Why do we still assume that so many people in the public eye don't have a sex life? If we got over that superstition, we'd be less shocked at headlines

Locating your standard-issue navy tent in a festival campsite at three in the morning is an exasperating activity, often ending in an accidental fumble with a stranger when you get into the wrong Eurohike from Millets.

1. David Hockney.

I love a fashion book divided into easily assimilated, bite-sized chunks.

Daylesford is probably the most famous farm shop in Britain. A retail heaven of organic gorgeousness on the edge of the Cotswolds, it has grown over the past 10 years into something between a mall and a Japanese temple, selling not just food and produce, but clothing, gardening equipment, homeware, yoga classes and spa treatments. Alex James, who lives nearby, once described it in The Independent as "absolutely ridiculous, fantastic and sexy", and gratefully recorded how Daylesford's gentrifying effect had sent the value of his house rocketing.

The vindictiveness of American justice never ceases to astound. Fifty-year sentences under the three-strikes rule for stealing a slice of pizza; chain gangs and weevil 'n' maggot suppers in Alabama; a new craze for charging pregnant drug addicts who miscarry with murder ... we look across the ocean and recoil at the barbarity.

Actress Elizabeth Hurley's four-year marriage to businessman Arun Nayar ended in divorce at a 92-second court hearing today.

High-profile couples head for the divorce courts every year. But 2010 was different, argues Liz Hoggard, because thanks to social media, nothing was private

Inside Track

A scandal of monumental proportions is about to erupt in the university world. A terrible injustice is about to be done, in the name of money. The high ideal of free enlightenment for all is being sidelined by claims of financial necessity… But no, I’m not talking about the increase in student fees. I’m talking about the imminent dismantling of the Warburg Library.

I guess this is what they call back to basics, Aussie-style. The former Baggy Green pace bowler Rodney Hogg believes the home side need more verbals if they're to reclaim the urn. Hogg, who took 10 wickets in an Ashes Test at Perth in 1978, has some advice for the Australian attack: "Pitch it up with the odd bouncer and sledge them at every opportunity," he says. "We don't say a word [at the moment]. Just go back and bowl another delivery on Jonathan Trott's middle stump so he can whip us through leg. It makes me sick. Hate to think how [fellow former fast bowlers] Lenny Pascoe and Merv Hughes must feel."

Against all odds (and we'll come to the betting below), the race to chair the BBC Trust is shaping into a belter. This is not, despite its occupancy by nebbish quangocrat Sir Michael Whatshisname, a trivial post. The winner will be instrumental, for one thing, in deciding who succeeds Mark Thompson as director general, and is faced with hauling the Beeb out of the post-Hutton abyss of cringing cowardice. Paradox attends the two most distinguished candidates. Chris Patten, although a Tory peer, has the confidence and cussedness to resist a Tory-led government. Jonathan Powell, although ineffably New Labour as Mr Tony Blair's long-serving chief of staff, is an archetypal apparatchik whose mission is to speak emollience to power.

Outside blakes Hotel in London, a vast black limousine is being chamois-leathered by a chauffeur in a peaked cap. This is not a good sight. It means Elizabeth Hurley has arrived before me and is now sitting downstairs in the Chinese Room, haughtily irritated by my lateness.