Jonathan Brocklebank

1 week ago | dailymail.co.uk | Jonathan Brocklebank

At the end of his guided tour of the enchanted wood that he bought ‘on a whim’ in 2001, Christopher Lambton announces it is time for him and his dog Lily to return to his car. Momentarily forgetting himself, he tells me: ‘If you want to carry on walking around, please do.’ Then he remembers: ‘It’s not for me to invite you.’It is an understandable slip. For almost a quarter of a century the 64-year-old has been at pains to make everyone welcome in his 135-acre idyll in the Scottish Borders.

1 week ago | dailymail.co.uk | Jonathan Brocklebank

I am going to let you in on some of my most intimate password secrets. This should not let you empty my bank account or hack into my private correspondence because my most intimate password secrets are obsolete. Of course they are. Some of them are as many as five or six years old. Here is secret number one. I had a nice little Bob Dylan album theme going on. I miss it.

2 weeks ago | dailymail.co.uk | Jonathan Brocklebank

Sobbing in the dock of her local sheriff court last month, Adele Rennie looked like a young woman enduring the worst day of her life, her world imploding as jail time was handed down. She seemed chastened – humiliated even – to hear her offences aired in public. For anyone in court unfamiliar with her history, a degree of compassion for this wretched soul would not have been hard to muster.

2 weeks ago | dailymail.co.uk | Jonathan Brocklebank

There was a time in the 1950s when a young singer’s gyrating hips were deemed too suggestive for television audiences. Elvis Presley was filmed only from the waist up on the Ed Sullivan Show. Ten years later the same US TV host demanded the Rolling Stones change the lyrics of their song Let’s Spend the Night Together. If they were to perform it on his show they would have to sing instead about spending ‘some time’ together. In the 1970s the Sex Pistols swore on UK national television.

3 weeks ago | dailymail.co.uk | Jonathan Brocklebank

It is an act of vandalism so brazen that the culprits are clearly laughing at the law – or more accurately, the lack of it. Every few weeks, a gang of masked quad bikers runs amok in one of Edinburgh’s most cherished recreational spaces. They churn up the grass, spraying mud over people enjoying The Meadows. They roar past children, pensioners and dog walkers at speed, putting them in fear for their lives.