During the Arab Spring, the ongoing Syrian revolution and now the war in Gaza, I find myself to be more of a political activist than an "impartial" journalist because I do not see how I can "sit on the fence" when injustices are taking place right before my eyes. Am I at risk of being criminalised for mixing my political views and how I report news?
On 29 November, 1941, my grandmother, Ilse Cohn, was shot here, in this field, by members of the Nazi death squad Einsatzkommando 3, under the command of a Swiss-born SS colonel called Karl Jäger. On that one day alone, they murdered 2,000 Jews who had been deported by train from Vienna and from my grandmother's hometown of Breslau. So I have come to honour my grandmother's memory. My mother was her only child and although Ilse had three brothers, she had no nephews or nieces. My brother and I, and my two children, are her only living relatives.
To bask in the glory of NOT SHARING, to prove that being a strong and independent is something you're fully capable of. But here's a heads up, before you go making any big decisions on renting or buying solo. These are the eight things you only truly know when you live by yourself...
The people who hacked my phone and appeared outside my house a cold January morning over eight years ago, bringing my career and life as I knew it to a end, are now all in jail. And with the latest phone hacking scandal, I should feel the wheel has turned; perhaps a sense of revenge or justice.
What is it about railway stations that conjures up ghosts of the past? I'm standing on the platform in Pastavy (or Postavy), deep in the Belarussian countryside, almost exactly 100 years since my friend Stu Seidel's grandfather, Julius Seidel, stood on this same platform (or one very like it) and boarded a train to start a new life in the New World.
A little round-up of some things of note that happened in the world of social media this week. Highlights include traditional media outlets being beaten to stories by Twitter, Scottish Terriers stealing the show at the Commonwealth Games ceremony and the inevitable dog gif...
It's not inaccurate to say that while British consumers have fallen head-over-heels in love with technology, they also fear what it is doing to them... consumer technologies often create contrary forces between positive and negative; a sort of Yin-Yang in our relationship with them.
For the first time in a major Arab-Israeli conflict, the American public has other sources of reality. All research says that young people everywhere regard Twitter as essentially a news service, and via your social network you can easily get served up words and pictures more impactful than anything on TV. By the time many Americans woke up on Sunday, these pictures were of dead Palestinian children.
This cannot go on. Humans live in Gaza, remarkably like us. They laugh, they cry, they die. But too many of them die before their time. And that is true for those 29 Israeli military boys who have died, none older than his 20s. Cannot their end be the starting point for something revolutionarily new? Getting inside each others heads, understanding the other, or is it all just too late?
Frankly, I've had a gutful of the idea that what you do - or don't - eat makes you somehow better than someone else. It doesn't. You are NOT what you eat just like you're not what you don't eat (sugar, gluten etc). Those people who loudly wear their food choices as a badge are becoming tiresome.
Our news broadcasters are there as public servers, they support and accommodate for the whole of the country which includes, all of our multicultural society. Whilst, Fox News only focuses on one particular agenda which doesn't bring any benefit for their country.
The suffering in Gaza continues unabated. The strip is blockaded from land, sea and air and bombed from land, sea and air. The death toll has climbed past 550, including at least 100 Palestinian children. Yet, still, silver-tongued Israeli officials continue to take to the airwaves to defend the indefensible.
My family, it appears, are a 'bunch of ugly, sad losers'. My wife is so 'desperate' to leave me that she will '**** the next man she has a drink with'. My beautiful children are, variously, 'pathetic... spoilt... probably adopted' because I am 'unable to get it up... a waste of space... a miserable, untalented tosser'. Worst of all though, my kitchen is 'hideous'. So this is what being trolled feels like... The other week I wrote what I felt was a thought-provoking, if slightly tongue-in-cheek, confessional about my enforced 12-month sabbatical as a stay-at-home dad trying to set up a new business after sudden redundancy.
You'll have heard, of course, of the maxim "Don't speak ill of the dead". However, you are probably less familiar with the media's recent modification to this: "Don't speak ill of the recently departed Foreign Secretary".
Don't call me babe. Don't call me feisty. In fact, in professional situations, can we just stick to my name?
With flamboyant designs from Maison Martin Margiela to Jean Paul Gaultier's gothic collection and Dior's white gowns, the most respected couture houses in the business once again pulled out all the stops, expertly hand-crafting every intricate detail for a truly spectacular haute couture week.