“IT was like any other accident. Except for one thing—when the speeding Vauxhall Astra collided with 14 year-old Lillian Groves on June 26th 2010, the man behind the wheel, John Page, was high on cannabis. He was tested nine hours later, by which time the drug’s concentration in his bloodstream was too low for him to be charged with drug driving.”
“TALK of hipster beards and three-day stubble is all well and good. But the shaving market might be seeing a far more significant change than that. Admittedly, it is not so much revolution as evolution, but developed-world consumers are starting to get fed up with trading up.”
“THERE was a time when trolls were creatures you would find hidden away in Scandinavian caves and J.R.R. Tolkien novels. Today they are infesting the internet. Caroline Criado-Perez, a feminist campaigner, Stella Creasy, a member of Britain’s parliament, and Mary Beard, a classics professor, are their latest high-profile victims. All three have chosen to retweet just some of the disgusting messages they have received since July 24th, when it was announced that an image of Jane Austen would appear on the next £10 note. Ms Criado-Perez had petitioned the Bank of England to choose a female figure.”
When we log out for the final time, will our digital selves outlive us? European companies like SecureSafe and Planned Departure have recently begun to address the issue of data rights after death. The concept is not just theoretical: since July 2012, the parents of dead teenager Alison Atkins have been unable to access images, messages and poems that are locked away in cyberspace.
“But what are kings, when regiment is gone,
But perfect shadows in a sunshine day?”
“Upon my word, I think the truth is the hardest missile one can be pelted with.”
“I didn’t arrange that,” Peter Hitchens blushes. A stranger has just told him of her appreciation for everything he stands for and, for once, he’s been caught off guard, disarmed by praise. The stone wall of rhetoric, dogmatic conviction and obduracy against which I’ve been fighting an attritional struggle for the past hour is felled in an instant. And I can’t help feeling relieved.
I find it very hard to feel sympathetic for footballers. But the image of A.C. Milan’s Kevin-Prince Boateng rifling the ball into the stands, ripping his shirt off, and storming off the pitch (the rest of his teammates in tow) in his club’s match against Pro Patria was certainly a poignant one. “I don’t care what game it is,” Boateng said defiantly, “a friendly, Italian league or Champions’ League match – I would walk off again.”
It’s at times like this when I can feel every inch of the 3,675 miles that separates London from Washington DC. Oakland, Aurora, Oak Creek, New York City, Minneapolis, Brookfield, Newtown – and that’s just 2012’s mass shootings. I could fill this entire article with the names of the wounded and the dead. It’s almost too much to take in. Never has the American anti-gun lobby had more ammunition. And yet, as it stands, I’m more inclined to despair for it than to hope.