The Spectator

We asked our writers to write about their favourite cocktails, from aperitifs to nightcaps, all the way through to the hangover cures. Here’s what they said. Matthew Parris The Iron Lady For years in the 1980s I tried to develop a cocktail to be called the Iron Lady. There were problems: the signifier for iron is really red, while she was clearly blue; and the only blue liqueur I could find was Blue Curaçao. My final prototype consisted in vodka and Blue Curaçao, with a cube of ice impaled by a steel nail (freeze with nail in place, or heat the nail and push it through). It was OK — but the Curaçao was so sweet that you could only use a little, and the whole thing lacked the kick or bite that I think she would have wanted.

Here is a preview of the leading article from this week's Spectator, out tomorrow, on George Osborne's Autumn Statement:  When George Osborne first became Chancellor, he asked to be judged on his ability to reduce the deficit. He does not make that request any more. This year’s deficit is almost three times higher than the £37 billion he originally planned, but he understandably glossed over this point when delivering his Autumn Statement. He has other interests now: pension reform, building motorways, or spending more on GPs. The mission to balance the books has been delayed until the end of the decade — or, perhaps, the start of the next. He said this week that his extra spending was made possible by ‘the hard decisions that we have taken’.

From NEWS OF THE WEEK, The Spectator, 5 December 1914: THE King has been at the front during the past week, and as we write is still there. Indeed, it was stated in Friday's newspapers that the visit, which has proved eminently satisfactory from every point of view, is likely to be further prolonged. We sincerely hope that this may be found possible. That the King is exceedingly glad to be at the front no one will of course doubt for a moment. It is equally certain that it is a great pleasure and source of satisfaction to the Generals, officers, and rank-and-file of the Army to see His Majesty in the field. There is always a certain sense of isolation among troops in action, even if they are only fifty or sixty miles from England, as in the present case.

From The Spectator, 28 November 1914: Professional football is something worse than an excuse for young men who refuse to do their duty. It is actually an incentive to them to continue their lives in the ignoble ordinary way, because the very continuance of the games suggests that everything is going on as usual.