Lois McLatchie Miller

Ann Widdecombe represented British politics at its best: she was deeply principled and sincere, yet warm and dignified. But in the response to her death, over this weekend, we saw some of the worst of British political culture: the absolute gutter of the left-wing Twitterati gloating, based on the views she held with which they disagreed. Among their ranks was Peter Tatchell, who initially took to X to announce the death in a celebratory tone, pointing out her long-held disapproval of same sex marriage and calling her a “BIGOT”. After a severe backlash, he deleted the tweet and apologised.

Taylor Swift’s wedding – a multi-day extravaganza kicking off in earnest at New York's Madison Square Garden arena later today – is the most American event anyone could have ever dreamed of. Many might be curious as to why Swift, a billionaire with unlimited access to any wedding venue in the world, would choose such a Gatsby-esque approach rather than opting for a private affair with close friends and family. But Swift is known for her marketing genius, and her wedding is no exception. Swift couldn't have timed her wedding to the American football player Travis Kelce better than to take place on the 250th anniversary weekend of the declaration of American independence.

When thousands gathered in Trafalgar Square last week to break their Ramadan fast, we were told this was Britain at its best. The message was that the UK is diverse, tolerant, and confident enough to make space for public expressions of faith. Islamic prayers were performed openly and unapologetically. Mayor of London, Sadiq Khan, took part, and Labour MPs, including Keir Starmer and Stella Creasy, defended the event vigorously on the grounds of a person's right to freely express their religion. The asymmetry could not be starker.

Lent has barely begun, yet on the right of British politics the resurrection has already arrived. God, it seems, is back on the ballot. In the great schism of parties beginning with “re”, Rupert Lowe has launched his bid to “Restore Britain”, positioning himself as the more muscular alternative to Nigel Farage’s Reform. Restore promises to go further and faster – particularly on immigration and cultural decay – and faith has been placed front and centre. On launch day last week, Lowe declared: “Britain is a Christian country, and under a Restore Britain Government – it will remain a Christian country.” Reform swiftly discovered its own ecclesiastical zeal Not to be outdone, Reform swiftly discovered its own ecclesiastical zeal.

Pop star Meghan Trainor posted a photograph this week skin-to-skin with her newborn daughter, 'Mikey Moon', who was still slick with fluids from the birth canal. The image was tender and maternal. What changed the dynamic was the caption. Trainor revealed she had not actually delivered her daughter, but had her gestated by another woman via a surrogacy arrangement. The online reaction was deeply uneasy and critical. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Meghan Trainor (@meghantrainor) This would have been unthinkable a decade ago. Surrogacy used to be framed as glamorous, progressive, even beautiful. Magazine spreads showed radiant celebrities cradling babies 'made possible' by another woman’s womb.

Taylor Swift’s new album, The Life of a Showgirl, has done more than dominate the charts. It’s reignited one of the oldest – and fiercest – battles in modern womanhood. Once again, the pop icon has found herself cast as both heroine and heretic in the (pop) culture war’s endless inquest into what women should want. In The Tortured Poets Department, the mask began to slip as Swift tore into her non-committal 'forever-boyfriend' But this time, the controversy isn’t over her style or sound. It’s over something far more dangerous in 2025: her desire for love, marriage, and children. Swift’s confession in track five, 'Eldest Daughter' – 'When I said I didn’t believe in marriage, that was a lie' – has startled her audience.

Last week, a 75-year-old Christian grandmother was bundled into the back of a police van outside a Glasgow hospital. Her alleged crime? Conversation.  Rose Docherty wasn’t spray-painting walls or blocking doorways. She wasn’t shouting or shoving leaflets into anyone’s hands. She simply held a sign offering a listening ear: 'Coercion is a crime. Here to talk, only if you want.' In the eyes of the state, this made her a criminal.  Under Scotland’s new 'buffer zone' laws, even the possibility of 'influencing' a passerby outside an abortion facility is treated as criminal behaviour. Rose wasn’t standing with an influential message. She was giving people the choice: walk on or stop and chat.

As of today, in Britain, it will be illegal to ‘intentionally or recklessly influence any person’s decision to access... abortion services’ within approximately 500 feet of the building. If the national law mirrors local prototypes, it may even prohibit silent prayer, or offers of help. Politicians voted to implement these localised bans – known as ‘buffer zones’ – under the guise of needing to restrict harassment near abortion clinics. A noble cause, yet one without a basis of need. Harassment is already illegal in the UK. A government review proved that in mild-mannered England, instances of harassment near clinics are ‘relatively few’, and easily policed under existing laws. Instituting buffer zones would ‘not be a proportionate response’, the review concluded.