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‘My own red carpet days have long since mutated into brown lino nights, but looking back at the times I borrowed a designer frock for a nomination, I usually spent the evening feeling faintly immoral’
Strangers on a train
"Martin? Me again, I got cut off. No, still on the train. Just past Milton Keynes."
Cursed by a name
Vote, vote, vote for Comrade Corbyn
An eavesdropper reports from a Labour volunteers' briefing: avoid Jewish households—not that they matter
'I’ve decided against taking the Medea job. It was a really hard decision but in the end I felt the part should go to an actress— sorry an actor, of either sex obviously — who really had eaten her children'
‘It’s just with regard to, like, discussion about anti-Semitism . . . well, I just keep thinking one thing. Why is it always them?’
The Future Is Orange
"If this man makes America great again, I will eat a sombrero"
On Syria, Where’s The Outrage?
"Putin revels in others’ weakness. A man with a facelift who poses bare-chested on horseback is not a well man"
Excuses For Eating
"Must the garage have a Nespresso bar? Must the library and the swimming pool do shawarma and chips?"
"It’s my Labour Party, Mr Corbyn, and I’ll cry if I want to"
The ravenous longing for the infinite possibilities of “otherwhere”
The king of cakes
"Yuletide revels were designed to see you through the dark days — and how dark they seem today"
A tripod in the sky
The view from above