Dear Readers,
Good evening, and welcome back to Off The Fence – a newsletter filleted from the tenderest part of the cow.
January, we are proud to announce, is over. Efforts at sobriety have been surrendered, diets and workout regimes long since abandoned – it’s been much too cold to jog, anyway. The frigid weather has yet to halt our march around the world, as Issue 26 reached the Forbidden City itself last week, through the valiant efforts of Hugo Gye, Politics Guy. A big play for the Bollinger, let’s see if it clinches it. If you’re off to some far-flung locale – or even just somewhere weird nearby – take your snap and send it to editorial@the-fence.com. Or tag us on socials and secure some sweet numbers in the process.
To enter, of course, you need to have the latest copy. What’s that? You don’t have the latest copy? Don’t fret, this is easily remedied. Your first port of call should be our shop page, where you can nab yourself a single issue for the modest sum of £7.99. Should you be passing a WH Smith (or as they’re now known to some, TGJones), you can pick one up there too, alongside a £4 bag of Maltesers and a set of GCSE Revision Guides. Or, if you prefer to kick back and wait for the post to just roll in four times a year, tap the button below and get yourself a subscription. We’ve dialled up the discounts and have got ten tickets giving you 15 per cent off for the year with the code PRINT15 at the checkout. That applies to print, digital or both, and also applies to gift subscriptions too.
A reminder that we’re open for applications to join us as an editorial assistant until the end of the week. Also, this is the last reminder that we’ll be appearing at Stack Magazines: Live at St Bride’s on Thursday, and there will be archive jewels from our back catalogue for sale, alongside the readings, which will be superb.
Off we go. This week, we’re coming in hot with some breaking revelations about the artist formerly known as Prince Andrew.
Can Someone Call a Taxi?
As the latest development in the decades-long disgrace threatens to send Mr Mountbatten Windsor to testify in Washington, and as his face is printed on papers around the planet, we have received a fascinating piece of information: the late Queen’s second son is allegedly refusing to leave Royal Lodge for his new digs on the Sandringham estate. While we’re unable to verify this information, we’re sure some of the better-resourced hacks who read this mail-out can send someone down to Windsor.
Even at this hour, it seems that Andrew thinks he can resolve the situation in his favour. Yet as has been witnessed with the investigation into Peter Mandelson, the police can move quickly when they want to.
Pencils Full of Lead
It is, and always will be, an honour to have the great John Banville contribute to our magazine. Better still to have him ruminate over the earliest stages of his career, honing his craft of language at the subs desk of the Irish Press. From bawdy jokes, boozy nights and disasters before deadline, let Teflon John transport you to the smoky offices of 70s Dublin like only he can. Read it right here.
Oh Dear, Oh Dear, Oh Dear, Oh Dear (Oh Dear)
After the sad passing of John Carey, we’re duty-bound to report the (reputational) death of another one of our correspondents in our seminal article, ‘Why Are You Asking Me This?’, Professor Noam Chomsky, who provided detailed PR advice for Jeffrey Epstein practically up until the moment the paedophile met his end at the Metropolitan Correctional Center.
The Hustle Never Stops
Who among us was not thrilled by the tale of John Eric Spiby, the 80-year-old lottery winner who headed up a drugs operation worth £288 million from his ‘quiet, rural’ home near Wigan. What’s not to love? A veritable senescent Soprano operating out of the Lancashire moors. But there’s a lovely little detail that the rest of the press have missed out: Spiby had his own Bada Bing, an ‘exclusive’ Champagne and cocktail spot called Bodega Monton. Check out the vibe.
Join the Club
We’re here to tell you about something really quite exciting called Clanmark.
It’s a gated marketplace for people who trust each other, somewhat like a clan. To join, you need to be sponsored by two existing members. No strangers, no scams.
Everything on Clanmark is listed at a lower price because there are no agents involved. It’s a growing community with beautiful holiday homes, flat rentals, furniture, and trusted services like nannies, chefs, and even dog trainers for people living in London and other major cities.
To join, head to clanmark.com/signup. Right now, it’s completely free to use. So why not sign up today?
If you’d like to place an ad with us, please contact the editor at cb@the-fence.com
Address Not Recognised
Scouring through the Epstein files, we still can’t work out what Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor’s email address actually is. He is referred to elliptically as ‘The Duke’, so it could be something really obvious, like dukeofyork1960@hotmail.co.uk or something even more formal, like callmeyourgrace@btinternet.com.
Otherwise, it’s hard to balance the formality of centuries-old titles and parpled heraldry with the easygoing vibes that the internet strains to foster. Just ask a peer who is also in the news for unfortunate reasons – the current tenant of Blenheim Palace – who has an Instagram handle that leaves no ambiguity as to his identity.
There’s Nothing Like a Dame
Sarah Mullally was recently confirmed as our new Archbishop of Canterbury, but the ceremonial event was not without some uproar. When her counterpart in the Archbishop of York raised the question of objections, the now retired Rev Paul Williamson began to make his voice known. This prompted the rather awkward adlib from the a/b of Y that it was now past the appropriate time to make such objections.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD9vuZ6Dbdo
Rev Williamson is probably not a candidate for reification, and past form suggests he might be more annoyed about Mullally’s gender than the allegations of her mishandling of matters when she was Bishop of London. It does, however, remind us again of Tim Wyatt’s phenomenal investigation into that scandal as well as her role in it.
The Food Pyramid
Last week, we published one of the star features of Issue 26 – Ian Trueger’s ‘Whining and Dining’, which ran the rule over private equity’s deleterious impact upon the dining culture of this country. We’ve been delighted to witness the response this piece has received, from readers who have longed to put a finger on precisely why our high street restaurants have become so listless and impersonal. To quote one: ‘This is why everything is so shit.’We’d also like to encourage any reader from the world of hospitality (or indeed, private equity) to send us their thoughts, if any thoughts were prompted, as we may revisit this story in the near-future. For the moment, you can read the full thing here, and it really is very good indeed.
The Pintlord’s Promise
Our most frequent contributor, Jimmy McIntosh, has, as you likely know, become a social media superstar. And how he’s branching into longer-form content, with a 12-minute jobbie on the ‘New East End’ that really is worth digging into here, featuring a cameo appearance from the flock of wild deer that roam Harold’s Hill.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eMLtPYCjing
You really should sign up for the Dead Pubs Patreon too, which features the 315 best boozers in inner London – see if anyone can guess the three gastropubs that made the cut. It really is a fantastic list, and one that will help you see London anew.
In Case You Missed It
It’s a big ‘wagwarn’ from the new Japanese ambassador to Jamaica.
Why do gay men not flock to worship at the altar of Olivia Dean? A theory emerges.
You want a piece of me? Britney Spears is in the LRB.
And Andrew O’Hagan on Rupert Murdoch!
And Finally
The world of novelty politician candidates feels like a distant and nostalgic one. They’re still knocking around to be sure, but they’re much less enjoyable now that actual politicians are so dangerous and/or buffoonish in their own right. Somehow, watching Theresa May regain her seat alongside Elmo, Lord Buckethead and The Monster Raving Looney Party feels like an ancient text these days.
Perhaps most fascinating of all of this ilk is one Vermin Love Supreme. He’s a candidate who has run on Democrat, Republican and Libertarian tickets, putting forward such positions as: mandatory teeth brushing, time travel research to kill baby Hitler, free ponies for all Americans and the use of zombies as a source of renewable energy. His campaign speech from the 2011 Lesser-Known Democratic Candidates Presidential Forum is a classic, and eerily reminiscent of how the current president structures his own speeches. He begins, ‘Gingivitis has been eroding the gumline of this great nation long enough,’ but only a minute later, he is declaring, ‘I am a friendly fascist, I am a tyrant that you should trust.’ Greater orators have not been known since the days of antiquity.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4d_FvgQ1csE
What makes Vermin so great, however, is his level of commitment. He has run in every presidential election since 1992, and since 2020, he’s become a genuinely successful candidate. In 2020, he ran to become the presidential candidate for the Libertarian Party and won in both New Hampshire and Massachusetts. He then served for two years as a member of the Libertarian Party Judicial Committee. Not a bad run for a candidate who wears a welly on his head. If you’ve got an evening to kill and want to know more about the man, there is this rather interesting sprawl of a documentary for the way-back-when of 2014.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gbf3rXJJLt8
C’est fini. That’s everything for this week, and what a week it was. Remember to bag your discounted subscription here. A reminder that, if you’re having any trouble receiving your copy, email support@the-fence.com and we’ll take it from there. The bass riffs from Seinfeld were actually played on a keyboard. Until next week.
All the best,
TF