Friends of jailed ex-minister make claim ahead of court hearing to settle costs of his trial
Even sophisticated readers can forget the difference between literature and life
A gunman was today jailed for a minimum 31 years for killing a teacher's son celebrating his birthday in a wine bar.
It's analogue, has no autofocus – and no flash. And that's precisely why the Lomo is a cult camera, says Kate Burt
Our reviewer heads to freshly MBE'd Anna Hansen's The Modern Pantry
Last orders for metro foodies as hard times see a move back to the bar stool
Someone has been cleaning up Wikipedia entries for the rich and powerful
'We were partial to the odd glass while working, but we've still got all our fingers'
Shoplifting in bookshops is on the rise – and you'd be surprised at how literary the thieves' tastes are, says Anna Goodall
In Islington South and Finsbury, former home of Tony Blair, the main parties have all chosen female candidates. Janet Street-Porter met them
The woman at the next table is looking mournful. “This used to be the best Italian restaurant in London…” she says, plaintively. I’ve only just put my bottom on the seat and picked up the menu. It is overwhelmingly French. Oh dear; is this meal doomed to failure?
When I tell people what I do for a living, the question they most often ask is, do the restaurants know beforehand that you're coming? To which I answer, "No, but I always book in as Fay Maschler, just to keep them on their toes." The business of anonymity among reviewers is something of a red herring. After all, if the kitchen can't cook and the front of house is inept, just knowing there's a professional diner in the house won't make them significantly raise their game.
I had an evening to kill in Rio, and I wasn't going to spend it on Ipanema beach. Stunning though it may be, I was tired of its white poodles, snooty looks and glossy brand name superficiality. The Rio I love is boho more than bistro, samba more than bossa nova. So as the sun sank over Guanabara Bay, I headed inland to Santa Teresa, where cobbles clamber over steep hills between the city centre and the forests of Corcovado.
One year on from Ben Kinsella's murder, the area of London's King's Cross where it happened – known simply as the 'V' – is as bleak as ever. Is there any hope for the youngsters growing up in this brutal atmosphere? A man called Beef, who spends his days patrolling its streets, thinks there is
I'm in my office in Clerkenwell. I look out on to a gloomy courtyard and backstreets which are laughingly called Mount Pleasant.
It's probably stretching a point to suggest that the current 2-Tone revival says as much about our present social corrosion as any learned sociological treatise; though certainly, the last time blue-eyed ska bands were this popular, the country was riven with inner-city riots and being bled dry by complete bankers. Sound familiar?