Allison Pearson

Wow, you have to hand it to Nicola Sturgeon. It is no mean feat, after all, to return to the family home each evening – a veritable McAladdin's

Every so often, a case comes along which shines a light on behaviour by the state that is so antithetical to any decent person, so deeply shocking, so

“We have socialists in charge who keep putting up taxes and crowding out the private sector.”

The chairman of a policing scrutiny panel was sacked after she complained that officers were avoiding the “elephant in the room” of Islamist extremism in a meeting about

It was in October last year, when two men were killed in a terrorist attack at a synagogue in Manchester , that Elaine (who has asked for her name

I am crying. It is hard to write down the circumstances of the death of Henry Nowak without crying.

I am crying. It is hard to write down the circumstances of the death of Henry Nowak without crying. Each time I think about how that young man met his end, I find myself consumed with sadness and a sense of raging disbelief. I admit I’ve become somewhat obsessed with the case because Henry’s murder, and the way Hampshire Police not only failed to help him but actively supported his killer to the point where they handcuffed the 18-year-old student and cruelly mocked him as he drowned in his own b

From finicky QR codes to useless virtual appointments, we are being served poor service with a side of digital hell

I have measured out my life with TV police dramas. The earliest was Dixon of Dock Green with Jack Warner (the kindest of faces, a beatific smile playing on his lips) as the London copper who controlled crime “through common sense and human understanding” (imagine that). PC George Dixon began each show with, “Evening, all” as he stood outside the police station in a murky pea-souper (or maybe it was just the crackly grey fuzz of the early television set).

How is your psychological prep for the World Cup going? Clearly, as Her Indoors – actually Her Outdoors knocking back rosé in the garden and charting England’s progress (ahem) with remarkable precision according to the pitch of the despairing howls coming through the French doors – I am a mere onlooker. Although I invariably end up getting sucked in with each passing round and graduate rapidly from Annoying Woman that asks, “Who’s he?” to Really Annoying Woman who has an opinion on the form of p