HeyJaredRosemary Goring
- Indexed articles, last 90 days
- 12
- Latest publication
- Sep 26, 2026
- Outlet visibility, for Herald Scotland
- Top 50K sites
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- Jul 5, 2026
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Thereâs a clue to Dianaâs fate in Scottish history (opens the original)
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At half past six on the morning of Sunday 31 August, 1997, I was woken by the telephone. It was the deputy editor of The Scotsman, telling me that Princess Diana had died, and I needed to get up and start working on her obituary. âAbout 5,000 words should do it,â he said. This being the era before the internet had got into its stride, I headed immediately for the newspaperâs library, to discover the system had crashed and they could not access their files. Half an hour later I was the firs
What has the BBC ever done for us? Quite a lot actually (opens the original)
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It might be a sign of how often I tune into the BBC that I’m beginning to feel tortured by the drip-feed of its catchphrase ‘This is our BBC’. This is accompanied by sundry celebrities rejoicing in the riches to be had for the payment of a licence fee, which currently stands at £180 per annum. To some, such as Lord Moore of Etchingham, Thatcher’s biographer, this is more than they can bear, though for simply turning up at Westminster he can claim double that by way of daily allowance. For people
10 books everyone will be talking about this autumn from Rachel Cusk to Val McDermid (opens the original)
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The last novel the Nobel laureate wrote before his death in 2025, I Give You My Silence is set in the world of Peruvian folk music. Shortly after the music journalist, Tono Azilcueta is mesmerised by the performance of a guitarist called Lalo Molfino, he learns that Molfino is dead. So begins his search for the story of the guitarist’s life, leading him to those closest to him, including the priest who rescued him from the abject poverty. Embarking on a biography of this remarkable man, Azilcuet
Rosemary Goring: Why Scotland should invest in a minimum income for artists (opens the original)
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In 1956, an aspiring young writer working as a ticket assistant for an airline was given a remarkable Christmas present by her friends. It was a cheque, accompanied by a note that read: “You have one year off from your job to write whatever you please.” Stunned, she returned to her Manhattan apartment, which had no hot water or stove, sat down at her makeshift desk (an old door balanced on apple crates) and set to work. Not only was she buoyed by her friends’ confidence in her abilities, but she
The dangerous lesson at the heart of Miss Jean Brodie still resonates (opens the original)
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Intimations of autumn are all around. Schools are back, leaves are falling, temperatures are dropping, and Celtic have already said adios to the Champions League. Some things never change. In Edinburgh, the festival is coming to an end and with it there is the mass exodus of artistes and audiences returning from wherever they came. It’s at this time of year that I think of Miss Jean Brodie in her prime, of whom it was said she was “an Edinburgh Festival all on her own”. Like Jay Gatsby, Miss Bro
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