WITH nearly two million British citizens stuck on waiting lists for social housing nobody can deny that there is a desperate shortage of property available for people on modest incomes.
I WELL remember my first sparrowhawk. I was about 10 years old and out for a walk beside a Surrey wood with my aunt and uncle when one swooped overhead.
MICHAEL SCHUMACHER will no doubt have been counting the days until his return to the Formula One grid at 41 on Sunday, but for information, 1,239 of them will have passed since his last race when the five red lights flick off in Bahrain.
WITH nearly two million British citizens stuck on waiting lists for social housing nobody can deny that there is a desperate shortage of property available for people on modest incomes.
IF one public figure embodies all the arrogance, incompetence, dogmatism and greed of the Labour elite it is Baroness Ashton, recently appointed the new foreign Minister of the European Union.
ALASTAIR COOK joins an exclusive list of illustrious – and in some cases not so illustrious – names tomorrow when he captains England in the first Test in Bangladesh.
“THE dog ate my income tax form” or “the dog ate my homework” are proverbial excuses but “the dog ate my pearl earrings” is certainly an original plea.
MY HEROINE of the week is Gillian Chapman, who turned her back on what might have been a million pounds’ worth of compensation, saying she has no time for ambulance chasers.
BEING middle-aged isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Terrified by our own physical lot – diminishing powers and expanding waistline, receding hair and encroaching decrepitude, burdened with ancient parents and needy children, we are the sandwich generation – the human Kraft cheese slice, the squished potted meat, the slice of corned beef wedged between two hefty slabs of population with the duty to make things tasty for them both. If we don’t, who will?