Down with kissing!
It’s out of control! If I play doubles first thing, have a lunch, then go to perhaps two parties in…
Would any publisher dare to print Lolita now?
The other day Will Self unburdened himself on the state of fiction with crushing hauteur. ‘What’s now regarded as serious…
Rachel Johnson: Getting sacked is a badge of honour. And I should know
People are still asking ‘So, how was your summer’ and mine was nice as far as it went: I didn’t…
What on earth’s happened to Waitrose?
A few years ago, some friends came to stay with us on Exmoor. After they unfurled from their Volvo, they…
Brexit saved my marriage. Could Putin wreck it?
I went to a dinner for Toby Young, who has had some troubles of late, at this magazine’s gracious HQ,…
Rachel Johnson: The trouble with today’s porn? Older men are terrified by it
Long letter from the High Mistress of St Paul’s Girls’ School, addressing me as ‘Dear Old Paulina’ (I thought we…
Rachel Johnson’s diary: My brother’s whopping tax return
With hindsight maybe it was silly for me to bleat, ‘As everyone knows, the Johnsons are neither posh nor rich’…
Rachel Johnson’s diary: Why I told my book party I was coming out as a lesbian
My husband says I only write books in order to have a launch party. Not so. I also write books…
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