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How bad do things have to get before the police show up?
Earlier this year, I wrote here about the arsonist who’d left our neighbourhood looking post-apocalyptic. In the months that followed, the pyromaniac grew ever more reckless. Initially, he’d stuck to torching vehicles on the road, which was bad enough. But then he took it a step further. He set fire to a car on a driveway, which in turn set the house alight. The young family, who were asleep upstairs, escaped with their lives, but their home was destroyed. A collection was started, and we dropped in some cash. The organiser said that in 20 years in the area, he’d never seen things as bad as they were now. He’d installed CCTV after burglars had smashed their way through the bifold doors – now it might come in handy for identifying the pyro.
Up and down the road, sleep-deprived people were installing security devices. The Neighbourhood Watch WhatsApp group went into overdrive as residents shared information. Several members said that they had small bags packed, ready to leave in a hurry, should they be next. My wife and I drilled our teenage children on the best escape routes in case of fire. It was an extraordinary situation. It seemed like we might have to wait until someone died before the police roused themselves from their torpor. Perhaps they were too busy busting people for making fruity comments online.
We wondered about 24/7 police surveillance and CCTV on the streets – surely it was a no-brainer. The arsonist was targeting specific areas. Catching him should have been easy. But a round-the-clock stakeout wasn’t on the cards, and security cameras were apparently the council’s responsibility. Besides, they said, your lampposts are the wrong shape! The group chat was expletive-laden after that.
There were whispers of vigilantism. Not the getting tooled up and taking the law into your own hands sort, but middle-aged people with head torches patrolling the streets at night. And because the police ‘drive-bys’ and plain-clothes operations were completely ineffectual, roadblocks were suggested. Neighbours who’d lived here for decades were talking about leaving, so we decided to get our house valued – while we still had one to sell. Everyone was on edge as we waited for the next attack. We even took to checking under our cars at night as if we were Royal Ulster Constabulary officers during the Troubles. The pyro became so assured of his untouchability that he set fire to a vehicle that was parked in the same spot – on freshly laid tarmac – as one he’d torched months earlier. ‘He’s taking the piss now!’ was the consensus.
Every day, you read about people who feel abandoned by the authorities – about town centres that have become no-go zones, and feral youths on the rampage. You hear about seaside resorts overrun by alcoholics and drug addicts, and shoplifters operating with near-total impunity. Of course, lurid headlines sell newspapers, but having seen all these things at first hand, I’ve no doubt the stories have an element of truth. And the one thing they all have in common is that the police seemed to be missing in action.
I’m sure there are some good coppers, and that they’re overworked and underpaid, but the only time you seem to hear about them these days is either when a Met officer is charged with something heinous, or if they’re tasering OAPs or giving people verbal warnings for non-crime hate incidents. What we’d actually like them to be doing is solving crime. Or, preferably, preventing it.
I don’t want a return to the days of the Special Patrol Group lifting people off the street and beating them senseless. I just need to know that the police are there if I need them. The reassuring presence of a friendly bobby on the beat would be nice. It wouldn’t quite be Dixon of Dock Green, as they’d probably be wearing a bodycam and stab-proof vest, but at least they’d be there, doing what the police exist for: policing. However, increasingly, you hear more about ‘private policing’: security firms and volunteer patrols who guard homes or take to the streets to tackle crime, filling the vacuum left by the actual constabulary.
It seemed like we might have to wait until someone died before the police roused themselves from their torpor. Perhaps they were too busy busting people for making fruity comments online
While headline funding has increased, rising costs and budget shortfalls mean forces are still cutting staff. And although official figures show an overall decrease in ‘police-recorded’ crime for the year ending in March, more than 280,000 crimes went unrecorded in 2024, and a substantial number of offences go unreported by the public, making it hard to say whether crime is really falling.
Perception is everything, though, and right now, many of us believe crime is rising while the police are nowhere to be seen. So, it’s perhaps no wonder that security firms and volunteers are stepping in to fill the void. Maybe pensioners could be pressganged into service next. They’ve got plenty of time on their hands, after all. They could be sent out equipped with walkie-talkies, notepads and flasks of coffee, and wearing hi-vis jackets – the thin grey line: ‘Brian, it’s Ken. Do you read me? I’ve just seen a suspicious-looking character trying the side gate at number 47. Over.’ Seriously, though, the police need to get back to brass tacks, protecting the public, preventing crime and maintaining law and order, rather than wasting time enforcing political dogma.
As tempers frayed here and people made it clear they’d well and truly had enough, the police finally galvanised themselves. They arrested an 18-year-old male after footage was obtained of him on the high street in the early hours. Frustratingly, he was released on police bail, subject to a curfew and an exclusion zone. I wasn’t convinced these restrictions would deter someone with a compulsion to set fires, but fortunately, things have been quiet on that front recently.
The usual crims are still around, but they’re almost taken for granted now. I saw the local drug dealers the other day, masked, riding illegal electric motorbikes. They beeped and gestured at a passing patrol car, but the officers inside seemed unfazed by the provocation and continued driving in the opposite direction.
The police are arguably a necessary evil. Whether you take a Hobbesian or Rousseauian view on the role of the state, it seems clear, from what we can see today, that without law enforcement things unravel pretty quickly. I don’t want to spend my retirement prowling around in the wee small hours on the lookout for criminals like some geriatric PCSO. Nor do I expect to go to bed at night wondering whether I’ll still have a car when I wake up. Put simply, the police need to reclaim the streets, with the public’s support, so we don’t have to do it ourselves.
Things have quietened down considerably on the Neighbourhood Watch WhatsApp group. Most of the talk these days seems to be about missing pets and the parakeets that have taken up residence in the park. In other words, reassuringly dull and suburban. Let’s hope it stays that way.
Gen Z’s obsession with ageing is making us look older
Turning 24 came with more than just cake and candles. Alongside the celebrations came a barrage of life-determining questions: when are you getting married? Where do you see yourself living? When will your job become a career? With a single step into my mid-twenties, I felt suddenly catapulted into a new world of adult expectations. And nothing captured this shift more than my birthday presents. I love my new pilates ring and am curious to see what collagen will do to my complexion, but there was something unnerving about receiving an entire haul of health-inspired gifts.
When my friends arrived that evening to celebrate my ‘achievement’ of turning 24 – still unemployed and still at home – the wellness theme continued. Out came calming candles, sleep spray, eye cream and even a bottle-top herb planter, a perfect hybrid of my love for wine and meal-prepping. I can’t pretend I don’t know what to do with most of these products. They slot neatly into my already elaborate self-care routine.
This makes me quintessentially Gen Z. My generation is known for swapping hedonism for health, for choosing early morning gym routines over late-night pub sessions and for obsessing over the future instead of living in the present. Unlike many of my peers I’m not sober-curious, but I am proud of being wellness-obsessed. And yet, as I lined up my new tonics and serums, wondering how they would fit into my never-ending skincare regime, I couldn’t help but wonder why I care so much about ageing.
Part of the answer lies in what our generation has absorbed from our parents. We’ve watched them reap the rewards of an ever-expanding wellness industry, from yoga retreats to anti-ageing serums, and we want to replicate their success – only more intensely. But while they’ve been finding ways to disguise ageing, we’re trying to prevent it before it begins.
My fixation on SPF is just the start. Coffee is being replaced with matcha, step counts and heart rates are tracked religiously. Social media only accelerates this obsession. On Instagram and TikTok, influencers market their lifestyles which we frantically try to translate into our daily lives. We buy iced matcha because they do. We want to be part of the wellness tribe alongside Bella Hadid and Dua Lipa.
For food inspiration I turn to Emily English, a nutritionist with almost two million followers on Instagram, whose fame grew from her ‘what I eat in a day’ videos. It is thanks to her that my evening bowl of yoghurt now comes with a dollop of protein powder. And for the gym it’s Bryony Basse, a pilates instructor who (while advertising her online workout subscription) provides insight into how she achieves her picturesque lifestyle. In short: workouts, mediation, skincare.
But while everyone wants to appear ‘natural’, the truth is that behind the scenes, a lot of unnatural work is taking place. ‘Tweakments’ such as baby Botox, buccal fat removal and lip fillers, which promise to pre-empt wrinkles, sculpt cheekbones and inflate lips, are now considered a legitimate rite of passage in our early twenties. Almost 20 per cent of 18- to 25-year-olds have already undergone non-surgical treatments, a figure that’s only set to increase as our beauty ideals become more warped. And these ‘tweakments’ are also becoming a gateway drug to surgical interventions. This month, the BBC reported on the rise in under-thirties having facelifts, the most major of all the cosmetic surgeries involving extensive tissue rearrangement and a substantial period of recovery. Olivia Attwood, previously of Love Island, is one of the few young celebrities to be honest about what she has had done, her first procedure being breast augmentation when she was 20. Many others remain silent.
What our parents seek to regain – smooth foreheads, plump lips – we are paying to artificially acquire, making us look strangely like younger replicas of our older selves
The irony, though, is that these supposedly preventative procedures often age us prematurely, making us look strangely like younger replicas of our older selves. What our parents seek to regain – smooth foreheads, plump lips – we are paying to artificially acquire. Whether these interventions preserve our glow or erode it, one thing is certain: Gen Z is taking ageing far more seriously than any generation before us.
Perhaps that’s not all bad. Caring for our future selves could be seen as a sign of maturity, or even sustainability. Unlike past generations, we don’t treat ‘the future’ as a vague concept we’ll deal with later; we live with it consciously in the present. But at what cost? How many potential romances have I missed by staying home with a book instead of going out? How many adventures have I sacrificed for the sake of funding yoga subscriptions and skincare?
When my mother was my age, she wasn’t worrying about hydration levels or collagen decline. Her friends weren’t cutting back on drinking for the sake of their pores or mapping out a ten-step skincare routine longer than a morning commute. They were out living, guided more by impulse than by foresight. We, meanwhile, are adopting the health habits of our parents before we’ve even had the chance to enjoy the recklessness of youth. We want to preserve our youth so fiercely that we risk losing it altogether.
Maybe it’s time to remember that wrinkles aren’t a tragedy and that there is more to life than skincare. Unfortunately, none of my birthday presents came with receipts, so my rebellion against wellness may have to wait out of respect for my family and friends. But next year, instead of collagen powder, I’ll ask for a cocktail shaker.
Banish the B-word!
The SS Californian deserves more than mere footnote status when it comes to its role in the story of the RMS Titanic. For that was the name of the ship that sent repeated messages to the crew of the doomed cruise liner, all of them warning of ice ahead. But the Titanic’s wireless operators weren’t interested – to the point where one employee dismissed the Californian’s communications with a reply that read: ‘Shut up, I’m busy.’
Of course, the Titanic wireless crew weren’t really busy at all. They were simply spending their time sending private telegrams on behalf of the first-class passengers on board. A few hours later, well, we all know what happened. But we haven’t yet gone public enough with the overuse of what was, back in 1912, an absolutely deadly adjective. It’s now usually less lethal, but no less infuriating.
The truth is that everyone in 2025 is busy all the time. It’s the default state of affairs for all of us who aren’t retired – and a lot who are. Saying you’re ‘busy’ is, ironically, the laziest, most disrespectful way to respond (eventually) to someone’s request, message or missive.
‘I’ve been busy’ is not a reason. It’s barely even an excuse. It’s just symptomatic of someone who, in their personal life, will be colossally disorganised and self-centred. And, in a professional sense, it’s the mark of someone who really doesn’t give a damn about their job any more.
I always think that a truth serum should be put over the B-word when it’s used as a justification or excuse. When someone says they haven’t done something because they’ve been ‘busy’ – and they don’t even bother to give you a sentence on what exactly they’ve been so busy doing – then the real meaning of ‘busy’ is generally ‘I’m not very good at my job’ or ‘I just can’t be bothered doing anything unless I’m cattle-prodded into doing it’.
‘Busy’ is a one-size-fits-all adjective which, like ‘organic’ and ‘luxury’, has had its original meaning worn to the nub by linguistic abuse and overuse. At least, in the past, the lexicon was a little wider. Nero’s supposed ‘busyness’ resulted in Rome burning while he faffed and fiddled, Thomas Gage claimed he was ‘fully occupied’ with administrative affairs in Boston while colonial militia were busy stockpiling arms prior to the battles of Lexington and Concord. The consequences were disastrous but it’s fair to assume that the hapless Gage was at least doing something with his days.
Now, the pungent aroma from a ‘Sorry not to get back to you sooner – things have been busy here’ missive is that of brutally curtailed mentation and a back story that involves missed buses, missed alarm calls, bungled paperwork and an inbox where the unread e-mails are well into four figures.
Saying you’re ‘busy’ is, ironically, the laziest, most disrespectful way to respond (eventually) to someone’s request, message or missive
Please don’t think I haven’t pondered kinder interpretations of all this. Can it be perhaps that the ‘busy’ excuse is less about a genuine inability to organise one’s life or treat a friend/colleague with respect, and more an indicator of a withered vocabulary? It’s true that people vary in how they manage communication and some genuinely struggle with organisation, or social energy. Texting or e-mailing the B-word is a vague, non-confrontational way of covering myriad inadequacies without having to admit incompetence or any hostile feelings.
But this just doesn’t wash. Because if you see someone face to face, I bet they won’t use the ‘I’m busy’ excuse as a standalone justification. If your eyeballs meet, there’s a compulsion to explain properly and, just maybe, to tell the truth.
For this reason, for now, the B-word is most buoyant in the digital world. But if in analogue life we know that simply saying ‘Sorry I’ve been busy’ is utterly inadequate, can we drag, by force if necessary, a little bit of this antediluvian savoir-vivre on to the scorched and steaming rubble of the digital landscape?
Let’s put respect and reciprocity above invented, or even literal, amounts of busyness. Ukrainian soldiers and heart surgeons in the operating theatre can legitimately claim they’re ‘too busy right now’. The rest of us should probably just be more organised. Or at least find another word. ‘Sorry, I’ve been going through a particularly sedulous phase recently’, anyone?
OK, I’ll keep working on it.
The Gaza ceasefire isn’t broken
The ceasefire in Gaza, barely settled just six days ago, has already been tested. Hamas was accused of violating the deal by firing rocket-propelled grenades and sniper fire at Israeli forces while the US warned the terror group was planning an ‘imminent’ attack on Palestinian civilians. In response, Israel struck a wave of targets within the Gaza Strip, reportedly killing at least 11 people. It was a swift and forceful retaliation, prompting immediate speculation: is the war back on?
Not necessarily. What unfolded in Gaza this morning bears a structural resemblance to events on the northern front nearly a year ago. In the days following the November 2024 ceasefire with Hezbollah, the Lebanese militia launched two mortars at Mount Dov. Israel responded by launching a wave of strikes across Lebanon. Since then, not a single rocket has been fired by Hezbollah into Israeli territory. The lesson was clear: the ceasefire marked not the end of Israel’s military readiness, but the beginning of a new strategic equation.
What Israel has done is not resume the war but redefine the rules of post-ceasefire deterrence
Hamas has issued a statement denying the attack in Rafah, insisting on its ‘full commitment to implementing everything agreed upon [in the deal], primarily the ceasefire in all areas of the Gaza Strip’. Claiming no knowledge of the assault, the terror group cited a lack of contact with fighters in Israeli-controlled zones since March. This denial fits a well-worn pattern: engage in hostilities, then disclaim responsibility when confronted. The posture of resuming fire while feigning restraint mirrors the group’s longstanding practice of plausible deniability, calculated ambiguity and disinformation. It allows Hamas to test Israeli red lines while shielding itself diplomatically.
Meanwhile, local media reports named Yahya al-Mabhouh, a senior commander in Hamas’s elite Nukhba unit, as the target of an Israeli strike in central Gaza. If confirmed, his death would mark a significant blow to Hamas’s leadership at a point when it is attempting to preserve the illusion of ceasefire compliance.
What Israel did, then, was not resume the war but redefine the rules of post-ceasefire deterrence. Whether Benjamin Netanyahu’s government intends to do the same in Gaza is now the central question. The political and strategic conditions have shifted: with no living hostages held in the zones of immediate fighting, the Israel Defence Forces face fewer operational constraints. A new precedent could be set, one that makes clear that ceasefire does not mean impunity. That calculation, however, is not merely tactical. It is rooted in the larger ambiguity that now defines Israel’s stance.
That ambiguity was sharply illuminated in Netanyahu’s appearance on Israel’s right-leaning Channel 14 last night. His lengthy interview was, in many respects, a retrospective lookback on the past two years of conflict. The Prime Minister presented a narrative of rising from catastrophe to victory, culminating in his announcement that he would formally name the conflict ‘the War of Rebirth’. The name itself was laden with meaning, marking a line of continuity, both historical and existential, between the current campaign and Israel’s founding struggles.
Yet, as comprehensive as the interview appeared, it was equally defined by what it did not say. There was no clear declaration that the war had ended. The formulation offered was conditional. ‘The war in Gaza will end definitively when the terms of the agreement that is to be accepted are implemented,’ Netanyahu said, specifying that the first phase was the return of the hostages and the second the disarmament of Hamas. Until those conditions are fulfilled, he suggested, the war remains suspended in its outcome.
This conditionality reflects a broader reality. Israel is no longer facing a single front or a single problem. It is confronting four distinct but overlapping theatres of conflict. First, there is the residual Iranian axis, weakened but not vanquished. Second, the rise of a radical Sunni branch of Islamism, backed by Turkey and Qatar, operating in the vacuum left by Shiite decline. This loose constellation of Sunni actors is more fluid and ideologically ambitious than the Iranian-led bloc and is increasingly assertive in Gaza, Syria, and beyond. Third, the return of the Palestinian question after the 7 October attack. And fourth, the internal front: a deeply fraught struggle over the soul and direction of the Israeli state.
It is this fourth front, in many ways the most intangible, that Netanyahu himself alluded to in the interview’s closing passages. Asked how he managed to function under relentless domestic and international pressure, he said his strength came from two sources: the belief that capitulation would endanger the State of Israel and the knowledge that ‘the majority of the people were with me’. That belief, whether accurate or not, has underpinned his wartime leadership and shaped the national narrative he now seeks to enshrine.
The war, even if technically suspended, remains politically and intellectually unresolved. It may now bear a name. But its end remains unwritten. The challenge for Israel is not only to manage flare-ups like today’s with proportional strength and clarity, but to articulate a coherent vision of what peace, or its absence, will require. The ceasefire, like the war itself, is a means, not an end. The story is far from over.
Tory councillors attack their own party
It’s a difficult time for Tory members. Down to barely 123,000 at the last count, the annual conference passed off well, given the circumstances. But while Kemi Badenoch’s speech received a thumbs up from the commentariat, those running local groups continue to complain of problems. For a leaked recording has revealed what senior members and councillors really think of their party.
A fortnight ago, Tory group leaders, councillors and activists turned up to speak at a members-only Conservative party conference event titled ‘Local Government Selection Rules – consultation with Association Officers and members of the CCA’. The quotes offer some classics of the ‘disgruntled Tories’ genre. According to one member, the party is saddled with ‘too much centralism, democratic centralism – which is a Communist party concept – and we need to get rid of it.’
Discussing selections, a council group leader complained that he was not allowed a role in selecting candidates. Speaking of ‘the preposterousness of not allowing the group leader to have a vote, and a say’, the man argued that he ‘had candidates who are the laziest, most useless candidates who never go to an event… he’s a lazy bastard’. He went on to suggest that only if there are no good local candidates should the Tory party open up selections ‘to some sort of fair process’, and argued that putting candidates ‘in front of local members’ for approval was to ‘demean them’.
Another group leader complained that he had no ability to ‘veto’ some of the ‘wastrels’ coming forward to stand as councillors. These comments provoked a furious backlash from another member of the audience. Slamming the two previous speakers, she said that ‘I didn’t really like the idea that we should have some kind of nepotism, that doesn’t seem to be the Conservative way to me.’ She went on:
This isn’t the time of Cardinal Wolsey, we’re the Conservative party! What about meritocracy? Let’s show people why they should be good councillors, why they should should want to be Conservative councillors, so we’re not scrabbling around finding the right people and tapping people on the shoulder like it’s MI5 at Oxford.
Talk about happy families eh? Good luck fielding full slates next May…
Anti-Jewish sentiment has poisoned our police
Amid the grim fluorescence of a police interview suite, a glimpse of where we are and where we are heading. The place is Hammersmith police station, the date August 30, and the time a little after 2 a.m. An unnamed lawyer in his 40s, whom we are told is Jewish, has been detained for allegedly repeatedly entering an area set aside for anti-Israel protestors.
He was there, he says, as an independent legal observer and was documenting a demonstration outside the Israeli embassy in Kensington and the police response thereto. Since October 7, 2023, Jewish and pro-Israel groups have grown concerned at the Metropolitan Police’s handling of pro-Palestine marches. This police interview is hardly likely to reassure them.
Jewish groups have grown concerned at the Metropolitan Police’s handling of pro-Palestine marches. This interview is hardly likely to reassure them
In the video obtained by the Telegraph, the interviewing officer alleges the suspect got ‘very close’ to pro-Palestine protesters and that his actions went ‘beyond observing to provoking’. He can then be heard asking the suspect: ‘What necklace are you wearing?’ The suspect, flustered, explains that it’s a Star of David.
His solicitor objects to the question and, after a brief pause, the interview continues. The constable says he was not intending to offend, but was reflecting the fact that fellow police officers had ‘noted in their statements that because the Star of David was out and present to people… they felt that was antagonising the situation further’.
The suspect’s solicitor tells the detective this is ‘appalling’, pointing out that the Star of David could hardly have been antagonising to the protestors: the demonstration was organised by an anti-Zionist Jewish group. Why would the symbol of Judaism upset them?
The officer insists he doesn’t ‘want this to become a political debate in an interview’, before calling the demonstration ‘a hostile environment where pro-Palestinian protesters are obviously objecting to what is happening in Israel and Gaza’. He then asks the suspect: ‘Do you see how that [the Star of David] could be an antagonistic emblem or sign… to people in that environment?’
In all, the suspect spent almost ten hours in custody and remains on bail. He has accused the Metropolitan Police of ‘trying to criminalise the wearing of a Star of David’. Officers have stressed that he wasn’t arrested for that but for a public order offence of allegedly ‘getting very close to protesters to film them and in doing so provoking a reaction’.
The man calls his arrest ‘one of the clearest examples of two-tier policing’, adding: ‘Police are arguing that wearing a Star of David is antagonising to protesters while we have seen all manner of anti-Semitic slogans on placards and shouted at Jews that have gone unpunished.’ Gideon Sa’ar, Israel’s Foreign Minister, has called the Met’s actions ‘a moral disgrace’ and proof that ‘rampant anti-Semitism’ had ‘poisoned the streets’ of Britain.
Poisoned the streets and poisoned those tasked with policing them. It seems outrageous that arresting officers would bring up a suspect’s religious apparel in an arrest statement when it is entirely irrelevant to the reason for that arrest. It would be one thing if this had been an off-the-cuff remark, but when police officers are prepared to put such thoughts in writing, well-aware of the scrutiny applied to such formal documents, it tells us something about the professional culture in which they operate.
It says that officers who have been trained to avoid victim-blaming in other circumstances feel comfortable intimating that a Jew making known his Jewishness is asking for trouble. It is outrageous, too, that a detective would pursue a line of questioning that suggested there was something provocative about a Jew wearing a modest Star of David pendant. It seems we are very much in the realm of: ‘Well, you were wearing that miniskirt, love.’
What do we think would happen if the police had behaved the same way with, say, a Muslim woman? She turns up at a pro-Israel rally in her hijab seeking to document the activities of protestors. The police arrest her and an interviewing officer suggests her head covering is ‘antagonistic’. How long do we reckon it would take between the video hitting social media and the Met commissioner issuing a grovelling apology and sending half the force on Islamophobia awareness training?
The hijab hypothetical would never happen because the police are scared of Muslims. Not the majority of Muslims who cause no trouble for anyone but that minority who take to the streets to protest offence, and sometimes attempt to intimidate, as seen with the Batley Grammar teacher who was hounded after showing a picture of the Prophet Muhammad, the schoolpupils who scuffed a copy of the Quran in Wakefield, and the mobs who forced The Lady of Heaven film out of British cinemas in 2022.
Muslims who wish to bully authorities into submission have the implicit threat of public disorder or violence. Wouldn’t want a Charlie Hebdo attack on your hands, would you? Jews have no such calling card attacks in the West to demonstrate the consequences of failure to bow to their demands.
The experience of Jews in Britain is an object lesson in the brutal realities of a multicultural democracy. The more law-abiding, productive, and integrated a demographic, the more likely it is to face mistreatment by institutions of the state.
The primary duty of the state is not the protection of its citizens but the maintenance of the illusion of harmony in a country where thuggishness prevails. Jews, on the whole, are not thuggish. They pose no threat. They have no power.
You can arrest them, you can interrogate their religious apparel, you can call the Star of David ‘antagonistic’, and no mob will come for you. This is where we are and where we’re heading.
Wanted: a new man in Washington
Ever fancied going stateside? Enjoy travel, hobnobbing and schmoozing Republicans? Well, now you can, thanks to the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office’s (FCDO) latest posting. After Peter Mandelson’s unfortunate demise last month, London is looking for an ambitious, industrious type to go be our new man (or woman) in Washington D.C. The job advert has gone up this week on the civil service website, with all applications welcome by 2 November. It trumpets how:
His Majesty’s Ambassador to The United States is the largest and most complex Head of Mission role in the FCDO, testing every aspect of leadership. The US is one of our closest allies and the relationship is more important than ever. The US is the world’s strongest power, and an essential partner for the UK on all of the Government’s international priorities. It is the UK’s largest single trading partner. Please refer to the candidate pack for further information.
Just in case any would-be ambassadors have been living under a rock these last few weeks. The Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister will both sign off on the appointment, with Mandelson’s successor expected to collect a salary of between £155,000 to £174,000 a year. A CV and covering statement of up to two A4 sized pages are required, ‘explaining why this appointment interests you and how you can evidence your suitability for the role.’ The advert asks all candidates:
Please ensure your application is factually accurate. Presenting the ideas or experiences of others or that generated by artificial intelligence as your own, will be considered plagiarism.
Who knew the Foreign Office wanted original thinking eh? Interviews are set for the week of 10 November, with the lucky candidate starting early next year. Among the determining factors used to assess the contenders on the civil service portal will be a section on ‘behaviours’. Presumably other entrants in Jeffrey Epstein’s ‘birthday book’ need not apply…
Nothing can save ‘Prince’ Andrew now
If the Royal Family had hoped the punishment meted out to ‘the Banned Old Duke of York’ would suffice in the court of public opinion, they would now be disappointed. Since Friday’s revelations that Prince Andrew would ‘no longer use’ his dukedom or other honours following the stream of scandals about his friendship with paedophile Jeffrey Epstein, more unedifying details have emerged. It seems that the nuclear royal option – to strip him of his princely title – grows more inevitable by the day.
The nuclear royal option, to strip Andrew of his princely title, grows more inevitable by the day
This final resort would undeniably be popular in many circles. Sky Roberts, the brother of Virginia Giuffre whose posthumous memoir will revive the allegations she slept with Andrew when she was 17, has welcomed the latest developments. But Roberts told the BBC he hopes the King will go further and ‘take out the prince in the Andrew’ on the grounds that ‘anybody that was implicated [in the Epstein case] should have some sort of responsibility and accountability for these survivors’.
In this, it appears he is of one accord with the Prince of Wales whom the Sunday Times reports is not satisfied with Andrew’s latest defenestration. When William becomes king, his uncle’s limited role in public life will disappear entirely – starting with his coronation, which Andrew will reportedly not be invited to. Anyone who saw the video of William ignoring his uncle’s attempts to make conversation at the Duchess of Kent’s funeral last month will be unsurprised at this. Indeed, the Prince of Wales’s surprisingly revealing interview with US actor Eugene Levy earlier this month – and his loaded talk of ‘change’ in the monarchy when he takes the throne – suggests that banishing Andrew to Siberia would not cause him too many sleepless nights.
I have yet to see anyone express any sympathy for the former duke, perhaps because he doesn’t deserve any. Today’s Mail on Sunday also reports Andrew asked his Metropolitan Police bodyguard to dig up dirt on Giuffre in 2011, which the force is now investigating. It is not suggested the bodyguard complied with any such request, while Andrew declined to comment. But in the public arena, this only confirms the sense he is a rotten, thoroughly entitled man who has refused to show any contrition for his actions – all of which, it must be noted, he has consistently and steadfastly denied.
Stripping Andrew of his princely title will not be an easy or fast process, and is likely to damage the very institution of the monarchy. After all, even the Duke of Windsor kept his status until the end of his life – long after his Nazi sympathies were commonly known and grieved about. However, many of Andrew’s relatives, not least the future king, may well consider the embarrassment and headlines worth it in the longer term. Cauterising a wound may cause short-term pain, but the longer effects are enduring.
Giuffre’s memoir, Nobody’s Girl, is published on Tuesday and is likely to heap further calumny upon the put-upon prince. But the game is very much up now. During his ten-minute chat with the King last week, in which Andrew was reportedly told ‘it was beyond comprehension for him to continue to enjoy the privileges of his position’, it was made clear he would no longer be given any lingering benefit of the doubt.
Yet many will now be wondering why the last step of throwing him out the Royal Family altogether cannot be taken. With every passing scandal, that once unthinkable finality grows ever more unpreventable. Few – least of all in the Firm – will shed too many tears at the prospect of the man formerly known as ‘Randy Andy’ being well and truly gelded.
Only Harry Potter can charm Devon’s drivers
As a title, Harry Potter and the Potholes of Devon wouldn’t survive the editor’s pen – but sometimes life is more spellbinding than fiction. Just ask the villagers of Lustleigh, a few miles from where I live on Dartmoor, who have J. K. Rowling’s franchise to thank for making one of the lanes of their chocolate-box home usable again.
For years, Lustleigh residents have been cursed by gaping holes in the road surfaces. But last week the TV company HBO, which is filming in the village for its adaptation of the young wizard’s exploits, was forced to do what Devon County Council apparently couldn’t and fill in the holes on one path themselves. Quite why it has taken people who play make-believe for a living to do the job of politicians is a magical tale of incompetence without a happy ending.
The story of Lustleigh’s potholes is a magical tale of incompetence without a happy ending
Lustleigh, like many villages in the county, sits in a web of unclassified rural roads and lanes. Devon has the longest road network in England, measuring more than 8,000 miles. A great deal of these are falling apart.
Planned maintenance on the roads, which are vital to poorly-connected locals but not used enough to be seen as important, has all but collapsed. Drains and gullies, untended for years, have become stuffed with debris, forcing water to soak into the tarmac and erode the fragile surfaces. Devon County Council now has a road repair backlog of around £390 million – a backlog that could have been avoided had the council (which is responsible for the task) simply stayed on top of basic maintenance.
But it’s not the deterioration of the roads that rankles, it’s the mad approach to fixing them. For seven years, I dutifully reported a series of potholes on the main road that connects to our lane on the council’s website. Each time, the council sent out a contractor who ignored every hole except the latest one I’d photographed and proceeded to patch it up with a material about as resilient as Play-Doh. Each time, the holes formed again. Recently my water provider realised there was a leaking pipe further uphill, which appeared to be the cause of this endless circus. Officials finally stopped the problem – but at what cost?
The lack of co-ordination between council contractors and other utilities here on Dartmoor makes the hapless Ron Weasley look like a genius. Road repairs that do take place often occur at the same time on different access roads, with either no notice or incorrect information trapping us in our villages. It makes the school run seem like a challenge from the Triwizard Tournament as bewildered drivers are funnelled into gridlocked diversions on roads made for carthorses. The local Facebook page for our area is littered with divine guesswork as to when and for how long road repairs, water works, broadband installations or replacing National Grid infrastructure will keep us hostage. None of these firms seem to work together or – if they do – seem utterly unbothered by the chaos and stress they unleash.
You might think this is a first-world problem for people like me, fortunate enough to live in one of the most beautiful parts of England. Lustleigh, with its beautiful cricket pitch and thatched cottages, will not be found in any national index of deprivation. But close by are pockets of real rural poverty and isolation, which broken roads make worse.
In my locality, the average annual salary was around £36,000 last year while house prices have risen to more than ten times that amount. We sit in an eternal ‘not-spot’ for digital connectivity, while funding pressures and green initiatives have left the local national park authority with little ability to promote entrepreneurialism.
In the absence of a reliable bus service, people rely on their cars here for everything. But the state of the roads is too dangerous for vulnerable drivers to risk, leaving them cut off from the community shop, the GP surgery and even the food bank. Try walking on unlit lanes with high hedges and no pavements even during the day, when death by lost delivery driver is not an abstract threat.
These days, it seems the only thing our authorities will respond to is embarrassment. Devon County Council has clarified that HBO offered to pay for the footpath’s repairs through an approved contractor, and did not offer ‘to repair any roads’. But hopefully it will be sufficiently mortified by the handiwork of the studio that brought us The Sopranos, that it will start looking beyond the highways of Plymouth and Exeter. Still, unless HBO goes into the construction industry, its burst of alchemy is unlikely to be repeated. We may have all the potholes, but prioritising their repair is unlikely to make a significant enough dent in the council’s budget. As Tony Soprano himself observed: ‘In business, you’re either round the table or on the menu.’ Or, in our case, on the roadside going nowhere fast.
We are not ready for drone terrorism
After multiple suspected drone incursions by Russia, the EU has belatedly swung into action with plans for a ‘drone wall’. This network of anti-drone radars, sensors, signal jammers and interceptors – which would mimic Israel’s ‘Iron Dome’ defence system – would be built along the 3,000 km eastern front of the union’s territories by 2027.
Whether used by terror cells or militarised nations, drones are cheap, simple to fly and easy to pack with explosives
But while the EU builds the ‘wall’, the barbarian is already inside the gates. No threat – be it Russia, or any other hostile nation – needs to launch drones in their own territory to cause a mass casualty attack here. They can do so using drones bought legally on the high street.
Last week, a foiled drone attack in Belgium, targeting the home of Prime Minister Bart De Wever in Antwerp, was described by prosecutors as a ‘jihadist-inspired terrorist attack’. Searches at the homes of three young suspects found a suspected improvised explosive device, a ‘bag of steel balls’ and a 3D printer. It has been suggested that they intended to use at least one drone to deliver an explosion capable of penetrating walls and causing mass fatalities. European reports later suggested that Antwerp mayor Els van Doesburg and Dutch anti-Islam leader Geert Wilders were also targeted.
Defence Minister Theo Francken told Flemish public broadcaster VRT: ‘It is terrible for Bart [De Wever] and his family, and of course [the suspects are] Islamists again’.
The minister added that drone technology was becoming ‘more and more dangerous’ and noted that there had been 80 terrorism investigations opened in Belgium this year – already more than the total number of cases in 2024. The three individuals arrested on suspicion of plotting the latest attack were born in 2001, 2002 and 2007. The eldest has since been freed due to a lack of evidence.
With alarming clarity, this shows how a group barely older than teenagers could potentially acquire explosive components, ball-bearing shrapnel and a drone to send them airborne. Unlike the Russian drones thousands of feet above Poland, these personal drones have almost zero chance of being intercepted by a fighter jet.
In Ukraine, drones have been responsible for up to 80 per cent of all casualties in the war, with both Kyiv and Moscow using a mixture of military grade drones and – equally often – modified consumer-level drones armed with explosives. Many are barely more sophisticated than the type a hobbyist might buy on Amazon. The sender of the drone often doesn’t need to be within the same postcode as the drone’s destination or flight path to launch it.
Whether used by terror cells or militarised nations, drones are cheap, simple to fly and easy to pack with explosives. And they don’t require the sender to put themselves directly in danger. In the UK, you can already buy drones capable of carrying up to 8kg. For comparison, a standard 155mm artillery shell can carry up to 11.3 kg of TNT explosive.
European nations have failed their early drone defence tests. Last year, in Bulgaria and Germany, security forces – relying on much-feted jamming technology – failed to bring down drones hovering over military sites. In 2018, planes were grounded at Gatwick Airport for 30 hours because authorities could not remove what was presumed to be a single nuisance drone.
Our most dangerous, high-security locations are also not stopping them. Chief inspector of prisons, Charlie Taylor, warned in July that authorities had ‘ceded the airspace’ above prisons to sophisticated drones. They have dropped contraband and even banned ‘zombie’ knives to inmates at HMP Manchester and HMP Long Lartin – both housing category A prisoners. Taylor added: ‘It’s entirely possible that they could get a gun in, then the prisoner can use that to potentially take hostages or to threaten staff in order to be able to get out. There is also the possibility that someone could be picked up by a drone to help them escape.’
Chillingly, a recent aerial drone display in China showed that 10,000 drones could be simultaneously controlled by one device with laser-accurate precision and rapid speed. Whole fleets of armed drones can be set on a pre-determined course not by a military superpower, but by a malicious group within Europe’s borders.
Defence investment has flooded into the production of drones, but there has been little investment in how to stop them. Three European drone-making companies – Helsing, Quantum Systems and Tekever – now have ‘unicorn’ status, meaning they have a valuation of more than $1 billion. Silvia Pfeifer, the aerospace and defence industries correspondent for the FT, warned this week that the drone production market is saturated while little investment is flowing into other counter-defence.
One of the few drone defence companies is Nordic Air Defence, which has devised a rucksack-sized launcher that can fire guided non-explosive projectiles at a drone, to down the drone while not harming civilians on the ground. Karl Rosander, the CEO and co-founder, launched the company in 2023 after seeing drones appear over his native Sweden and realising there was little deterrent. He said:
‘Drones will very soon be used not just to intimidate civilian areas in the west, but also used in directed explosive attacks. Drone technology is now readily available at all levels of affordability and sophistication, putting it in the hands of both major governments, rogue states and smaller terror cells. What’s being tested in Ukraine today will be replicated in London, Berlin or Paris tomorrow… The threat is real – the wake-up call could come in the form of unspeakable tragedy.’
Any deterrent will have to be affordable, mobile and easily deployed. Having sent fighter jets to down the last drone nuisance over Poland, Andrius Kubilius, European Commissioner for Defence and Space, said: ‘A €10,000 drone shot down with a million Euro missile – that’s not sustainable.’ Especially when in the Polish case, 20 drones arrived at once.
In the aftermath of the foiled Antwerp attack, De Wever posted a picture of himself on Instagram with his cat, Maximus. ‘Maximus, can you catch a drone?’ De Wever wrote in a speech bubble. Worryingly for Europe, Maximus is about as effective as our current drone defences.
Don’t underestimate Bolivia’s election
Towering above the baroque low-rises of Bolivia’s largest city is the 29-storey presidential palace. Built by the then left-wing leader Evo Morales in 2018, the £25 million glass-fronted skyscraper comes kitted with a designer-furnished gym, spa, helipad, three underground floors and even a private elevator for the president’s personal use.
‘Morales claimed he built this for the people. That it was the symbol of the new Bolivia,’ said my ‘guide’, an unemployed biochemistry graduate, when I visited the building in La Paz last year. Gesturing at the golden motifs adorning its facade, he added with a wry smile: ‘This is what socialism really looks like. No?’
Today, the ‘Great House of the People’ as the skyscraper is named will get a new resident. For virtually the first time in 20 years, however, it will not be Morales or one of his comrades in the Movement Toward Socialism (MAS) party. Instead, it will be one of two right-of-centre candidates: the globe-trotting underdog Rodrigo Paz or former president Jorge ‘Tuto’ Quiroga.
Bolivia is turning from the left-wing pink tide towards the ripples of a blue wave
Like its libertarian neighbour Argentina or Ecuador farther north, Bolivia is turning from the left-wing ‘pink tide’ that once soaked South America towards the ripples of a conservative blue wave. Sick of inflation, political infighting and nationwide fuel shortages, disillusioned Bolivianos are saying no más to MAS’s tried-and-tested brand of socialism. And their shift to the right may prove the most significant in the region yet.
Why? To understand, one must look back to 2005 when Morales was first elected president. As a trade union leader, coca plant grower and indigenous Aymara, Morales was seen as the face of a new type of Latino leftism: one prioritising populism, anti-imperialism and indigenous rights in a majority indigenous nation.
He powered through the presidential elections of 2009 and 2014 with more than 60 per cent of the vote. But following allegations of electoral fraud in 2019, he resigned and fled the country, sparking a political crisis as opposition leader Jeanine Áñez declared herself interim ruler. Twelve months later, however, Morales’s party won out once again. Bolstered by ‘pink tide’ victories in Mexico and Argentina, his hand-picked successor Luis Arce was voted in as president – and Morales returned home.
But, in the run-up to this year’s election, tensions between the socialist kingmaker and his presidential protege began to flare. The tinderbox exploded in June last year when disgruntled members of the armed forces staged a short-lived, somewhat risible attempt at a coup. Morales accused Arce of faking the uprising to boost support – which the president vehemently denied. Four months later, Morales was charged with statutory rape and human trafficking of a 15-year-old girl, with whom he allegedly fathered a child. Since then, the 65-year-old has evaded arrest in a jungle hideaway, protected by bamboo-wielding coca farmers and dismissing the charges as a ‘brutal judicial war’ to prevent him from plotting a comeback.
All the while, the country’s economy tumbled. In June, inflation soared above 5 per cent – the highest in Latin America – with the annual rate expected to reach a three-decade high of almost 24 per cent. Meanwhile, a drop in natural gas production (one of Bolivia’s main exports) and dwindling US dollar reserves sparked a nationwide fuel crisis, with drivers queueing for as long as two days for petrol. Little wonder that by the time voters went to the polls on 17 August, their verdict was clear: they had Moved Toward Socialism, and socialism had failed.
Only it wasn’t so straightforward. Because, for the first time in Bolivian history, no candidate won a clear majority. Instead it was whittled down to Paz (who won 32 per cent of the vote) and Quiroga (27 per cent) who will face off at the ballot box again today. (The candidate for MAS, meanwhile, barely scraped 3 per cent).
Paz, of course, is the surprise frontrunner, having polled at less than 10 per cent before August’s election. A Christian democrat who claims to have lived in ten countries, the 58-year-old has campaigned on a platform of ‘capitalism for all’ – rejecting the idea of an International Monetary Fund bailout and touting tax breaks to stimulate the economy instead. Meanwhile, the more right-wing Quiroga, who briefly served as president in 2001, has called for drastic spending cuts, an IMF bailout and privatisation of state-run firms.
Two possible victors, not so alike in ideology, united in two aims: to unpick the socioeconomic legacy of the past two decades and to move away from Bolivia’s traditional allies, Venezuela and China, into the anti-socialist orbit of the US. As Latin America expert Leonardo Coutinho told Spectator World, both Paz and Quiroga offer Donald Trump a golden opportunity to ‘support Bolivia in a process of institutional reconstruction’. Given the US President’s close relationship with his chainsaw-wielding counterpart in Argentina, Javier Milei, the chance to forge another alliance with the resource-rich Bolivia is likely to appeal.
Meanwhile the rest of the region watches and waits. With upcoming elections threatening to haemorrhage left-wing bases in Chile, Colombia, Peru and others, the ripples of the blue wave may bubble into a flood. Whether it can wash away the detritus from 20 years of socialism, though, will be Bolivia’s greatest test yet.
Why football fans stopped watching Match of the Day
That hoary aphorism ‘be careful what you wish for’ may be a hackneyed one, but there’s nothing football pundits like more than a sagacious cliche. I dare say Gary Lineker used it on more than one occasion during his long tenure as Match of the Day presenter. And many people were glad and relieved when the lavishly-remunerated pundit was forced to relinquish that role in May, following a stream of unwise political interventions on social media. But, as the saying goes, they may now regret that their wish came true.
The new direction taken by Match of the Day represents the thin end of the wedge
The new incarnation of BBC’s flagship football programme, presented by Mark Chapman, Gabby Logan and Kelly Cates, has not proved popular. Average ratings have slumped by more than 10 per cent this season compared to the same period a year ago, falling from 2.68 million to 2.39 million.
Some may attribute this slide to the corporation’s decision to post Premier League highlights on its website more than two hours before the show airs on BBC1 at 10.30 p.m. on Saturday night. Others point to a dip in its ratings even before Lineker’s departure, consistent with a long-term drift from live mainstream television in general. Yet the fact that its ratings have slumped precipitously since Lineker’s departure suggest some other factor at play.
Simply put, could it be that viewers resent that a programme dedicated to an all-male competition, the Premier League, no longer has an all-male – or even majority male – line-up? After all, witness what happened to its lunchtime companion show, Football Focus, when it replaced Dan Walker with former Lioness Alex Scott in 2021. Within four years, it had shed one third of its audience. Some were likewise keen to attribute this plummet to gradual change in viewing habits. That alone doesn’t account for the swift and abrupt fall in the ratings of both programmes.
Television viewers are not stupid. They can sense political machinations behind the scenes. Most are well aware of the over-representation of ethnic minorities on television adverts. They know why those who produce them feel it imperative to make commercials that distort this country’s demographic make-up: to conform to a progressive political mood.
The BBC’s rationale is identical and no less transparent. Walker’s replacement, Scott, was not only female, but mixed race and has had relationships with men and women. That appointment smacked of tokenism. It seemed to replicate the BBC’s unspoken rule of ‘white male presenter out, ethnic minority or woman presenter in’ – a rule that has also applied to Question Time, Mastermind and University Challenge. The same fate undoubtedly awaits Radio 4’s In Our Time.
As it is today, the new direction taken by Match of the Day represents the thin end of the wedge. It only confirms the suspicion that the BBC is in thrall to voguish ideology. The current drift of Match of the Day – which also featured its first trans woman guest, Nicky Bandini, in September last year – has also come at a time when TV executives give seemingly equal airtime to women and men’s top flight and international football and rugby games, as if the sport dedicated to each sex commands the same nationwide following.
One of the BBC’s chronic problems is that it fails to keep it simple and just produce programmes that people want to watch, without surreptitiously letting slip its political beliefs. For all his naïve and thoughtless grandstanding, Gary Lineker seldom made known his political opinions on Match of the Day. Unlike any of the programme’s current presenters, he actually played in the Premier League. He was a consummate professional on, and off, the pitch.
Match of The Day’s new female presenters, Gabby Logan and Kelly Cates, are, undeniably, in a different league. Both are seasoned, knowledgeable and highly respected football and sports commentators, and both their fathers – Terry Yorath and Kenny Dalglish – played in the top flight of English football. Their appointment in a different era, even 20 years ago before hyper-tokenism became the tedious TV norm, might have raised fewer eyebrows.
Male – and female – viewers of programmes dedicated to a male version of their favourite sport notice the illogical political intent behind the BBC’s manoeuvres. And they find it exasperating. While males are scolded for their ‘toxic masculinity’ or reminded of their ‘privilege’, even if they grew up in a working-class area, football represents a last place of comfort and escape. It’s one of the few remaining arenas where men are allowed to be men. Now even that’s being taken away from them.
Mayors are the real political powerhouse
In Britain, the leading political parties have just held their annual conventions. After a month of national political debates, lost in all the commentary about polling and positioning, is a larger and more consequential story about the changing dynamics of power. In a world where parties, prime ministers and presidents have long dominated the global stage, the spotlight is increasingly turning to a new group of leaders: mayors. And they are shifting the plot from talk to action.
In recent years, mayors have emerged as increasingly entrepreneurial actors on national and even international issues. They’re not only collecting trash and fixing roads, they’re also pioneering new ways to tackle job creation, healthcare, housing construction, climate change and more. They are bringing a spirit of innovation to city halls, as the best US mayors in both major political parties are doing, too.
This development is only natural, since mayors stand on the front lines of our biggest challenges. And, as frustration with national leadership grows around the globe, cities stand out as laboratories of renewal. Mayors are showing how progress happens in practice, by embracing pragmatic problem-solving, rather than ideological combat.
In London, Mayor Sadiq Khan has capitalised on devolution to reduce air pollution, provide school lunches for children and improve social services. Mayoral combined authorities in Greater Manchester and Liverpool are developing new ways to provide better transport, affordable housing and more effective police and fire services. Earlier this year, the British government announced six new regions that will develop mayoral combined authorities, a move that will put 80 per cent of the country under devolution.
Across the EU, local leaders are also raising their ambitions and asserting their power, even without new grants of authority. Finland’s capital Helsinki has gone without a traffic fatality for more than 365 days thanks to the mayor’s efforts to improve street design and public transport. Down in Spain, Madrid is one step closer to reaching net zero emissions, in no small part because of the mayor’s effort to transition the city’s bus fleet to electric power.
As mayors rise to meet the moment, it’s critical that they have the skills and capabilities needed to pursue bold ideas – and succeed. When I was first elected mayor of New York in 2001, just weeks after the terrorist attacks of 11 September, I had spent 20 years building and running a company. But most mayors arrive in office with little experience running complex organisations. They haven’t spent much time, if any, using data to manage performance; attracting and retaining talent; breaking down silos; improving customer service; solving complex problems by developing and implementing innovative solutions – and many other activities essential to success.
In the private sector, executive leadership and management training are the rule rather than the exception. But in the public sector, it essentially didn’t exist. And so, in 2017, Bloomberg Philanthropies formed a partnership with Harvard University to bridge the gap. Since then, the programme has trained mayors in eight of America’s ten biggest cities and more than 380 mayors worldwide, including in Liverpool and Greater Manchester.
Mayors have emerged as entrepreneurial actors on national and even international issues
Now, as Europe increasingly turns to its mayors, we are teaming up with the London School of Economics and Political Science and the Hertie School in Berlin to create the first-ever leadership program designed specifically for mayors and top city officials in the UK and across Europe. The inaugural class will include 30 mayors from 17 countries representing a diverse array of cities, from industrial centres and tourism magnets to university hubs and national capitals. The initiative will build their capacity to lead – aligning talent, tools and shared purpose to help them write Europe’s next chapter.
Over the course of the one-year program, which is backed through a $50 million grant from Bloomberg Philanthropies, mayors and their staffs will take part in training inside and outside the classroom, including one-on-one mentoring and coaching sessions. The focus of the sessions will be on strengthening their capacity to empower their teams, build partnerships with communities and businesses, bring new ideas and creativity to challenging problems, share lessons across city and national boundaries and accelerate progress they are already making.
As the world increasingly turns to mayors to deliver results, the stakes are much too high to expect them to go it alone. With the very best in leadership and management training, mayors can redefine what is possible for cities – and their countries – to accomplish. As they do, voters will see the virtue of electing problem-solvers over flamethrowers, with the benefits spreading far and wide. In the theatre of politics, as in life, Shakespeare’s words hold true: ‘Action is eloquence.’
Confessions of an unmanly man
There’s a certain sort of chap who, when he hears you mention football, gets all earnest and starts talking about flat back fours. You try to stop him, attempting to steer the conversation away from tedious tactics and back on to the important stuff, such as the fact that there’s only one team in the top four English divisions whose name, when spelled in capital letters, contains no curves. He’ll look confused, disorientated, maybe even a little bit angry. Either he’ll persist with his talk of formations, or walk away completely.
The correct reaction, of course, is to say: ‘Really? That’s brilliant. Let me try to work it out.’ This is when you know you’ve found a kindred spirit: an unmanly man. We’re the sort who often like ‘manly’ things, but for unmanly reasons. We know that football is about the fun stuff, the humour, the personal stories. That’s what life is about, and just because a topic has ‘male’ connotations, it doesn’t mean the rule doesn’t apply. I know little, and care even less, about the respective merits of a false nine and a true centre forward, but I get hugely excited by the story of Paul Gascoigne and the marching band. During the warm-ups for England games at Wembley, Gazza would try to hit the band with shots from distance. He bagged the bass drum a couple of times, but his dream – sadly never realised – was to get the ball into the tuba. This is a perfect piece of trivia: funny in itself, but also a poignant metaphor for Gascoigne’s entire existence. (If you’re still going with the ‘capital letters’ thing, by the way, it’s a London team.)
Women’s reactions can be even worse. You’ll mention a manly topic – cars, say – and she’ll assume you’re about to deliver a lecture on torque and miles per gallon. She’ll assume, in other words, that you’re a bore. But actually I don’t understand, or want to understand, any of that nonsense. And I don’t want the woman thinking I do. I love things like the Bentley badge, which although it looks symmetrical actually has ten feathers on the left and 11 on the right, to foil would-be counterfeiters. Or the reason for the name Volvo: the company originally made ball bearings (the word is Latin for ‘I roll’). If the woman realises this is what you’re all about, good news – she’ll be interested in talking to you. But if she latches on to the initial mistaken assumption, you might as well give up. (Still stuck? The team aren’t in the Premier League.)
Probably the biggest discrepancy between cliché and reality comes with the Apollo moon programme. I happen to think this is the most incredible thing mankind has ever done. But not because of G-forces or payloads or rocket thrust. All that stuff can stay where it belongs, in Dr Freud’s in-tray. No, the reason Apollo moves me so much is that it’s packed with metaphors for the human condition. All the astronauts said that what they found most powerful about going to the moon was looking back at Earth. It’s like T.S. Eliot in the Four Quartets: ‘We shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.’
I know little, and care even less, about the respective merits of a false nine and a true centre forward, but I get hugely excited by the story of Paul Gascoigne and the marching band
Similarly there’s a point in the documentary In the Shadow of the Moon that always has me in tears, the bit where they’re talking about the second stage firing during the launch sequence. This is after they’ve taken off, when another rocket fires to give them a further boost. To me this symbolises a child leaving home – it’s learned to walk, now it’s off to discover things for itself. Leaving home is something I once did, something my son will eventually do, and that footage of the second stage always makes me think of those moments. Try to explain that to a manly man and his eyes will glaze over. Mention it to a kindred spirit, be they male or female, and you’re set for the evening.
It’s this attitude that explains why my favourite moonwalker is Alan Bean. He was on Apollo 12, the one after Neil and Buzz, and happy to have therefore escaped the limelight. I was lucky enough to interview Bean for The Spectator on his 80th birthday in 2012, and his comments were typically profound. On the power of determination, for instance. Analysing what causes success, he said: ‘You don’t want it to be talent, because then you’re stuck. You say, I’m 6ft 4in but I’ve always wanted to be 6ft 8in – well, then you’re screwed. I wanted always to be something you can accomplish with determination and persistence.’ And he made it – he got to the moon. Knowing that his achievement had earned him a gold Nasa badge, he left his silver one on the lunar surface, where it remains to this day. (OK – final clue on the football team – it’s a single-word name.)
Finding a fellow unmanly man, or a woman who appreciates unmanly men, is one of life’s joys. It leads to wonderfully enlightening and spirit-lifting conversations. It’s just that along the way you have to encounter the opposite. And then find a way of escaping from all the talk about spanners.
Finally – if you haven’t got the team yet – it’s Millwall.
Will a Republican be the next New Jersey governor?
The national spotlight is on New Jersey as the long-blue state’s gubernatorial race narrows, but it wouldn’t be Juh-zey without a little last minute drama. Lying, suing and a last minute showing from Donald Trump – this race has just about everything.
And the Republican may actually win.
Democrat Mikie Sherrill has been the conventional favorite throughout the race. She’s a relatively fresh face, despite being a four-term U.S. Congresswoman, and she checks all the boxes: Navy veteran, Georgetown Law, and a respectable patina of moderation to go with the Girl Boss pantsuit. Still, the VoteView database shows her holding the party lines 95 percent of the time in Congress.
Republican Jack Ciattarelli, meanwhile, might be more of a household name after his bombastic burnout in the Jersey’s 2021 gubernatorial race. With slick-backed hair, a goombah accent, and a questionable business history, say what you want about the guy, but he’s very Jersey. He might not have the made-in-a-lab appeal of Sherrill, but there’s no reason he can’t pull off the W in his home turf.
In 2021, Ciattarelli lost by only three points to incumbent Governor Phil Murphy, a time when Democrats had an iron grip on the narrative and cancel culture reigned. But vibes, as we’ve seen, have shifted.
There’s limited polling on governors’ races – just five in Jersey over the past month – but the race is narrowing. The latest Quinnipiac poll shows just a six-point spread, with Sherrill failing to break a majority.
Ciattarelli has a greater edge in enthusiasm, however, which in the age of populism is really all that counts. In the same poll, 55 percent of Ciattarelli voters said they are “very enthusiastic” compared to just 42 percent for Sherrill. On things as mundane as the issues affecting New Jerseyans, the two aren’t far off. But if the enthusiasm gap holds, and Jersey Democrats simply shrug their shoulders on election day, it’s quite clear which way this race is going.
So it’s no surprise that things have gotten increasingly ugly. In what The New York Times wishfully called an “explosive” shake up, Sherrill accused her opponent of “kill[ing] tens of thousands of people in New Jersey, including children.” A medical company Ciattarelli once owned spread “misinformation” and “propaganda” about opiate addiction, she claimed, adding he was “paid to develop an app so that people could more easily get the opioids once they were addicted.” But even The Times couldn’t dig up proof.
“It’s a lie,” Ciattarelli responded, threatening defamation charges. This is the third time he has threatened to sue over unrelated issues, but has yet to follow through – likely because the implications for campaign spending would create a legal minefield.
But a political minefield has never stopped Trump. Trump and Ciattarrelli notoriously kept their distance in the 2021 race; Trump was at the nadir of his political prestige, and Ciattarreli cautiously refused to seek an endorsement. While it’s uncommon for Trump to forget such “disloyalty,” the bromance is apparently back on.
Ciattarrelli has leaned into the Trump aesthetic in a last minute blitz through the state, holding a rally in Wildwood with a slew of MAGA influencers. There are several more stops to come. And he’s even ready to admit that Trump has “been right about everything.”
That’s enough for Trump, who gave a full-throated endorsement: ”Jack has gone ALL IN, and is now 100 percent (PLUS!)”
We’ll soon get an updated sense of the vibe shift we all can’t seem to stop talking about.
Jersey’s last Republican governor was Chris Christie, now most famous for hating Trump, and the state hasn’t gone red in a presidential race since 1988. But the once bright blue state now seems open to whichever party can find the right message.
Are the state’s affluent suburbanites, who often commute to New York or Philadelphia, and its own urban centers lost forever to the grips of the Democratic machine? Will a faceless suit always play well as long as they say Republicans are scary and mean?
Or will the Trump effect finally see mass appeal? Perhaps Trump will finally help turnout voters even when he’s not on the ballot, a claim he’s often made but has proven questionable at best.
Only time will tell, and it will implicate both parties’ strategies in the midterms and beyond. Clearly, both parties know there’s more at stake here than just New Jersey.
The Duke of York’s downfall is complete
After much speculation, Prince Andrew has relinquished his royal titles, most notably the Dukedom of York and the Order of the Garter. This represents an existential humiliation for the beleaguered ‘Randy Andy’.
This represents an existential humiliation for the beleaguered ‘Randy Andy’
Yet it could have been seen coming a royal mile off. The latest Jeffrey Epstein revelations, that Andrew had continued to email the billionaire paedophile long after he’d claimed they’d ceased contact, were not only hugely damaging but potentially the tip of a very incriminating iceberg. That he has also had dealings with an alleged Chinese spymaster (not to mention a Beijing businessman now barred from entering the UK) is merely the rancid icing on this particular stale cake.
The statement put out by Buckingham Palace was straightforward. In it, Andrew said:
In discussion with The King, and my immediate and wider family, we have concluded the continued accusations about me distract from the work of His Majesty and the Royal Family. I have decided, as I always have, to put my duty to my family and country first. I stand by my decision five years ago to stand back from public life. With His Majesty’s agreement, we feel I must now go a step further. I will therefore no longer use my title or the honours which have been conferred upon me. As I have said previously, I vigorously deny the accusations against me.’
Reading between the lines, it is quite clear that ‘in discussion with the King’ means: ‘I have been told, sharpish, to abandon every royal bauble that I’ve so zealously clung onto over the last few years, to disappear from public life and to stop embarrassing all and sundry.’ Charles is widely reported to have been exasperated with his errant younger brother for some time. But he had held off administering the reputational coup de grace that it is believed that the Prince of Wales would have taken no hesitation in delivering when he inherits the throne.
But the most recent stories, not least the imminent Virginia Giuffre memoir that threatens to bring the sordid Epstein saga to vivid life once again, have been the final straw. It is now inevitable that Andrew – never again to be referred to as the Duke of York – will be pressured to disappear completely from public life.
He will still be Prince Andrew, because nobody can take away the fact that he was born the son of the late sovereign. However, it is collateral of his actions that his ex-wife, who ruthlessly monetised her own title as Duchess of York, will now return to being referred as plain old Sarah Ferguson.
Of course there are questions as to whether Royal Lodge will still remain in their keeping. Although Andrew is reported to have paid for the lease privately – from distinctly opaque funds – the idea of such a disgraced figure skulking around Windsor would be seen as anathema by the rest of the Royal Family.
The Firm acts with a ruthlessness, when it has to, that puts politicians to shame. Andrew is still denying the accusations against him, and it should be noted that the allegations remain just that, without the smoking gun of an email confession – which even he is probably not so intellectually limited to have provided.
Yet the damage has now been done. It is clear that the royals want Andrew out of sight and out of mind. Whatever the remaining stories – and one wonders if something spectacular might emerge for pre-emptive action of this kind to be taken – the downfall of the former Duke of York is now complete. Few will be pitying him.
The flag wars have come to the Netherlands
The small community of Uithoorn, just outside Amsterdam, has unexpectedly found itself on the front line of Europe’s flag wars. Late last week, Dutch national flags – in bold red, white and blue – began appearing across the town. Their purpose? Perhaps a spontaneous show of resistance to a planned asylum centre earmarked for the suburb. Or perhaps something more calculated: a shrewd piece of political theatre ahead of the country’s elections on 29 October. No one can say for sure.
But the response was immediate. With Pavlovian swiftness, the town council began removing flags from public spaces – although they left those flying from private property untouched.
The council offered several justifications. Firstly, it was suggested that the flags were ‘intimidating’ to some residents – though it remains unclear exactly which groups felt intimidated, or indeed who had said so. Secondly, officials argued the flags posed a distraction to drivers and so were a risk to traffic safety. The Dutch right promptly cried foul.
However murky the reasoning, the council acted within its remit. In the Netherlands, private citizens may fly the national flag freely on their own property, but public institutions are bound by strict protocol. Flags are flown on government buildings only on designated occasions – national holidays and royal events, for example. But any Dutchman may unfurl the tricolour from his windowsill or front garden, with or without excuse.
Indeed, use of the flag has already seen a revival in recent years. During the farmers’ protests, many started flying it upside down – a maritime distress signal, long embedded in Dutch tradition. Even King Willem-Alexander, when asked, conceded the symbolism was legitimate: a sign, he said, that ‘someone is in trouble’.
Still, flag-waving does not come naturally to the Dutch. In a country where loud orange – not red, white and blue – is the colour of choice for sports fans and street parties alike, overt displays of nationalism remain rare. One hardly sees a Dutch flag at a Dutch football match.
Parliament itself only installed a national flag behind the Speaker’s chair in 2017. Attempts to put the EU flag next to it however have not fared well. When, in 2023, two liberal democrat MPs tried to unfurl the EU banner inside the chamber, they were met with uproar from the right – especially from Geert Wilders’ Freedom party. Wilders, who routinely calls for a ‘Nexit’, demanded the flag be set alight on the spot; colleagues offered to fetch lighters. The parliamentary ushers acted quickly to remove it, before the smoke alarms could intervene.
You rarely spot an EU flag in the Netherlands. Waving it is a habit perhaps more often found in net-recipient member states.
Some claim that the Dutch flag has been ‘captured’ by the far-right, used as a symbol at anti-immigration rallies. This is nonsense. The flag belongs to everyone. And, in fact, the same liberal democrats who once tried to fly the EU flag in parliament are now proudly draping themselves in the national tricolour ahead of the upcoming elections.
There is, however, one version of the Dutch flag that remains genuinely controversial: the orange, white and blue ‘Prinsenvlag’, or Prince’s Flag. Associated with the House of Orange, this was a naval and military standard from the late 16th century until the fall of the Dutch Republic in the 19th. At the time it coexisted with the red, white and blue – but its reputation never recovered after it was adopted by the Dutch fascist movement in the 1930s and consequently by collaborators of the Nazi occupation. It was also the model for the apartheid-era South African flag. While the Prinsenvlag is not illegal today, it is only used by a few fringe far-right groups. No one else will touch it.
No such stigma, however, attaches to the red, white and blue. Sales of the driekleur are booming, and the flag is enjoying a newfound centrality in national life. The first flag in parliament has already been replaced by a somewhat grander one.
Whether flown in protest at asylum policies or raised in support of them, the banner is back. If anyone now finds that threatening, he or she should note that some on the left are rallying around it, too. Times are changing. Yet, the 500-year-old flag remains very much alive, and free for all to use.
How sumo wrestling bounced back
Sumo is the featured attraction at the Royal Albert Hall this weekend in a rare foray for the ancient sport outside of its spiritual home of Japan. The five-day tournament started on Wednesday and features 40 rikishi (wrestlers) (about six-tonnes’ worth) squaring off in a specially constructed dohyo (ring). Reinforced chairs and upgraded toilets have been installed for the exclusive use of the 28-stone ‘naked ambassadors’ (as they are being called here in Japan).
Like test cricket, sumo wrestling is set apart and sustained by its antiquity
It has been a huge success so far. Tickets sold out long ago but can be picked up for hundreds of pounds on the secondary market. Ring-side spectators have been warned about the danger of being squashed by a falling wrestler.
Sheer curiosity will surely have accounted for much of this demand. Like test cricket perhaps, sumo is set apart and sustained by its antiquity (it has existed for around 1,500 years); and strangeness – the thought of a sport that requires athletes to increase their body weight to a dangerous level (many die young from heart complications) and where bouts rarely last more than 30 seconds is almost un-processable today. Sumo offers a fascinating glimpse into the past and a vanishingly rare monocultural experience in an increasingly globalised world (how interesting that it should prove such a draw in ‘diversity is our strength’ London).
This is not Britain’s first infatuation with what many consider Japan’s national sport. In the late 1980s, a golden era reminiscent of the ‘four kings’ days of middleweight boxing, Japan produced a group of charismatic wrestlers such as Chiyonofuji (‘the Wolf’), Konishiki (the ‘dump truck’) and the slimline fan’s favourite Terao (who always won the fighting spirit award). Channel 4 in its more experimental era took a punt and introduced it to the British public. It made for compelling viewing and led to a mini sumo boom.
It didn’t last. By the time I got to Tokyo in 1999, things were on the wane and my illusions were shattered early. I told a Japanese businessman how excited I was about attending a basho and he gave me a wry, knowing look and shook his head sadly. ‘You do know it’s all fixed?’ he said.
This turned out to be only the half of it. A series of scandals broke in the years that followed, rocking the sport to its foundation. Along with match fixing, there was bullying and abuse, gambling and links to the yakuza. Whistle blowers emerged and the dirty loin cloths were aired in public. The nadir was probably the death of a 17-year-old trainee in 2007 after a hazing ritual, though the expulsion of 23 wrestlers for match fixing in 2011 was another dismal low point. For a while, no amount of purifying salt scattered on the dohyo could banish the tainted odour of corruption and seediness.
To add to the perception of decline, Japan stopped producing winners. Mongolian wrestlers started to dominate, which didn’t go down well with the public who saw the sport as a uniquely Japanese disciple that could only be mastered by its native sons. The local boys had to be content with minor placings. It was all rather humiliating; imagine the French becoming champion Morris dancers. The public began to lose interest.
And then a renaissance was spearheaded by a saviour: Kisenosato Yutaka who was elevated to the top division in January 2017. He was the first home-grown Yokozuna (top ranked wrestler) in 19 years. Reforms in governance (a compliance committee was set up in 2017 to deal with abuse) gave the sport a much-needed credibility boost.
As a sign of its return to favour, prime minister Shinzo Abe invited Donald Trump to a basho on the latter’s visit in 2019. The odd couple leaders watched the action in very untraditional thrones as opposed to the customary cushions.
And the good news keeps coming. This year, we had another Japanese yokozuna Onosato. His promotion was confirmed in a meeting of the sumo elders that lasted six minutes. He is so popular that tickets for the six annual basho now sell out in under an hour.
Visiting wrestlers have been spotted – they are easy to spot – taking pictures outside London tourist attractions like Big Ben
The murkiness hasn’t been entirely dispelled, though. There was more unpleasantness in 2024 when a wrestler was banished for physically assaulting trainees. And there are still ugly rumours of the occasional ‘Kid, this ain’t your night, we’re going for the price on Wilson’ scenario after some rather eye-brow raisingly convenient results in crucial contests that rescued favoured wrestlers from economically disastrous relegation to the lower ranks.
The visiting sumo wrestlers seem unconcerned by all that, though. They have been spotted – they are easy to spot – taking pictures outside London tourist attractions like Big Ben and Horse Guards parade and in the process becoming tourist attractions themselves. Onosato and a fellow wrestler Hoshoryu partook of a hot dog from a street vendor and, confirming the exquisite politeness of the Japanese in all situations, declared it ‘delicious’.
They seemed relaxed and confident and glad to be on tour pushing the product. As well they might be. First stop a sold-out Albert Hall, then there is Paris next June to look forward to. And after that, all being well? Probably Riyadh.
Will Trump’s peace hold in Nagorno-Karabakh?
On the Armenian banks of the winding Aras River, which represents the border with Iran, I am approached by two boys offering local grapes. The fruit is more yellow than green, and translucent and very sweet. ‘Are you American?’, one boy asks in Armenian. I am not, I tell them, and they are disappointed. It is late September and I am in Armenia, on the banks of this river, surrounded by the dramatic peaks of the Zangezur mountains, to film a programme for the BBC World Service about Donald Trump’s intervention in this country’s war with Azerbaijan. In early August, Trump announced with the leaders of Armenia and Azerbaijan that he had solved their 35-year conflict.
Defying sceptics, Trump brokered a deal on the most pressing issue – a corridor that Azerbaijan demanded be granted to its exclave through Armenia’s territory. Pre-Trump, Armenia rejected the demand, which Azerbaijan made in 2021, and, as neither side would budge, many feared new fighting. But at the White House, a compromise was found. A new transportation link will give unimpeded access to Azerbaijan while respecting Armenia’s sovereignty over its land. The solution is based on the idea that the road will be managed by a US company, perhaps on a 99-year deal. Leaders of both countries say the conflict has been resolved, and they praise Trump. They do not seem to mind him confusing Armenia with Albania and Azerbaijan with Cambodia, nor him naming the new road the ‘Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity’ (Tripp).
Trump is not the first American leader who tried to resolve this conflict. For three decades, US, Russia and France have worked together to mediate between the two nations. He is perhaps the first to insert the US commercial interest in mediation. But will it work?
At the moment, the location of the Trump trail is post-apocalyptic. What used to be a busy railway station is abandoned, surrounded by only a dozen metres of track, a couple of rusted carriages and a shattered monument to a Bolshevik martyr executed by the British-aligned forces in 1918. Then, as now, this desolate corner of the world was a playground of world powers, a part of the terrain where ‘the Great Game’ was played. The railroad was first started by the Russian Empire and completed by the Soviets. But when Armenia and Azerbaijan became independent countries, they went to war twice, in 1992-1994 and again in 2020 (not to count constant border skirmishes). Infrastructure connecting the two countries was destroyed.
While we are filming, a Russian FSB patrol vehicle pulls in front of our car. A muscular young guy jumps out and heads straight towards us. I want to lecture him on the rights of accredited journalists on sovereign Armenian land, but before I can, he barks in Russian: ‘Are you the ones operating the drone?’ I notice a patch on his arm depicting a bear and the Russian flag. Our producer explains that the drone is not ours, and he leaves. Russian FSB border guards have been stationed on Armenia’s border with Iran since 1992. Now this 42-kilometre stretch of land is set to become Tripp, and many assume a large-scale and long-term US presence will accompany it. How will Americans co-exist here with Russians and Iranians? Nobody seems to know.
On our way back to Yerevan, the Armenian capital, we stop for a coffee. The sun is bright and Mount Ararat is in full view. Believed to be the place where Noah moored his Ark, it is Armenia’s most recognisable symbol. In fact the mountain is not in Armenia at all. It is across the border, in Turkey. Last year, Armenia’s ruling party decided to stop using Ararat as a national symbol as part of its overhaul of national identity. Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan says that ethno-nationalism has made the country poor, unhappy and dependent on Russia. He sees a path to prosperity and sovereignty through normalisation with Azerbaijan and Turkey – and even a push for EU membership, although he accepts that is a long shot. It is hard to tell what people think of this new ideology. The government is unpopular, but the opposition even more so.
Trump’s deal may be a respite rather than a solution, but few people here mind
In Yerevan I wander around the neighbourhood where I lived for several months in the mid-2010s. Then the capital felt more Soviet than contemporary, a place stuck in time, but everything changed in 2022, when wave after wave of young Russians, both opposed to Putin’s war in Ukraine and fleeing mobilisation, piled into the city. Rents rose and neighbourhoods were gentrified. I hardly recognise my old street, aside from one working-class bar which has not yet been replaced by a café serving specialty coffee.
After the invasion of Ukraine, so much Russian money moved to Armenia that local banks did not know what to do with it. The country’s GDP showed record growth, but the spectre of another war, one between Azerbaijan and Armenia, kept many investors away. It also made many of my friends consider leaving the country. Now there is hope that the deal struck in Washington will end the uncertainty. Sitting down with a diplomatic source, I ask if war seems like a distant possibility now for the first time in many years. ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘It’s been like this for a couple of months, I guess. I don’t even think of it now.’
Perhaps Trump’s deal will be a respite rather than a solution, but few people here mind. Decades of this conflict led to over 25,000 people killed and almost a million displaced, including virtually the entire Armenian population of Nagorno-Karabakh, who fled advancing Azerbaijani troops that finally reasserted control over the region in 2023. Maybe, after several cycles of displacement, people want to the turn the page on armed conflict. Not a single shot has been fired on the Azerbaijan-Armenia border since the White House meeting.
Never put your pots and pans in the dishwasher
I don’t know how many teenagers are given a frying pan for their 18th birthday. Perhaps my friends managed to intuit my food-writing future, despite my party piece back then being an extremely tomato-heavy bolognaise. Twenty-five years on, having somehow survived university halls of residence and flatmates using – the horror – metal utensils in it, that beautifully thick-bottomed frying plan lives at the bottom of an excessively large pile of frying pans, well past its best. But even as the pile threatens to get taller than the cupboard, I can’t bear the idea of throwing it away.
I’ve loved and lost too many pans to count. I had a little milk pan, perfect for a single portion of porridge, until the surface started flaking off. (Whether certain kinds of non-stick are dangerous if damaged is up for debate, but I wouldn’t risk it.) I’ve had to let go of several chipped enamel pans (enamel is vitrified, like glass, and you don’t want shards of it floating about in a curry).
I’m a recipe writer, which is how I justify my absurd collection of pans of all sorts and sizes. I once needed a pan large enough for a crawfish broil. What if I didn’t have just the right pan to make a tortilla, or for griddling asparagus? What if my cast-iron casserole dish wasn’t quite wide enough for 16 suet dumplings to sit in? What if – more horror – my fried eggs stuck? This won’t make you like me, but I took a cast-iron Le Creuset on a camping trip this summer so that I could simmer chicken thighs in wine and cream and samphire. I love my pans, so over time I’ve learned how to take good care of them – better care than that first pan I received.
First, I had to break up with my dishwasher and start gently hand-washing them. I don’t care what a pan’s packaging says: you cannot clean non-stick in the dishwasher (nor enamel, cast iron or sharp knives – unless you enjoy sawing through vegetables with a blunt blade). Dishwashers are designed to be abrasive, which is why glassware goes cloudy in them; they also abrade non-stick. For years, I refused to accept this, tolerating instead the sharp stab of disappointment every time a neatly cut fillet of fish fell apart as I tried to lever it off what had been a favourite pan.
I also had to learn that de-glazing is not just for gravy-making: when a meal is finished, dirty pans and metal oven trays go back over a medium heat and I add a centimetre or so of hot water from the kettle. Once simmering, anything welded on is magically released.
Dirty pans and oven trays go back over a medium heat and I add a centimetre or so of hot water from the kettle. Once simmering, anything welded on is magically released
Even if you avoid the dishwasher, non-stick frying pans usually last for no more than five years before they start bonding themselves to your dinner, and often only two. You can help them live longer by never heating them empty, instead adding a thin layer of oil or water to help disperse the heat. Because they are made with layers of different materials, non-stick hates getting very hot very quickly (it’s rarely a fan of the booster setting on an induction hob), but pans of all kinds will end up with a domed base if you warm them up too fast. Thermal shock in either direction can cause the layers to move apart and bend; I’ve warped pans by dunking them, still baking hot, in cold water. (The heartbreak.)
Storage matters, too. Until I discovered fabric pan separators, my pans scratched at each other every time I levered out my monstrously heavy cast-iron wok. Now they nestle together, divided by special star-shaped pieces of fleece.
Then there’s what I cook with. Oils with a low smoke point, such as butter, can leave a tacky residue on pans if they get too hot. Cooking spray mucks up surfaces if used over a high heat, too, because it contains emulsifiers which over time turn into a glued-on film that is almost impossible to remove. Oils with a high smoke point, such as sunflower or rapeseed, are better behaved.
I often think that if I was a proper, grown-up food writer (I’m 44), then I’d have more properly seasoned metal pans, but I only have one: a glorious, double-handled spun-iron prospector pan, which is just as happy pot-roasting game birds as it is making seafood rice. (Unlike non-stick, iron is recyclable and undisputedly safe to cook on.) Seasoning means it’s as non-stick as anything else I own: every few months, I wipe it with a thin layer of vegetable oil, slowly warm it until smoking hot, cool and repeat a couple of times, letting the oil polymerise over the surface of the pan. Unlike my poor first frying pan, this one should still be at the top of my pile in 25 years.