The Berlusconi Sex Tapes, and the Scandal that isn’t. There’s something a little odd going on with these sound tapes of Silvio Berlusconi and the “escort” that have been popping up in the Italian media. The oddity being that while the escort herself seems to be incensed with the way she’s been treated by the prime minister (and there are a … [Read More]

ON BOARD S/Y BUSHIDO—While the eastern islands of Greece are being whipped daily by the meltemi, the hot, strong winds that can turn sailors into zombies, the western side, or the Ionian, remains soft, green and as feminine as ever. The sea off Cephalonia is smooth and mirror-like, but this year I have yet to make contact with mama and baby … [Read More]

Have you ever thought about freezing your eggs? When are you going to get married?  What was wrong with your last boyfriend?  These are the kinds of interminable questions unmarried women over the age of thirty are subjected to. Just yesterday my father asked me for the umpteenth time if I would ever find a husband. “When I meet someone I … [Read More]

“One can name-drop with impunity when writing about the past,” said Nicky Haslam. “What is hard is to avoid it when writing of the present,” according to the sage. I remember when this column began 32 years ago readers writing in to complain about ND. But what was I to do? Go to a grand ball and not mention anyone but … [Read More]

So farewell, then, to probably the best Wimbledon fortnight ever, certainly the sunniest that I can remember. Andy Roddick now joins Gottfried von Cramm and Ken Rosewall as a three-times-losing finalist, coming within a whisker of winning the greatest trophy in tennis, but turning into a tragic hero instead. Still, unlike the elegant German baron and the great Aussie, Andy might … [Read More]

As often as not, keeping up on the daily news is too much for my little heart to bear.  During these periods I force myself to gloss over headlines in order not to be completely ignorant. When this practice triggers a panic that reason cannot suppress, I turn off most of my electronic devices and skip town.  Lately, with the goings … [Read More]

Poor Michael Jackson. His last words were: ‘Take me to the children’s ward.’ But it was nice of the jockeys in Santa Anita to wear a black mourning band in honour of a man who rode more three-year-old winners than anyone. Mind you, I thought the great Paul Johnson was the best when I happened to tell him over the telephone … [Read More]

Rolling though picture-perfect hills and fields of maize and barley towards Wembury House, Devon, for the annual Hanbury cricket match. At times it’s a scene from a ‘50s film of a long-ago England, beautiful, tranquil and law-abiding, with glimpses of broad greens, riverside walks and winding country lanes. But then comes the announcement in an English I can hardly comprehend, however … [Read More]

Does absence make the heart grow fonder? I’m not so sure. I’ve been away from London for one year, and was dreading the return. The grey sky, the Dickensian streets, the fat-bellied lager louts, the knife culture, Gordon Brown and Peter Mandelson, the coarsest of the coarse Alan Sugar in the House of Lords: a good place to miss, I told … [Read More]

The very first time I walked into the Spectator office was in 1975, taken there for the summer party by Simon Courtauld, the then managing editor, i.e., he dealt with the business side of the oldest English speaking magazine in the world. Mind you, as I was about to find out, Simon had very little to do. The Spectator was selling … [Read More]