Nearly four years on from the day when Ellie Harrison's chips caused a national outcry, the artist is back to tell us more about why she did it – and how she survived that year in Glasgow in the media firing-line

"I'M hungry."

IF there's one thing that online news proves without any shadow of uncertainty, it's that there's no knowing what will capture the popular imagination.

ALASTAIR Stewart’s “resignation” is a good example of how anti-racism has moved from the streets into the boardroom. Anyone involved in anti-racist campaigns in the 1980s will remember the left wing nature of many of these campaigns.

Try to make sense of this if you can. The other day, a fund-raising event for the Democratic presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg, who is gay, was disrupted by protesters. But they weren’t the kind of protesters you’d expect to get angry about a gay candidate. The protesters were gay themselves. It was a protest against a gay man staged by gays. It was gays against gays. It was pink on pink. It was confusing.

A Thousand Moons

IT is a truth universally acknowledged – at least by its advocates – that all things inexorably advance the cause of independence.

The Importance of Being Earnest

Disney, one of the most famous names in film, has launched a new TV service, called Disney Plus. Coming to a living room near you.

The nutritional and immunologic properties of human milk, along with clear evidence of dose-dependent optimal health outcomes for both mothers and infants, provide a compelling rationale to support exclusive breastfeeding. US women increasingly intend to breastfeed exclusively for 6 months. Because establishing lactation can be challenging, exclusivity is often compromised in hopes of preventing feeding-related neonatal complications, potentially affecting the continuation and duration of breastfeeding. Risk factors for impaired lactogenesis are identifiable and common. Clinicians must be able to recognize normative patterns of exclusive breastfeeding in the first week while proactively identifying potential challenges. In this review, we provide new evidence from the past 10 years on the following topics relevant to exclusive breastfeeding: milk production and transfer, neonatal weight and output assessment, management of glucose and bilirubin, immune development and the microbiome, supplementation, and health system factors. We focus on the early days of exclusive breastfeeding in healthy newborns ≥35 weeks’ gestation managed in the routine postpartum unit. With this evidence-based clinical review, we provide detailed guidance in identifying medical indications for early supplementation and can inform best practices for both birthing facilities and providers.

THAT potato paratha then, being freshly made as I stand by idly at the counter, spring rain pouring from those raised shutters above and streaming onto open decking right behind. It would be miserable waiting for it out here were it not for the following.

I’ve been longing to eat Korean food ever since seeing Bong Joon-Ho’s phenomenal Oscar-winning film, Parasite, his interrogation of class and wealth on the plate. The wealthy mother tells her housekeeper to prepare jjapaguri, essentially an everyday dish, commonly made with two sorts of instant noodles. What makes this one exclusive and upper class is its topping of steak, from indigenous, highly prized Hanwoo cattle, which is way more expensive than Waygu beef would be here. Only the Korean

Dandelion Cafe

Baker’s Delight

The ingenuity of Scotland’s independent food sector, and its determination to keep feeding us in these testing circumstances, is remarkable. Restaurants and cafés have gone down the takeaway route, small artisan suppliers who lost overnight all their catering customers have rapidly reconfigured their business around home delivery. Farmers who previously struggled to attract supermarket shoppers have never been so busy. Farmer’s markets have adapted to sell delivered or collected vegetable b

MY mother was known for her pizza but they were never round, not when we were growing up anyway. She would pull them from the ancient coal-fired cast iron range in the living room on long blackened oblong trays, the dough she had spent the day making puffed and undulating but always thin and super chewy.

Calabash African Restaurant

“Enough is enough,” said one Edinburgh resident, about the scene of desolation in Princes Street Gardens. Following this year’s bigger-than-ever Christmas Market and Hogmanay celebrations, the mudbath left after the festive village was dismantled is disgraceful. I’m tempted to say it looks as if a herd of belted galloways has run amok, but that would be unfair. Cattle don’t make half as much midden as the city’s annual cash-cow.

On the potholed drive home from the pub the other night, a creature ran into the beam of our lights. Long, low and lean, for a moment it looked like an otter. One has occasionally been sighted in our village, though like Loch Ness’s fabled monster this is a source of some dispute. But in another second it was clear that this beast was not from the riverbank but the woods.

I dimly remember a time when the subject of keeping a house warm would have left me cold. In a previous existence, my brother-in law would visit in the depths of winter and complain about how chilly the place was. The problem was not our thermostat, however, but that he chose to sit in a bay window overlooking the Firth of Forth, through which the wind would find him in his short-sleeved shirt.

A young American dressed for the hills wandered past our cottage last week with the air of someone lost. Alan who, since we moved here, has found his calling as a human Google map, asked if she was looking for something. “Yeah,” she said, “a Diet Coke.” He told her that, despite our community’s many attractions, a shop wasn’t one of them. Pointing her in the other direction, towards a village two miles away, he said she’d find what she needed there.

There was a time when I would sit up late in bed, reading novels. As a reviewer, this was often for work, but that didn’t diminish the pleasure of ending the day in another world. Of late, however, I’ve hurried through ordinary books the way you rush the main course in expectation of pudding. The reason? I’ve discovered the joy of gardening catalogues, and of roses in particular. As a result, my evening ritual is extended to include a last look at roses that ramble over walls, or join hand

When I first moved to the country, I anticipated taking long sturdy walks every few days, filling my lungs with fresh air, and gradually – proudly – achieving the weathered complexion of a Norwegian fisherman. Such is the variation in outdoor complexions in rural parts, Farrow & Ball could start a new range: shepherd’s sunburn, builder’s brick red, farmer’s frozen snout.

One of the loveliest towns in Italy is the walled city of San Gimignano, an hour’s drive from Florence. When I first visited it was bleak midwinter and all but a few shops and cafes were shuttered against the sleet. Its claim to fame is a profusion of medieval towers, hence its hyperbolic label as the Manhattan of Tuscany. When I arrived these fortresses soared overhead, making shadowy streets even darker.

In search of peanuts for the birds, I stumbled across an agricultural shop in a nearby village. From the outside it was unspectacular, but opening the door was like stepping into an episode of The Archers. They did indeed have peanuts, in sacks the size of whisky barrels. I wouldn’t have been able to drag one as far as the till, and I wondered if other weaklings had ever secretly slashed them open and let nuts pour into their pockets, gloves and wellie boots, before staggering out like overstu

There is little to like about the present predicament, but one thing I don’t miss is checking my diary every evening for a reminder of what tomorrow will bring. Our social life is not what you’d call a whirl, so usually memory can be relied on for the occasional gatherings. Here in Hoolet, socialising is often impromptu, a random encounter leading to a casual evening drink a few hours later, or a last-minute supper in a kitchen, so soon after the invite that nobody could possibly forget.

Sunday, April 19, 2020.

Strife of Brian

IT’S strange the different things people took away from Theresa May’s teary goodbye in Downing Street yesterday.

LIKE Nicola Sturgeon, I blame the Tories. Not, like her, for everything everywhere, but for an off-key outing at FMQs.

Flat out

THE last day of term before recess saw MSPs attempt more jokes than usual at FMQs, some of them even bordering on approaching the mildly funny. Heady days.

Rocket man

WELL that didn’t take long. Scotland’s latest experiment in direct democracy was all but killed off this week, barely two months after Nicola Sturgeon announced it.

Obi-Moran Kenobi

WHAT a difference a Prime Minister makes. There used to be a time, back before it wasn’t an obstacle to promotion, that Jackson Carlaw was aghast at the idea of a no-deal Brexit.

Uniformly bad

The American politician John Nance Garner is better remembered for something he said rather than anything he did as Franklin Roosevelt’s vice-president.

In “Painting Nationalism Red?”, an engaging new pamphlet published by Democratic Left Scotland, the journalist Neal Ascherson pays tribute to Tom Nairn as Scotland’s “pre-eminent political intellectual”.

Shortly before the second general election of 1974, the late John P Mackintosh attempted to explain the rise of the Scottish National Party to a predominantly left-wing (and English) audience in an essay for the New Statesman.

A few days after a majority of Britons backed Brexit in June 2016, this newspaper reported that Nicola Sturgeon had been in talks with London Mayor Sadiq Khan and the Chief Minister of Gibraltar, Fabian Picardo.

The Scottish Labour Party, I think it’s fair to say, hasn’t had a good decade.

“Scotland”, declared a young Alex Salmond in May 1975, “knows from bitter experience what treatment is in store for a powerless region of a common market.”

In his new book, “The End of British Party Politics?”, the political scientist Roger Awan-Scully captures the paradox of last year’s general election in Scotland.

The sight of Scottish ministers boarding flights to far-flung destinations in order to “sell Scotland to the world” has been a familiar one for more than half a century.

Today in the House of Commons, the Prime Minister will explain her decision to authorise airstrikes against Syria alongside France and the United States.

A couple of weeks ago, I attended an “in conversation” event with the American sociologist Arlie Russell Hochschild at Harvard University.

The European Union (Withdrawal Agreement) Bill got the Royal Assent this week. It was then solemnly signed, sealed and ratified by Ursula von der Leyen, the new President of the European Commission. We’re finally out.

I’m not sure it was wise for Nicola Sturgeon to invoke Nelson Mandela in her speech on the next steps (sic) to independence. He was a revolutionary who pursued a campaign of non-violent direct action, including strikes, boycotts and other acts of civil disobedience. That’s what many ardent Yessers were hoping against hope she might authorise.

It was a normal Friday night in the Red Lion pub in Whitehall, where journalists gather to gossip about the week. Charlie Whelan, former chancellor Gordon Brown’s personal spin doctor, was holding court as usual, white wine spritzer in hand.