He goes on about being Jewish. He has Jewish heritage but has admitted that he has never been in a synagogue in his life so I don't know why he's so hung up on being Jewish. My late father was Jewish. Judaism passes down the maternal line so I'm not Jewish but I am proud of and very interested in my Jewish heritage. However, my Father was a Cohen so was a member of the Hereditary Priestly Caste so we're Jewish aristocracy compared with poor bitter GC.
Giles Coren - offensive, diminutive, entitled
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I think it's about him wanting to find some way to be oppressed in order to deny his privilege.
This article also suggests that Giles is “pointlessly provocative”. What a weird, nasty thing to accuse someone who’s just come out of a coma and is expressing their gratitude to the NHS of pandering to an audience of snowflakes. It seems like Giles belies only people like him who can pay for it privately deserve excellent healthcare.
www.google.co.uk
Giles Coren and Richard Bacon become locked in a row over the NHS
Former Blue Peter presenter Richard Bacon and long-time friend and food critic Giles Coren became embroiled in a heated Instagram row over the NHS.
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It's all very Toby Young. What a colossal hole.
This is interesting. Does he just sit at home playing sock puppets all day?
I don’t know much about Toby Young, other than I liked his book “How to Lose Friends and Alienate People” about his time working at Vanity Fair. I actually quite liked his restaurant reviews in the Evening Standard Magazine.
He set up some free schools in West London to give poor children the chance to do Latin. I know he got cancelled over some inappropriate Tweets. Weren’t TY’s tweets sexist rather than malicious like GC’s though?
He set up some free schools in West London to give poor children the chance to do Latin. I know he got cancelled over some inappropriate Tweets. Weren’t TY’s tweets sexist rather than malicious like GC’s though?
Yup, as a very different kind of Jew I often finding myself questioning hierarchies of oppression when reading this sort of guff from the likes of Coren or Baddiel. They are despicable boring little men.
If you noticed anything about him, he loves to feign victim. So I think as Jewish people were/are persecuted for many centuries. He loves to latch onto it so whenever he gets an ounce of criticism he can scream anti semitism. He even made a fake account to call himself anti Semitic slurs.
Strange man.
I noticed this account the day or day after Coren did his Dawn Foster tweets, before it was deleted. It was a proper trolling account, taking the piss out of people's appearance and being just completely vile 24/7. Amazing it had so many followers. This tweet kind of gave it away as being Coren -
This is interesting. Does he just sit at home playing sock puppets all day?This is interesting. Does he just sit at home playing sock puppets all day?
I wonder if he is watching this thread.Giley! He is exactly the sort of narcissist that would have Google alerts set up for their name. Not even his multiple sock puppets can save from Tattle though!
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I wonder if he is watching this thread.
Giley! He is exactly the sort of narcissist that would have Google alerts set up for their name. Not even his multiple sock puppets can save from Tattle though!Ash Sarkat is the journalist Julie Burchill had to pay “substantial damages” to for libelling. I wouldn’t call her “a massive witch” if I was Giles.
Julie Burchill agrees to pay Ash Sarkar 'substantial damages' in libel case
Columnist apologises to journalist, acknowledging social media posts included ‘racist and misogynist’ comments
Is that the same article for SpaceNK that Sali Hughes criticised? It is pretty idiotic, the idea that you can either be a clever scientist or someone who wears make up. Even if it is satire it doesn’t really land. Also it doesn’t seem like Sali Hughes was trolling Esther by criticising the article as Giles suggested in his ranty video.Just read the article that Esther wrote "to" her 7 year old daughter re' make up, GIANT.
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Eh, Ash Sarkar is a knob and has often massively embarrassed herself with her lack of understanding certain topics and making huge assumptions, but she was right in the Julie Burchill case.
And just like Julie Burchill is often an inflammatory, racist, horrible person and yet she’s the only person rightfully calling out India Knight and Eric Joyce for their silence and continued Twitter presence, despite Eric’s vile crime.
And Owen Jones is a loathesome, weasle-like misogynist but he’s totally right about Giles Coren.
All of these people can be both terrible people and be right on occasion. The only person who has yet to be right about anything is… Giles Coren.
And just like Julie Burchill is often an inflammatory, racist, horrible person and yet she’s the only person rightfully calling out India Knight and Eric Joyce for their silence and continued Twitter presence, despite Eric’s vile crime.
And Owen Jones is a loathesome, weasle-like misogynist but he’s totally right about Giles Coren.
All of these people can be both terrible people and be right on occasion. The only person who has yet to be right about anything is… Giles Coren.
I thought Sali gave out to Esther writing about not being able to survive without the Hungarian nanny or something.
I’ve just looked up Tony Young’s tweets that got him sacked from his role in the government (probably fair enough) and cancelled.
Yes, they are sexist, but they’re immature and puerile. Giles’s tweets about the late Dawn Butler, to Michael White etc. are vicious and vindictive.
Have I missed the AA Gill drama? I’ve only scanned these excerpts but it seems Giles is suggesting AA Gill is also a pweirdo...I thought they were friends and sometimes reviewed together?My friend who is Jewish also says she finds some of the stuff Giles says about Judaism really self-hating and disturbing, especially when you think he also created the anti-Semitic sock puppet to abuse himself with. I mean I know it’s hyperbole but …
Man & Boy: Giles Coren On 'The Foreskin Dilemma'
The Esquire columnist on making an important early life decision for his sonwww.esquire.com
The Eighties boarding school anti-Semites may have got to me but that shouldn't give them a victory over my unborn son. Indeed, should he pass 6ft 6ins and 16 stone (as he rather promises to do), I'd quite like him to go and seek the motherfuckers out and butt-rape them to death with his giant, circumcised Jewish schlong.
No, I'm not Jewish by practice. But if my son chooses to be in later life, then he'll need the right cock to gain entry. (Although who has ever chosen to be a Jew?)
For all my private education and class airs and graces, I am the descendant and modern manifestation of a long line of grubby urban Jews, flung from ghetto to ghetto across Europe and finally, in the last years of the 19th century, into the East End of this great capital, where I have remained ever since, give or take a mile or two. Because this is where I feel safe, welcome and relevant.
…
For all my having done OK in town, having a house and a car and a job and a bit of telly exposure and not being a virgin anymore, I labour under the deepest, deepest shame that I am not the 14th Earl of Somewhereshire.
…
The cunts. Why can't I have that? Because I come from the ghetto is why. Whereas 90 per cent of you lot don't. You come from here. And if you come from here then at some point you came from there. You weren't necessarily posh. Your people might have been emaciated tenant farmers, traditionally raped on the eve of their marriage (lucky boys) by the evil squire and doomed to die of rickets in their thirties. But at least there is a green place somewhere that you can claim. And you can feel deep down a right of eventual return.
Not me. I'm an urban grunt from some Middle Eastern cesspit by way of Hungary, Russia, Poland and the gas. No wonder you don't invite me to your houses for the weekend to eat kedgeree for breakfast and sleep by the fire under a giant dog and have a go on your gun. You know I'd shoot your bleeping face off.
So, when I decided it was time to stop feeling sorry for myself and buy a place of my own, and start something now, for my descendants to be wankerish about in 1,000 years, I had to pick an area at random. The North is easy to get to from my place because I'm five minutes from the start of the A1. But the North is a bleeping pisshole. Sussex is nice but you have to go either round the M25 or through Croydon to get there. And it's full of City commuters. We country types abhor commuters.
I decided on the Cotswolds. I was at university in Oxfordshire, so I know the way, and as long as the North Circular is clear I can do the journey in 90 minutes, wearing a stocking mask and carrying my wife's driving licence. Best of all, AA Gill famously hates the Cotswolds. So I knew Uncle Dysfunctional wouldn't be coming round to tap up my daughter on her wedding night. We started buying Country Life for the property section, but all the places I liked the look of were ten million quid, and the "girls in pearls" were very rarely worth a wank, so we scratched that and hired a property finder called Frank whom we met over lunch in Chelsea for an initial briefing.
On the way I told my wife that we should be prepared to consider anything, from a big Georgian rectory to a Victorian folly. Or possibly a handsome Queen Anne pile, but with no more than 16 chimneys, and only if it was in good nick. We'd want some parkland, ideally a lake…
"In the area you're looking at," Frank said genially, "and with the budget you've given me, and your desire to not be anywhere near a village because 'it will probably be full of dreary old racist shits with silly accents', what you're looking at is a barn conversion."
"Sorry. What?"
"A barn conversion."
"You mean a building originally intended for chickens?"
"Well, not usually chickens."
"Usually what?"
"Usually grain, hay, straw. Sometimes cattle. Occasionally pigs."
"Well, I didn't drag myself out of the ashes of the Holocaust to go and live in a cunting pig sty," I said. "I want something beautiful. I want history. I want character. I want mullioned windows, stone floors, oak panels. I want a priest hole. I want a bloody ha-ha. I don't want a bleeping cattle shed."
"You might get lucky," said Frank. "Other things do come up. I'll keep you posted."
That was back in May last year and as the country house market wound up to full steam over the summer, Frank took us to see quite a few pretty, old houses with well-kept lawns and mature herbaceous borders, just like I wanted. But they always had some small downside or another. Like the noise of the eight-lane motorway that separated the house from the garden, or the vibrations from the express line into Paddington going through the kitchen. Or the smell of the sewage treatment facility next door. Or being in the middle of Milton Keynes.
And then he told us to meet him at a recently converted ox barn in the middle of the middle of nowhere. It took an hour to find from Stow-on-the-Wold despite being no more than six or seven miles away (Stow-on-the-bleeping-Wold! Turns out it's an actual place!) and sat at the end of a long, tree-lined drive through its own six acres of paddocks and stables. It was on top of a hill, protected on two sides by mixed woodland, and from the front opened out onto a view that seemed to stretch forever across a vast patchwork of fields down into a wooded valley, then up the other side and on forever until it hit the pale blue, cloudless sky.
The only drawback was the house itself.
"It's a bleeping Barratt home!" I said.
"It is indeed a recent conversion," said Frank. "It's two late 18th-century cattle barns, one of which was taken down and replaced brick by brick, joined with modern additions and completed in 2002."
"2002," I repeated. "Wow. From those walls, 670 weeks of history gaze down upon us. It's awe-inspiring."
"But at least the heating will work," said my wife. "And the windows will close and there will be hot water and level floors and proper plumbing and the roof won't leak and…"
"But I don't want those things," I said. "It's all very well for you, you're Welsh. Your mother grew up on a hill farm with a dirt floor and sheep for in-laws. Your family has had wonky windows and leaky roofs and draughty corridors and water from a well and kettles boiled on an open fire and all that marvellous old tit. But the Corens have never had that. The Corens had mansion flats. If people come here and it's all warm and comfy and modern and convenient then they'll… they'll… they'll KNOW!"
"Know what?" said Frank.
"That he's a Jew," said my wife.
And she was dead right.
Yes, I meant its all very posh privileged edgelord stuff. As far as I know Toby has never tweeted anti semitism, been exposed for having twitter sock puppets or laughed about women dying. It was more the puerile nature of it all.
I think that is a joke.
Amateur psychology guesswork: Maybe he mentions horrible sexual abuse so much and has such a chip on his shoulder because that’s what happened to him at school?
From an esquire article about picking a school for his son:
“I was sent to a fully uniformed, all-male, old-fashioned, results-driven private school at the age of six and was left there until, well, basically yesterday. I wore shorts and a pink blazer and cap and was mugged by local youth every morning of my life. And in the afternoons I was molested by a teacher. Not badly (although these days, they tell me, "rape is rape") but I was spanked and frotted and tickled, rewarded with chocolates by one teacher for staying in shorts throughout the winter term, punished by another — many times — by having my head buried in his (trousered) crotch until I couldn't breathe.”
You know - he is an angry man, and he directs his vitriol in a fairly scattergun way but maybe we should feel a bit sorry for him.
From an esquire article about picking a school for his son:
“I was sent to a fully uniformed, all-male, old-fashioned, results-driven private school at the age of six and was left there until, well, basically yesterday. I wore shorts and a pink blazer and cap and was mugged by local youth every morning of my life. And in the afternoons I was molested by a teacher. Not badly (although these days, they tell me, "rape is rape") but I was spanked and frotted and tickled, rewarded with chocolates by one teacher for staying in shorts throughout the winter term, punished by another — many times — by having my head buried in his (trousered) crotch until I couldn't breathe.”
You know - he is an angry man, and he directs his vitriol in a fairly scattergun way but maybe we should feel a bit sorry for him.
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