How does a cyclist keep up the pace when she's six months pregnant? Charlotte Ross tried out an electric bike - and found it could be the perfect way to commute
Read full article...Momiji tree knot-free massage is specially designed to ease aches, pains and mangled muscles
The tribal horse race that turns Siena into a frenzied, partying mass of humanity is one of the great Tuscan experiences
Next month Athens unveils its new Acropolis Museum. Charlotte Ross combines a historic preview with the best of Greece today
This week Topshop launches a cycling range for girls – but cyclists have long put fashion first
Yesterday I was startled by a memory - of the last time I saw Vanessa Redgrave. It was October and she was standing on stage at the National, tears streaming down her face. The tears were genuine. Having just delivered a 90-minute monologue, Redgrave was wrung out. During the curtain call, her emotions spilled over.
I'm on Team Myerson. Not Julie Myerson, the novelist who spilled the beans on her cannabis-toking son. I mean Brian Myerson, the City tycoon who's trying to overturn his divorce settlement after mislaying a fortune in the crash.
Listening to Gordon Brown's speech in Washington this week I found my toes curling with embarrassment. Every time he said something clever or inspiring he ruined it with a soundbite of shameless flattery. But lo, each honey-dipped blandishment brought Congress collectively to its feet, for 19 ovations in all. Our unloved PM was even mobbed by senators insisting that he sign their copies of his speech. It was a masterclass in the power of praise.
Early yesterday morning, as my minicab sped unimpeded through the city's blissfully empty streets, I became aware of another vehicle to my right. When it drifted into focus, I snapped out of my pre-dawn reverie. The white motorbike budging up against our people carrier was being ridden by a traffic cop.
Is anything less attractive than a man with middle-aged spread? How about a middle-aged man afflicted with vanity spread?
Whether Jacqui Smith spends four whole nights a week or only three at her Nunhead residence is a matter for Parliamentary scrutiny. What fascinates and concerns me is that her own neighbours exposed her nightly comings and goings to the public.
Kate Winslet wasn't the only star en noir at last night's Baftas
A month or two ago, Facebook almost lost me. My last update, I noticed just before Christmas, was “Charlotte is wrapping”, a reference to the previous December's activity. The social networking site had become just another thing to worry about, a further reminder of my poor social hygiene. It seemed the only decent thing to do was log off. Permanently.
Pity poor Rachida Dati, given her marching orders just days after parking her Chanel heels back under the ministerial desk
You know things are bad when the stylist rolls up her sleeves and washes your hair herself
How much nuisance can one house cause? Twice this week I've been kept awake all night by a fire alarm on my street
A year ago I'd have been horrified. What kind of message does it send women when a high-profile figure takes less than a week off to have a baby?
Leaving the house yesterday morning I noticed a row of identical objects on my street
We cyclists have had a good week. First Chris Hoy, triple Olympic gold winner, beat petrolhead F1 driver Lewis Hamilton to win BBC Sports Personality of the Year
Last weekend I baked a Christmas cake, something I'd been meaning to do for 20 years
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