Dictionary has got the usage pretty straight: “When used as a geographical proper name, the word is usually plural with singular sense, e.g. the Straits of Dover, the Straits of Gibraltar.” A pleasant piece of naval slang 100 years ago was up the Straits, meaning “in the Mediterranean.

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