The New Conservative

Stewart Slater

Man in hospital bed

The Sense of An Ending 

It started in a wine-shop one November, one of those where, come lunchtime, they find some tables, rustle up some charcuterie and charge you corkage. The sort of place where you pair the food with the wine, not vice versa. My host had bought a decent bottle. I think. I couldn’t drink it. Even the

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Youth unemployment

The Social Contract 

Neither of my parents were exactly space buffs but if, back in the heady days of Armstrong and co., you had asked them when their offspring would first see man in the general vicinity of the Moon, they probably wouldn’t have picked the early years of his sixth decade. Back then, there was a general

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Sense of smell

The Nose Knows

Being a Homeric hero was, my tutor once opined, quite a sweet deal. Few of them actually die in battle, but they get huge amounts of status. And they spend most of their time eating roast beef. The Iliad shows both sides sacrificing a hecatomb (100 oxen) at the drop of a hat to win divine

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Mood

The Weather Inside

It had been one of those weeks. It was not that anything had gone badly wrong, but more that nothing had gone particularly right. It could have been different – a push here, a nudge there, and it would have been a good week. But neither push nor nudge came and so it ended on

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Churchill statue

Dark Days Ahead 

I went to bed on Thursday expecting to wake up in the People’s Republic of Faragia. That didn’t happen. Firstly, the count didn’t start until 9am and secondly, the Tories won the most seats. When the dust settled, in my target seat (although not a top target), it hadn’t even been that close. Still, that minor wrinkle aside, Reform had good local elections. A

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doors

The Test

Being born must be the most surprising thing that ever happens to you. Not only can a foetus have no idea it can be born, but as soon as it is, it is subject to a range of experiences it has never had and has no reason to think it ever could. It gets colder.

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Social media

The Signals we Don’t Send

I haven’t seen all that many dawns, and many of those I have seen can be blamed on my father. One of those people who believe suggested check-in times leave far too much to chance, most childhood holidays started when the sky was the same colour as my sleep-deprived humour. One year he even contrived

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Keir Starmer

How We Use Our Enemies

Exhibit A: The government declines to send a Minister to appear on a politics show. “They’re frightened of us because we hold them to account,” the host informs the audience. Exhibit B: A female observes a certain froideur from a man in her social circle. Can’t handle strong women, she concludes. Two different events, one macro, one micro, but

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