“Caroline Phillips is a tenacious and skilful writer with a flair for high quality interviewing and a knack for making things work.”
Ronald Phillips, my dad, RIP
My obituary of my father in The Times
World-exclusive article, made front pages and sparked controversy globally, and shortlisted for “Scoop of the Year” in the 1997 British Press Awards.
Professor Phillip Bennett faces a dilemma. His patient, 16 weeks pregnant, is carrying healthy twins and cannot abide the prospect of having two children. She says she couldn’t cope.
She has told Mr Bennett, professor of obstetrics and gynaecology at London’s Queen Charlotte’s Hospital, that if she were carrying just one baby, she would continue her pregnancy.
Finalist in the Catherine Pakenham Award. Illustrious previous winners and runners-up have included Tina Brown, Polly Toynbee and Sally Beauman.
In a Regency house just off the Mall, a man wearing an MCC tie sits behind an enormous mahogony desk. On the other side of the desk is a navy-suited strawberry blonde. Suffice to say her name is Camilla.
The man questions her about her hobbies, and Camilla answers easily enough. Then he suddenly slips in a question about Middle Eastern politics. His manner remains relaxed but emotionless, but Camilla is unnerved, sensing a menacing undercurrent.
Finalist, Cosmopolitan New Journalists Competition
Finalist, Cosmopolitan New Journalists Competition
Every week ‘The Week’ selects the best features from the world’s press. Here are some of Caroline’s that they’ve chosen.
For a country the size of England, Nicaragua has more than its fair share of volcanoes, says Caroline Phillips in The Independent.
It has been attracting attention from the rich and famous lately, but the lush and beautiful Greek island of Meganisi is still “firmly off the tourist radar”, says Caroline Phillips in The Times. Part of the Ionian archipelago, just off the country’s west coast, it feels lost in time, with patchy mobile reception and a population of just 1200, none of whom locks their house or car.
Richard Ingrams, former editor of Private Eye, looks away as he shakes my hand. He’s imposingly tall and wearing his habitual cords, a jumper full of holes and undone laces.
The chairman, a rubicund man with a gale-force voice and peeling nose, shakes my hand and runs off. A minute later he sprints past again. “It’s to do with tourism”, he’s bellowing to the minion scuttling behind him. He’s Sir Jocelyn Stevens, chairman of English Heritage, reputedly a monster and one whose nicknames are Piranha Teeth and Terminator 3.
Sunday 14 December. It’s a perfect afternoon: sun, sand, surfers. I’m in Sydney visiting my two Londoner daughters who are here living the Australian dream. My 28-year-old, Ella, is at the beach with friends; her elder sister Anya, 30, is out with her boyfriend. So I go for a swim alone at the iconic oceanside pool, Icebergs. Afterwards I stroll along Bondi Beach photographing women celebrating Christmas around their tiny tree. Nearby, I hear firecrackers.
For ten days, from 16 to 26 July 2026, representatives from around the world have come together
not simply to conduct meetings, but to enter a shared space of listening. They have travelled from
different cultures, languages and experiences to one of the quieter corners of Indonesia, where rivers
wind through ancient forests and the pace of life invites a different rhythm from the one most of us
know.
Christchurch is still being rebuilt after the 2010 and 2011 earthquakes – the vast new stadium that now dominates the skyline only opened this year – but far from feeling like a city in recovery, it pulses with a vibrancy that belies its population of under half a million. Compact enough to explore on foot (a rarity worth celebrating), it packs in serious culture, the wild green expanse of Canterbury on its doorstep, and other must-see landscapes within an hour or two’s drive. Think of it as New Zealand’s great urban surprise.
Ronald Phillips never planned on dying, claiming he would live for ever. Even an Evening Standard cartoonist’s illustration of Ron (his preferred name) fishing an…
Sunday 14 December. It’s a perfect afternoon: sun, sand, surfers. I’m in Sydney visiting my two Londoner daughters who are here living the Australian dream. My 28-year-old, Ella, is at the beach with friends; her elder sister Anya, 30, is out with her boyfriend. So I go for a swim alone at…
My life is currently as challenging as a long-haul budget flight full of stag-party revellers, hope mislaid like lost luggage. The reason? My marriage is…