Skip to content
Dearest Gentle Reader,
It being a Friday, one might reasonably expect the ton to have settled into a mood of mild relief and anticipation of the weekend. One would, as ever, be entirely wrong. This Author has barely set down her second cup of tea before the dispatches arrive, each more alarming than the last, and all of them demanding immediate commentary.
The gravest matter first, as decorum requires. On Wednesday, two Jewish gentlemen – Shloime Rand, aged four-and-thirty, and Moshe Shine, a venerable seventy-six – were stabbed in Golders Green in north the Capital. The accused, one Essa Suleiman, five-and-forty, appeared in court this very Friday, and the case has been sent to the Old Bailey for a preliminary hearing on the fifteenth of this month. The Metropolitan Constabulary declared it a terrorist incident, and the Kingdom’s terror threat level has been raised to severe – a decision the government is at pains to stress was not solely precipitated by this week’s attack, but had been building “for some time.” One finds oneself wishing, not for the first time, that such things might be communicated before the knives appear.
On the subject of Wednesday’s violence, a rather pointed exchange has erupted between Sir Rowley, Commissioner of the Metropolitan Constabulary, and Sir Polanski, leader of the Verdant Society. Sir Polanski saw fit to amplify a post on Elon’s Lair characterising the arresting officers as men who had “violently kicked a mentally ill man in the head.” Sir Rowley responded with a letter expressing his “disappointment” – which, in the language of senior constabularies, is roughly equivalent to a duelling glove hurled across a ballroom floor. Sir Rowley told the Broadcasting Society’s Morning Programme that the officers had acted with “completely reasonable” extreme force against a suspect who, even after being Tasered, refused to show his hands and was believed to possibly be carrying an explosive device. The Verdant Society conceded that Sir Polanski had “seen the video like everyone else” and did “not know the full picture.” Quite so. Perhaps a little less haste on Elon’s Lair next time, Sir Polanski.
From matters of public safety to a matter of private devastation long delayed: the driver of the carriage – a Land Rover, to be precise – that crashed through the railings of a school in Wimbledon in July of 2023, killing two eight-year-old girls, Selena Lau and Nuria Sajjad, has at last been charged. One Claire Freemantle faces two counts of causing death by dangerous driving and seven counts of causing serious injury. The parents of the girls, who fought for nearly three years after prosecutors initially declined to charge, issued a statement of quiet, heartbreaking dignity: they are “one step closer to understanding why Nuria and Selena were killed.” This Author writes without a single note of levity. Justice, when it arrives, ought to arrive far sooner.
Now, to a rather different species of disgrace. James Holder, co-founder of the fashion emporium Superdry, has been found guilty of rape by a jury at Gloucester Crown Court, following an “impromptu night out” on the sixth of May 2022. The details are sordid: a taxi arranged for him, another for his victim, and Holder – a man of “significant resources” – choosing nonetheless to insert himself into the back of her taxi. The Recorder declined to grant bail, citing the very considerable temptation those resources might present to a man contemplating a swift exit from the Kingdom. One has observed many a gentleman undone by poor judgement at the end of an evening, but few quite so thoroughly as this.
On a note that is, by comparison, almost quaint: rogue proprietors of fish-and-chip establishments across Liverpool and Manchester have been discovered serving catfish – specifically pangasius, imported from South East Asia at a mere £3.40 per kilogram – whilst advertising it as cod or haddock, which fetch closer to £15 per kilogram. The Broadcasting Society submitted samples to Liverpool John Moores University for DNA testing, and three establishments selling “traditional fish and chips” were revealed to be dispensing something altogether more exotic. Customers, bless them, had left reviews noting only that the fish tasted “not quite right.” This Author is forced to observe that if one cannot tell catfish from cod, the catfish may not be the greatest fraud in the room. Nevertheless – deception at the supper table is deception, however battered and fried.
I am, as ever, your most devoted observer – Lady Whistledown.