Freddy Gray

So goodbye, Rowan. The Archbishop of Canterbury has announced that he will stand down at the end of the year (leaving Britain bereft of bearded authority figures). Inevitably, people will say he failed. The Anglican Communion is at war with itself over gays and women bishops and the place of religion in a secular multi-cultural society, and he has been unable to broker any kind of peace.   But it is important to acknowledge that — even if, for all his intelligence, he often struggled to express himself clearly — Dr Williams is widely respected as a good and graceful man. I interviewed him a few years ago, and he was kind and lacking in self-importance.

Everyone knows about Mitt Romney's Mormonism — and that his religion might freak voters out — but what about Rick Santorum's connection to Opus Dei? Santorum is not, he says, a member of ‘the work’. But he is close to it. His parish in Virginia has Opus Dei links, and, as The New Republic reports: ‘In 2002, he travelled to Rome with high-profile American members for the 100th birthday of Opus Dei’s founder, Josemaría Escrivá de Balaguer. (The five-day event is where Santorum first criticized John F. Kennedy’s “separation of church and state” speech, speaking to a reporter.) He has also sent two of his sons to the Heights School, a Washington, D.C. school with ties to Opus Dei.

Senator John McCain was on the radio again this morning, urging us to intervene on behalf of Syria's rebels. ‘It's not a fair fight,’ he said, as if that were a good reason to wade in. McCain, a former prisoner of war, is to humanitarian intervention what Mother Teresa was to helping the sick. He never misses a chance to promote a good scrap in the name of freedom and democracy. He cheered on western involvement in the wars in Serbia, Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya. In McCain's worldview, there is no conflict or international problem which cannot be solved by the application of American military power. When running for president in 2008, he made war-mongering noises towards Russia in defence of Georgia over South Ossetia.

The British need to talk about religion. The trouble is, every time God rears His head in the public square — as we have seen this week with the row about prayers at council meetings and Baroness Warsi's speech on ‘militant secularism’ — everybody starts speaking in platitudes. The debate follows a familiar pattern: an anti-religion spokesman, probably a man from the National Secular Society, says something about Britain not being a ‘theocracy’. He then might mention America as an example of the theocratic menace, happily ignoring that the USA is, definitively, a secular country. In reply, somebody religious, probably Lord Carey of Clifton, says that ‘religious freedom’ is under threat.

What’s the matter with Ralph Nathaniel Twistleton-Wykeham Fiennes? In pictures, he looks so self-conscious and morose. Maybe it’s just his acting face. In the flesh, though, he’s different. He is friendly. Midway through what must be an exhausting press junket at the Soho Hotel, he remains remarkably enthusiastic, and eager to discuss Coriolanus, his new film, of which he is both director and leading man. ‘It’s Shakespeare at his bleakest,’ he says, excitedly. ‘He’s not offering us, as he does in the comedies and in some of the histories, a sense that the future is full of hope.

Everybody knew that Mitt Romney would win in New Hampshire. But the real success story of last night is Ron Paul, who came second, with 23.5 per cent of the vote. In 2008, he came fifth, with just eight per cent of the vote. Santorum, Gingrich and other ‘anti-Mitt’ candidates have risen and fallen, but Paul, who has refused to attack Romney directly in recent days, grows stronger and stronger. The Paul campaign, as Grace Wyler reports, has been playing a long game. They have been focusing their efforts on states, such as Iowa, in which they can win substantial numbers of delegates ahead of the Republican National Convention in Tampa in August. The plan is to shape the future of American conservatism from there.

‘It must be so awfully boring being a fish,’ says Brian Sewell, as he looks out the window at his pond. ‘You can only have sex once a year on a prescribed day. The frogs are just the same.’ We are in his study. It is a large room full of books, mostly big art books. An old German Shepherd lies passed out on the floor. ‘Poor Winckelmann,’ says Sewell, peering down at the dog. ‘She is the love of my life. I can’t bear the thought of her departure. But I know she’s going.’ Sex and death are on Sewell’s mind. His memoirs, Outsider: Always Almost, Never Quite, have just been published, and the newspapers have taken a keen interest. ‘Everybody seems to have focused on the sex, which is rather boring,’ he says.