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How cheering to realise that, as winter decides to make itself properly felt, the world of cricket has given us a series of half-volleys outside the off stump to keep our interest thrumming. First up, three great matches – the second Test at the unpronounceable Gqeberha between South Africa and Australia, and two extraordinary 50-over matches in Pakistan which England contrived to lose from seemingly impregnable positions. We have seen two magnificent innings, from Temba Bavuma and Harry Brook, while ‘Sandpaper Dave’ Warner took the opportunity to slag off Test cricket on the anniversaryof his cheating in Cape Town eight years ago. Finally, Sir Jimmy Anderson was sacked by Lancashire with especially graceless timing.
This week's magazine
The race to go private
Postwar Britain can be defined by a bargain made with its middle class: pay for public services but benefit from them too. Private education has always been the choice of a very small minority; private healthcare was reserved for the wealthiest and those whose employers paid for it. Middle England was content to send their children to the same schools as everyone else and use the same GPs, hospitals and dentists. This is no longer true. State spending continues to grow, yet large parts of the population now pay privately to supplement what their taxes have already provided.
Postwar Britain can be defined by a bargain made with its middle class: pay for public services but benefit from them too. Private education has always been the choice of a very small minority; private healthcare was reserved for the wealthiest and those whose employers paid for it. Middle England was content to send their children to the same schools as everyone else and use the same GPs, hospitals and dentists. This is no longer true. State spending continues to grow, yet large parts of the population now pay privately to supplement what their taxes have already provided.
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Authors hate it when reviewers refer to their book as a ‘weighty tome’ as it implies that the contents are going to be about as much fun as Deuteronomy. So I should make it clear that while Tim Hayward’s The Cocktail Hour (Quadrille, £20) is extremely weighty, that’s because the production values are off the scale. The monks at Lindisfarne could scarcely have put more effort into illuminating their work. And while the paper is heavy, Hayward’s writing is as refreshing as a perfectly made dry martini. There are hundreds of cocktail books out there, but none combine Hayward’s erudition, obsession and sense of humour. He is at once deadly serious and very, very funny. It’s the best book on the subject since Bernard DeVoto’s 1948 book The Hour.