I LIVE in a corner of London with a large Turkish community. When we first moved in—20 years ago—I loved to sit in one of the many cafes that line the busy main street, at the weekend— sipping strong black tea and breakfasting on menemen, a scrabble of eggs, tomatoes and green peppers, or on the popular breakfast picnic of cheese, olives, tomatoes and cucumber, bread and honey, boiled egg and spicy sausage. Simply by stepping out of my front door, I felt as if I was on holiday. Slowly, over the past decade or so, even with my head buried in the newspaper, I noticed a shift. My breakfast companions got younger, cooler. The hipsters were here and they were doing brunch.
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Give it some stick
Galloping through the imagination, competitive hobby-horsing is a gymnastic sport on the rise in Britain, discovers Sybilla Hart
Paper escapes
Steven King selects his best travel books of 2024
For love, not money
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Private views
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Shhhhhh...
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Mission impossible
Rubble and ruin were all that remained of the early-19th-century Villa Frere and its gardens, planted by the English diplomat John Hookham Frere, until a group of dedicated volunteers came to its rescue. Josephine Tyndale-Biscoe tells the story
When a perfect storm hits
Weather, wars, elections and financial uncertainty all conspired against high-end house sales this year, but there were still some spectacular deals
Give the dog a bone
Man's best friend still needs to eat like its Lupus forebears, believes Jonathan Self, when it's not guarding food, greeting us or destroying our upholstery, of course