Culture

Uh oh, football’s puritans are riled up today. They think the sport might have been brought into disrepute during last night’s FA Cup tie between Sutton and Arsenal. Why? Because Sutton’s substitute goalkeeper, the gloriously fat Wayne Shaw, ate a pie on the subs bench during the match. Shaw’s stunt — which amused anybody with a sense of humour — may have broken the FA’s gambling laws, we are told, because Sun Bets, who had sponsored Sutton for the game, had offered 8-1 that Shaw would indeed be seen eating a pie during the match.  Shaw had heard of the bet before the game. Rather than take offence that people were laughing

Given our seamy obsession with serial killers, real and fictional, one would expect the crimes of Stephen Port to have made more of a mark on the national psyche. Port was convicted in November of the rape and murder of four young men in Barking, east London over a 15-month period. His modus operandi was cold and calculating: He would contact men on gay hook-up sites and incapacitate them with ‘date rape drug’ GHB, before sexually assaulting and murdering them. A further seven men were drugged and/or raped but lived. Port is serving a whole-life sentence; he will die in prison. What makes these crimes particularly shocking is that the

What would you do if naked pictures emerged of a celebrity you liked? Or one you didn’t? What about a slew of emails that were meant to be private that were hacked and then leaked into the public domain? Would you turn away from them, tutting. Or might you be tempted to read them? Would your inclination to read them increase if you liked the person, or if you really disliked them? We seem confused about all of this at the moment. The leak of David Beckham’s emails has condensed the confusion. Most of us believe that private communications should be private. Most of us believe that people’s private communications

The news about the machete man in the Louvre broke just as my Eurostar was approaching Paris. Was this just a one-off, or were there more terrorist attacks to come? In the Gare du Nord that lunchtime, the atmosphere was humdrum. Armed policemen passed by like ghosts, unseen and unnoticed. For Parisians, these incidents have become a normal part of daily life. I figured the Louvre would still be cordoned off, so I headed for the Musée d’Orsay. If the Louvre attack was part of a co-ordinated assault on the cultural institutions of the French capital, the Musée d’Orsay would be another prime target. Would the museum be closed, as

Matthew Parris’s article about the madness of the Brexiteers has caused much interest on social media, as did Alex Massie’s article along the same lines on Friday. I’ve been amused to see this described by some as a evidence of mutiny on HMS Brexit. A magazine’s star writers attacking each other with some passion, and sparing no weapon in the process. What’s going on? Simple: the same thing that has been going on since The Spectator was first published 189 years ago. We have no party line on Brexit, or anything else. That’s why writers of the outstanding calibre of Rod Liddle, Charles Moore, Matthew Parris, Hugo Rifkind and many more write for us:

There are lots of problems with Warhammer fans. Bad haircuts, terrible dress sense, to name just two. These aren’t even stereotypes; as a little girl I went to the Games Workshop multiple times with my brothers, so have first-hand experience. Still, I feel strangely defensive over Warhammer because it has been the victim of a vicious smear campaign. PETA has launched the most bemusing of attacks on the brand after spotting that some of its characters wear fur clothing. The Viking-style ‘space wolves’ have caused particular offence. I should emphasise at this stage that the fur isn’t actually real. Warhammer, as its disciples will know, is made out of plastic, which fans lovingly glue together before painting on the finer details –

We’ve been filling in our son’s school application form this week. Below his name, date of birth and gender – which I’m horrified to see only has two options, despite the form clearly stating that it is indeed 2017 – is ‘ethnicity’. I suppose I’m meant to put ‘White British’ although I dislike the phrase. Nine-times out of ten when I see the W-word used in the media it’s as an insult or gripe, usually followed by ‘privilege’ or – shudder -‘feminist’. Of course, there’s another term we could use instead: English. According to the Guardian: ‘English patriotism is on the rise at the expense of a sense of British

On the wall behind my desk hangs a picture of Alexander Chancellor when he was editing The Spectator, with cigarette and telephone in one hand and looking very much the hero that all of us in the magazine have long regarded him. His death, announced earlier on this morning, is awful news: we have lost not just a columnist but the godfather of the magazine. Some editors improve their publications, others aren’t so lucky – but Alexander saved The Spectator. The magazine as we know it today – its tone, its mix, its success – is his. Before he took over, sales were tanking. We were the only publication to support