My shul. My people. My community. I just had to write this. Some how there are some words. @thetimes I write this knowing not who did it. There is a freedom in that. To be liberated from the blame game for as long as it lasts; from the narrative of speculation as to why a man in my home city of Manchester woke up this morning, armed himself and decided to go and kill a load of Jews on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. What I do know is this: he went to kill my people; my community; at my old Shul. No equivocation. No doubt. Jews were the target and this was planned for the day when as many of them as possible were packed inside Shul praying for their sins. But we will get to that. And yeah I don’t feel much like calling it a synagogue right now. It’s a Shul. It’s a Jewish place of prayer, love and community. Heaton Park Shul. The first place I first heard the shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah -an incredible sound from a ram’s horn heralding a new year. The place I loved running around with my friends and collecting sweets strewn around the building by Reverend Olsberg on happy festival days. The place I loved listening to the murmur of prayer and chatter between families, friends, the rabbi and cantor – and the loud shushes when the conversational volume sometimes overtook the prayers.
My shul. My people. My community. I just had to write this. Some how there are some words. @thetimes I write this knowing not who did it. There is a freedom in that. To be liberated from the blame game for as long as it lasts; from the narrative of speculation as to why a man in my home city of Manchester woke up this morning, armed himself and decided to go and kill a load of Jews on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. What I do know is this: he went to kill my people; my community; at my old Shul. No equivocation. No doubt. Jews were the target and this was planned for the day when as many of them as possible were packed inside Shul praying for their sins. But we will get to that. And yeah I don’t feel much like calling it a synagogue right now. It’s a Shul. It’s a Jewish place of prayer, love and community. Heaton Park Shul. The first place I first heard the shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah -an incredible sound from a ram’s horn heralding a new year. The place I loved running around with my friends and collecting sweets strewn around the building by Reverend Olsberg on happy festival days. The place I loved listening to the murmur of prayer and chatter between families, friends, the rabbi and cantor – and the loud shushes when the conversational volume sometimes overtook the prayers.
My shul. My people. My community. I just had to write this. Some how there are some words. @thetimes I write this knowing not who did it. There is a freedom in that. To be liberated from the blame game for as long as it lasts; from the narrative of speculation as to why a man in my home city of Manchester woke up this morning, armed himself and decided to go and kill a load of Jews on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. What I do know is this: he went to kill my people; my community; at my old Shul. No equivocation. No doubt. Jews were the target and this was planned for the day when as many of them as possible were packed inside Shul praying for their sins. But we will get to that. And yeah I don’t feel much like calling it a synagogue right now. It’s a Shul. It’s a Jewish place of prayer, love and community. Heaton Park Shul. The first place I first heard the shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah -an incredible sound from a ram’s horn heralding a new year. The place I loved running around with my friends and collecting sweets strewn around the building by Reverend Olsberg on happy festival days. The place I loved listening to the murmur of prayer and chatter between families, friends, the rabbi and cantor – and the loud shushes when the conversational volume sometimes overtook the prayers.
My shul. My people. My community. I just had to write this. Some how there are some words. @thetimes I write this knowing not who did it. There is a freedom in that. To be liberated from the blame game for as long as it lasts; from the narrative of speculation as to why a man in my home city of Manchester woke up this morning, armed himself and decided to go and kill a load of Jews on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. What I do know is this: he went to kill my people; my community; at my old Shul. No equivocation. No doubt. Jews were the target and this was planned for the day when as many of them as possible were packed inside Shul praying for their sins. But we will get to that. And yeah I don’t feel much like calling it a synagogue right now. It’s a Shul. It’s a Jewish place of prayer, love and community. Heaton Park Shul. The first place I first heard the shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah -an incredible sound from a ram’s horn heralding a new year. The place I loved running around with my friends and collecting sweets strewn around the building by Reverend Olsberg on happy festival days. The place I loved listening to the murmur of prayer and chatter between families, friends, the rabbi and cantor – and the loud shushes when the conversational volume sometimes overtook the prayers.
My shul. My people. My community. I just had to write this. Some how there are some words. @thetimes I write this knowing not who did it. There is a freedom in that. To be liberated from the blame game for as long as it lasts; from the narrative of speculation as to why a man in my home city of Manchester woke up this morning, armed himself and decided to go and kill a load of Jews on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. What I do know is this: he went to kill my people; my community; at my old Shul. No equivocation. No doubt. Jews were the target and this was planned for the day when as many of them as possible were packed inside Shul praying for their sins. But we will get to that. And yeah I don’t feel much like calling it a synagogue right now. It’s a Shul. It’s a Jewish place of prayer, love and community. Heaton Park Shul. The first place I first heard the shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah -an incredible sound from a ram’s horn heralding a new year. The place I loved running around with my friends and collecting sweets strewn around the building by Reverend Olsberg on happy festival days. The place I loved listening to the murmur of prayer and chatter between families, friends, the rabbi and cantor – and the loud shushes when the conversational volume sometimes overtook the prayers.
My shul. My people. My community. I just had to write this. Some how there are some words. @thetimes I write this knowing not who did it. There is a freedom in that. To be liberated from the blame game for as long as it lasts; from the narrative of speculation as to why a man in my home city of Manchester woke up this morning, armed himself and decided to go and kill a load of Jews on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. What I do know is this: he went to kill my people; my community; at my old Shul. No equivocation. No doubt. Jews were the target and this was planned for the day when as many of them as possible were packed inside Shul praying for their sins. But we will get to that. And yeah I don’t feel much like calling it a synagogue right now. It’s a Shul. It’s a Jewish place of prayer, love and community. Heaton Park Shul. The first place I first heard the shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah -an incredible sound from a ram’s horn heralding a new year. The place I loved running around with my friends and collecting sweets strewn around the building by Reverend Olsberg on happy festival days. The place I loved listening to the murmur of prayer and chatter between families, friends, the rabbi and cantor – and the loud shushes when the conversational volume sometimes overtook the prayers.
My shul. My people. My community. I just had to write this. Some how there are some words. @thetimes I write this knowing not who did it. There is a freedom in that. To be liberated from the blame game for as long as it lasts; from the narrative of speculation as to why a man in my home city of Manchester woke up this morning, armed himself and decided to go and kill a load of Jews on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. What I do know is this: he went to kill my people; my community; at my old Shul. No equivocation. No doubt. Jews were the target and this was planned for the day when as many of them as possible were packed inside Shul praying for their sins. But we will get to that. And yeah I don’t feel much like calling it a synagogue right now. It’s a Shul. It’s a Jewish place of prayer, love and community. Heaton Park Shul. The first place I first heard the shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah -an incredible sound from a ram’s horn heralding a new year. The place I loved running around with my friends and collecting sweets strewn around the building by Reverend Olsberg on happy festival days. The place I loved listening to the murmur of prayer and chatter between families, friends, the rabbi and cantor – and the loud shushes when the conversational volume sometimes overtook the prayers.
My shul. My people. My community. I just had to write this. Some how there are some words. @thetimes I write this knowing not who did it. There is a freedom in that. To be liberated from the blame game for as long as it lasts; from the narrative of speculation as to why a man in my home city of Manchester woke up this morning, armed himself and decided to go and kill a load of Jews on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. What I do know is this: he went to kill my people; my community; at my old Shul. No equivocation. No doubt. Jews were the target and this was planned for the day when as many of them as possible were packed inside Shul praying for their sins. But we will get to that. And yeah I don’t feel much like calling it a synagogue right now. It’s a Shul. It’s a Jewish place of prayer, love and community. Heaton Park Shul. The first place I first heard the shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah -an incredible sound from a ram’s horn heralding a new year. The place I loved running around with my friends and collecting sweets strewn around the building by Reverend Olsberg on happy festival days. The place I loved listening to the murmur of prayer and chatter between families, friends, the rabbi and cantor – and the loud shushes when the conversational volume sometimes overtook the prayers.
My shul. My people. My community. I just had to write this. Some how there are some words. @thetimes I write this knowing not who did it. There is a freedom in that. To be liberated from the blame game for as long as it lasts; from the narrative of speculation as to why a man in my home city of Manchester woke up this morning, armed himself and decided to go and kill a load of Jews on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. What I do know is this: he went to kill my people; my community; at my old Shul. No equivocation. No doubt. Jews were the target and this was planned for the day when as many of them as possible were packed inside Shul praying for their sins. But we will get to that. And yeah I don’t feel much like calling it a synagogue right now. It’s a Shul. It’s a Jewish place of prayer, love and community. Heaton Park Shul. The first place I first heard the shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah -an incredible sound from a ram’s horn heralding a new year. The place I loved running around with my friends and collecting sweets strewn around the building by Reverend Olsberg on happy festival days. The place I loved listening to the murmur of prayer and chatter between families, friends, the rabbi and cantor – and the loud shushes when the conversational volume sometimes overtook the prayers.
My shul. My people. My community. I just had to write this. Some how there are some words. @thetimes I write this knowing not who did it. There is a freedom in that. To be liberated from the blame game for as long as it lasts; from the narrative of speculation as to why a man in my home city of Manchester woke up this morning, armed himself and decided to go and kill a load of Jews on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. What I do know is this: he went to kill my people; my community; at my old Shul. No equivocation. No doubt. Jews were the target and this was planned for the day when as many of them as possible were packed inside Shul praying for their sins. But we will get to that. And yeah I don’t feel much like calling it a synagogue right now. It’s a Shul. It’s a Jewish place of prayer, love and community. Heaton Park Shul. The first place I first heard the shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah -an incredible sound from a ram’s horn heralding a new year. The place I loved running around with my friends and collecting sweets strewn around the building by Reverend Olsberg on happy festival days. The place I loved listening to the murmur of prayer and chatter between families, friends, the rabbi and cantor – and the loud shushes when the conversational volume sometimes overtook the prayers.
My shul. My people. My community. I just had to write this. Some how there are some words. @thetimes I write this knowing not who did it. There is a freedom in that. To be liberated from the blame game for as long as it lasts; from the narrative of speculation as to why a man in my home city of Manchester woke up this morning, armed himself and decided to go and kill a load of Jews on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. What I do know is this: he went to kill my people; my community; at my old Shul. No equivocation. No doubt. Jews were the target and this was planned for the day when as many of them as possible were packed inside Shul praying for their sins. But we will get to that. And yeah I don’t feel much like calling it a synagogue right now. It’s a Shul. It’s a Jewish place of prayer, love and community. Heaton Park Shul. The first place I first heard the shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah -an incredible sound from a ram’s horn heralding a new year. The place I loved running around with my friends and collecting sweets strewn around the building by Reverend Olsberg on happy festival days. The place I loved listening to the murmur of prayer and chatter between families, friends, the rabbi and cantor – and the loud shushes when the conversational volume sometimes overtook the prayers.
Only took this Manc 30 years to finally see @oasis play live. As Liam would say: “Nice one.”
Introducing, Ready to Talk with Emma Barnett. From presidents to popstars, award-winning broadcaster Emma Barnett has interviewed thousands of fascinating people live on radio and television. But now she’s ready to talk to her guests much more deeply, about the profound experiences that shaped their lives. Ready to Talk with Emma Barnett will publish weekly from 7 November. Subscribe on BBC Sounds and have your push notifications turned on so you never miss an episode! Ready to Talk with Emma Barnett | Listen on BBC Sounds
On Friday evening I delivered a speech alongside Louise Brown, the world’s first IVF baby, to mark the centenary of the birth of a man who changed all our lives forever: the late Robert Edwards. Bob, as he was known, pioneered IVF medicine with Patrick Steptoe and Jean Purdy, to treat those suffering infertility. He viewed it as a life changing disease in itself – that caused much pain and merited medicine. That is still a groundbreaking view. I owe our two children to him and it is no exaggeration to say – the life we have. He carved a new route for us; one that very, very sadly doesn’t work for everyone – but oh the luck to be born in an era when there was a new route. Louise, who is only 47, owes her whole life to him. Her parents had been trying to have a baby for 10 years beforehand. It was a lot to get my head around that our children wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the woman sat alongside me on stage who is only 7 years older than me. It’s thought Bob has changed the lives of more than 30 million families and counting. It was a very special evening @cambridgeuniversity @churchillcol – alongside people who worked with Bob and his daughter. I got the chance to thank him publicly. And learn so much more about his approach and strength in the face of horrendous disapproval of his life-creating work. He only received the Nobel just before his death nearly 40 years on from Louise’s groundbreaking birth. That’s how long it can take for the Establishment to sometimes catch up. I’ve dedicated this week’s newsletter to what I learned. Link in bio. Spread the word and keep an open mind. But mainly – thank you Bob. From all of us 🙏 #ivf #infertility #bobedwards #thankyou
On Friday evening I delivered a speech alongside Louise Brown, the world’s first IVF baby, to mark the centenary of the birth of a man who changed all our lives forever: the late Robert Edwards. Bob, as he was known, pioneered IVF medicine with Patrick Steptoe and Jean Purdy, to treat those suffering infertility. He viewed it as a life changing disease in itself – that caused much pain and merited medicine. That is still a groundbreaking view. I owe our two children to him and it is no exaggeration to say – the life we have. He carved a new route for us; one that very, very sadly doesn’t work for everyone – but oh the luck to be born in an era when there was a new route. Louise, who is only 47, owes her whole life to him. Her parents had been trying to have a baby for 10 years beforehand. It was a lot to get my head around that our children wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the woman sat alongside me on stage who is only 7 years older than me. It’s thought Bob has changed the lives of more than 30 million families and counting. It was a very special evening @cambridgeuniversity @churchillcol – alongside people who worked with Bob and his daughter. I got the chance to thank him publicly. And learn so much more about his approach and strength in the face of horrendous disapproval of his life-creating work. He only received the Nobel just before his death nearly 40 years on from Louise’s groundbreaking birth. That’s how long it can take for the Establishment to sometimes catch up. I’ve dedicated this week’s newsletter to what I learned. Link in bio. Spread the word and keep an open mind. But mainly – thank you Bob. From all of us 🙏 #ivf #infertility #bobedwards #thankyou
It’s been quite a week over @colouryourstreets HQ First trade show ✅ First TV advert ✅ And big new secret project nearing completion…. ✅ Watch this space 🕵️♂️ And loved seeing our books out in the wild @thisisbooklove_
It’s been quite a week over @colouryourstreets HQ First trade show ✅ First TV advert ✅ And big new secret project nearing completion…. ✅ Watch this space 🕵️♂️ And loved seeing our books out in the wild @thisisbooklove_
It’s been quite a week over @colouryourstreets HQ First trade show ✅ First TV advert ✅ And big new secret project nearing completion…. ✅ Watch this space 🕵️♂️ And loved seeing our books out in the wild @thisisbooklove_
It’s been quite a week over @colouryourstreets HQ First trade show ✅ First TV advert ✅ And big new secret project nearing completion…. ✅ Watch this space 🕵️♂️ And loved seeing our books out in the wild @thisisbooklove_
I often think about the stories and voices we don’t hear; the questions that don’t get asked – and what harm is being done by such silence. When I started presenting @bbcwomanshour – I had several key goals. Today on my newsletter, Trying, I explain how we couldn’t achieve one of them and how it’s a problem. Would love you to subscribe to read more. The link is in my biog and stories. 🙏
Morning. Join us @bbctodayprogramme today. Would be good to have your company 🙏 #shabbatshalom
In this new series on chat – the thing I am in the business of as a live broadcaster – I am going to share some of the techniques and moves I see people use. And that I deploy too – in the daily thrust of this thing called conversation. I hope it is useful as you go into your weekends and take part in this daily sport. And where relevant – helps you up your game. Today? The trip wire. One of the most dangerous questions you can ask in the middle of a conversation. Warning: it ain’t for the faint-hearted. And probably is advisable with a small smile – to dilute the sheer menace of it. All on my newsletter, Trying, via Substack. #linkinbio #conversation #chat
Once you know, you know. Over on my newsletter, Trying, on Substack today. Hope it fuels some thought! #chat #betterchat #conversation
⭐️ Our first TV advert drops this week ⭐️ and here it is….going out on ITV! 📺 The big question is: do you like the jingle? And can you name the tune?? It’s amazing to see so many of the @colouryourstreets family of books together on screen 💪 🖍️ 📚 #colouring #adultcolouring #adultcoloringbook #adultcolouringbook #kidscolouring #kidscolouringfun #local #bespoke #uk #tv
