A publisher of adult fiction is giving literary classics such as Jane Eyre and Pride And Prejudice an erotic makeover.
A new band of pilgrims will take to the Old Kent Road this week to relive The Canterbury Tales
With the photographic giant facing bankruptcy, David Usborne assesses its place in society
She's 18, he's old enough to be her dad, but film-makers still fixate on the love story of Jane Eyre and Rochester. Gerard Gilbert explores a long-held romantic obsession
Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre return to the screen in September. Today's film-makers are too obsessed with the Brontë sisters, argues Geoffrey Macnab
We are currently engaged in defining the profile of a typical i reader — intelligent, successful, inquisitive, and devilishly good-looking, that type of thing — but it occurs to me that one quality that unites readers of this newspaper is a sense of humour.
Had he been alive, the Earl of Rochester would probably have let slip a lascivious chuckle. The austere Earl of Roscommon? Aghast, most likely.
I don’t know what the precise procedure is for beatification, but I’d like to put forward the name of Mr Paul Wadey, the Head of English at Gad’s Hill School near Rochester in Kent.
For many parents they are little more than the source of our children's tantrums, feet-stomping and long periods of hibernation in stuffy rooms behind locked doors.
Charles Dickens, champion of the working man and the overburdened woman, would be delighted with the offer each day from 7am to 9am outside the Golden Lion pub: tea or coffee for 49p. I’ll have two, thanks, and keep the change: a boost of caffeine is just what you need to make the most of the city that has been thriving for two millennia – and, within the past year, has moved even closer to London and the rest of the country.
Rowenna Davis talks to students whose paths did not follow the course they had first planned
Cameron kicked off with a jog, Clegg with a pep talk, and Brown with eggs on toast. Andy McSmith reports on a gruelling day when the campaigning began in earnest
Lionel Lewis was full of ideas. As the Master of Workhouses, where he was responsible for everything from general maintenance to nursing services, he needed to be. His last appointment was superintendent of Bensted House, Faversham, a post he held jointly with his wife for 25 years, and where he also had oversight of the donkey engine which pumped the water supply. When the former workhouse was demolished and a council estate built on the site, Swale borough council named it Lewis Close and preserved the weeping beech tree which had been planted when he removed all the institution's high walls and had flower beds and gardens laid out for the old people in the house and hospital. "I am sad when I remember the sincere caring for patients and residents by the staff in now demolished workhouses, the easy interchange of inmate and patients under the same roof," he wrote in his autobiography, A Requiem for Workhouses (2006).
His outspoken views on gay rights and the integration of Muslim communities have attracted vitriolic criticism and even earned him death threats from outside the Church of England.
Why the newcomers are putting the fear of God into the traditionalists
In 1869, a year before Charles Dickens died, he wrote in his will that he wanted to be remembered for his work alone. No plaques, no statues, "no monument memorial or testimonial whatever" were to be allowed to commemorate the life of one of Britain's greatest authors.