OUT OF OFFICE - In the good, olden days of yore, we simply went on holiday. Then we evolved to the out-of-office message. Now one of two things happens: We leave OOOs because we’ve popped to the loo, so paranoid are we about not being available for a millisecond. We don’t leave an OOO at all, trying to convince everyone that we are not away, never away, always on, totally available… while simultaneously never replying to any emails and having a nervous breakdown.
International Women’s Day is a worldwide event that celebrates women’s achievements – from the political to the social – while calling for gender equality.
Some might say it's a nice problem to have. But one thing is for sure, Britain is bustier than ever. The nation's average bra size has gone from a 34B a decade ago, to a more generous 36DD - and 53 per cent of cupped bra sales at Selfridge's are now a 34DD or larger.
The first time I interviewed Samantha Morton, we ended up really drunk and she told me – firmly, boozily off-the-record – that she’d been charged with attempted murder as a teenager.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be going to Mexico for two or seven weeks, and to return gently tanned, laden with skull ornaments and embroidered stuff? Or to see the Galápagos Islands and all the imperiled wildlife? Or go walking, walking, walking your troubles away with a side order of Michelin-starred puddings? Plus dancing? And maybe a boat? But first, what we really need is about 10 weeks off to get into neutral before any travelling begins. If we only had the time, oh, the places we’d go.
First came ghosting, then breadcrumbing: now there’s a new entry into our ever expanding lexicon of dating terminology - bird boxing. Taking its name from the popular Netflix movie which sees Sandra Bullock grappling her way through life in a post-apocalyptic world entirely blindfolded, this new trend follows much the same plot. Coined by romance experts over at Tinder, we fools of love are apparently “blind to just how bad your partner/the person you’re seeing is”. Guilty as charged.
You’d think, by now, that we’d have learnt. That we would make the mental calculations required to not keep doing the same things and expecting different results. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that we’d KNOW. That we’d be grown-up enough to pay attention. Apparently not. Because we persist in…
This may come as a shock to our friends under 30, but there once was a time when telephones were plugged into the wall. They sat on the hall table, on top of the telephone directory (Google it) and when you dialled someone’s number, it was on the understanding that neither of you could actually see each other.
Mary-Ann Mitchell was just seven years old when her big sister disappeared. No more daily school pickups or shared bags of sweets enjoyed together on their walks home, these all stopped when Juanita vanished.
Watching Channel 4’s newest drama Pure, I was both cheered and immensely sympathetic. A fictionalised adaptation of Rose Cartwright’s acclaimed biography, the lighthearted drama details a young woman’s experience of living with ‘Pure O’ – a form of OCD.
Freida Pinto had her MeToo moment when she first arrived in Hollywood, a decade ago.
Changing Faces is one of the Telegraph’s three chosen charities for our 2018 Christmas appeal There are only a few days left to donate please visit telegraph.ctdonate.org for details about how you can help someone today
The date has been in the diary for some weeks. It’s raining. It’s chilly. You are hormonal. Well, you think you are but it could just be your horrible personality. Anyway, it’s 4pm and… silence. No one has confirmed. This, my friends, is cancel chicken, and you are a player. Will it be you? Will it be them? There are various ways to play this game:
The inability to deal with going out at night because of a crippling fear of the hangover – a week of feeling like you’ve tripped down some terrible rabbit hole and you are falling, falling, trying to grab all the croissants on the way down. For others, it’s waking up the morning after with your soul passed out on the pillow next to you. It might never return to your body.
When the House of Lords yesterday approved a ban on upskirting – the taking of a non-consensual photo of another person's genitals – tears rolled down Gina Martin's cheeks. For the past 18 months she had fought tirelessly to make the practice illegal and give police the tools to prosecute after she herself became a victim.
Last November, Dolly Alderton won a National Book Award for her bestselling memoir Everything I know About Love, beating off stiff competition from the likes of Benjamin Zephaniah, Sue Perkins and Lily Allen.
When Michelle Elman was 15, she decided she was ugly. At her all-girls boarding school, she stuck out like a sore thumb — she was mixed race, bigger than most of her classmates, and bore secret scars all over her body from the multiple operations she had endured in her early teens. She listened day-in, day-out to her friends agonising about their skin, their hair, the latest diet they were trying – and a wall went up in her mind. “Is this all we are?” she thought. “God this is boring. Count me out.” Unlike most teenage girls, Michelle understood that there was more to life than beauty. Having been born with a brain tumour, later suffering from a condition called Hydrocephalus (where an excess of CSF fluid is produced around the brain and spinal cord) and twice suffering from obstructed bowels, Michelle had undergone 15 surgeries by the time she was 13. “My process was to go ‘you know what, my scars aren’t going anywhere, so I just need to accept them. I’m ugly. Cool, that’s done. That’s a fact of life, now let’s try to create something with the rest of it.”
A "bookish and shy" MacKenzie Tuttle first met Jeff Bezos when she interviewed with him for a job as a research assistant at New York hedge fund D.E. Shaw in 1992.
The return last night of Channel 4’s hit sitcom Catastrophe for a fourth series felt like meeting an old friend and discovering, with delight, that nothing has changed between you. The friend still makes you laugh like a drain and you find yourself wondering why the deuce you have left it so long.
Next Tuesday is the deadline by which parents must apply for a place at a state primary school starting in September. This time last year I was one of them, sticking local school names into Google Maps to calculate their distance from our home, and thus how early I would need to raise myself in the mornings.
My family likes to sleep in. Kit might get up at 6.30am to play games, but by 7.30am, the rest of us are often still waking up.
Resolutions? They’ve only ever made us fat, drunk and sedentary. We are all carrot and no stick, you see. We need goals and praise. Besides, who doesn’t love a deadline? And so we have decided that, by the end of this year, the following things will have happened. We will have made them happen. Yes, by New Year’s Eve 2019 we will have…
Sister Wendy Beckett was the first ‘celebrity’ I knew. Throughout the 1980s, during trips to my grandparents’ gatehouse on the edge of the grounds of the Carmelite Monastery in Quidenham, Norfolk, we were often visited by Sister Wendy, a nun who lived in a caravan on the estate. In the Nineties she became an unlikely TV star, a celebrated BBC art historian who travelled the world giving her informed and passionate opinion on art history. But to my brother and sister and I, Sister Wendy, who died this week aged 88, was the magical lead character in the idyllic summer holidays of our childhood.