Eleanor Steafel

One hundred miles from mainland Britain – a good deal closer to Saint Malo than to Salcombe – Jersey should really feel more French than British.Its

It's strange, really, that one of our most beloved, lyrical books about English rivers should have been written in the dying embers of the Victorian era. When Kenneth Grahame was writing about a rat and a mole passing their days “simply messing about in boats” – inspired by the walks he took with his son by the River Thames and its tributaries in Berkshire – the waters that flowed past his house and on to London were a cesspool often blamed for the diseases that ripped through the city, characterising that age as one of filth and sickness.

· 6-min read “Embarrassed.” That's the word that keeps coming up. After a turbulent inaugural week for Scotland's hate crime

Late last year, Jennifer Cairns received a letter from an NHS clinic inviting her to attend an online course on ways to manage chronic pain.

Jean de Sperati. He just sounds like a 19th century con artist, doesn't he? Like someone Sir Arthur Conan Doyle might have dreamed up for Sherlock Holmes to outfox.

Late morning on the second day of Passover in Stamford Hill, north-east London, the streets are busy with families on their way to synagogue.

Andrew O'Neill can still recall the buzz that was in the air when the children came back to school after lockdown.

If you had strolled past the back door of 61 Lower Sloane Street in the summer of 1967 and timed it right, just as it swung open, you'd have been

Jane Austen just needed a small walnut tripod table adorned with nothing but a quill and a pot of ink to write about the trials and tribulations of

Chelsea Embankment, 7am. On a summer morning there can't be many nicer stretches of road to head down on your way into central London.