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You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2018/feb/02/related-william-conqueror-david-cameron-digested-week
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| Version 1 | Version 2 |
|---|---|
| So I'm related to William the Conqueror – and David Cameron | So I'm related to William the Conqueror – and David Cameron |
| (about 9 hours later) | |
| This week saw some shocking genealogical revelations, and the death of the world’s oldest man | This week saw some shocking genealogical revelations, and the death of the world’s oldest man |
| Contact author | Contact author |
| Fri 2 Feb 2018 14.21 GMT | Fri 2 Feb 2018 14.21 GMT |
| Last modified on Fri 2 Feb 2018 22.00 GMT | |
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| Monday | Monday |
| A friend who came to stay for the weekend brought with her exciting news. Ianthe is a genealogist in her spare time and had been working on my family tree. It turns out that William the Conqueror is my times 29 great-grandfather if you follow the direct marital line or my times 26 great-grandfather if you follow the bastard line of King John’s son Richard who had a mistress called Joan de Valletort. Even better, if you follow the line of my times 24 great-grandmother Matilda of Scotland, you can trace me back through Alfred the Great, my times 34 great-grandfather, to Cerdic of Wessex who was knocking around in AD534. There were also a couple of downsides. The first being that about 5 million people are descended from William the Conqueror so establishing myself as the true heir to the British throne could be tricky. By far the most disturbing fact to emerge, though, is that Margaret Croft, my times 11 great-grandmother was also David Cameron’s times 19 great-aunt. So I’m related to the country’s worst ever prime minister. | A friend who came to stay for the weekend brought with her exciting news. Ianthe is a genealogist in her spare time and had been working on my family tree. It turns out that William the Conqueror is my times 29 great-grandfather if you follow the direct marital line or my times 26 great-grandfather if you follow the bastard line of King John’s son Richard who had a mistress called Joan de Valletort. Even better, if you follow the line of my times 24 great-grandmother Matilda of Scotland, you can trace me back through Alfred the Great, my times 34 great-grandfather, to Cerdic of Wessex who was knocking around in AD534. There were also a couple of downsides. The first being that about 5 million people are descended from William the Conqueror so establishing myself as the true heir to the British throne could be tricky. By far the most disturbing fact to emerge, though, is that Margaret Croft, my times 11 great-grandmother was also David Cameron’s times 19 great-aunt. So I’m related to the country’s worst ever prime minister. |
| Tuesday | Tuesday |
| Some people are cashing in on their homes by renting them out to film and TV crews for up to £2,500 a day. Though one scene in an episode of The Bill was shot in a house not too far away from us, no one has yet come knocking on our door. There again, no house I see on television ever looks much like our house. They are either immaculately decorated and spotlessly clean or filthy smack dens with blood on the walls. I’ve never lived in the former and it’s been a while since I’ve hung out in the latter. Rather our house resembles the Augean stables. No matter how hard we try to make it look nice, it never really rises above the shabby. The walls have all been marked by bikes, we haven’t been able to hang our pictures straight, the cats have shredded the furniture, the carpets still look tatty even when they’ve been cleaned and the paint is peeling on the front door from where the dog repeatedly throws himself at it. You’d have thought that after six years he would have learned how the thing opens. So if any TV company wants to up its diversity quota by featuring a house that isn’t terrible but could be a lot nicer, you know where to come. | Some people are cashing in on their homes by renting them out to film and TV crews for up to £2,500 a day. Though one scene in an episode of The Bill was shot in a house not too far away from us, no one has yet come knocking on our door. There again, no house I see on television ever looks much like our house. They are either immaculately decorated and spotlessly clean or filthy smack dens with blood on the walls. I’ve never lived in the former and it’s been a while since I’ve hung out in the latter. Rather our house resembles the Augean stables. No matter how hard we try to make it look nice, it never really rises above the shabby. The walls have all been marked by bikes, we haven’t been able to hang our pictures straight, the cats have shredded the furniture, the carpets still look tatty even when they’ve been cleaned and the paint is peeling on the front door from where the dog repeatedly throws himself at it. You’d have thought that after six years he would have learned how the thing opens. So if any TV company wants to up its diversity quota by featuring a house that isn’t terrible but could be a lot nicer, you know where to come. |
| Wednesday | Wednesday |
| There’s also money to be had as film extras. Even if you are a criminal. At an event in parliament organised by Global Witness, James Watkins and Hoss Amini, the creators of the BBC Sunday night drama McMafia, told the audience that several real-life money launderers could be seen loitering in the background of some shots. Never let it be said that the Beeb doesn’t go the extra mile in making its dramas realistic. BT Sport seems to have done much the same thing by including me and my friend Matthew in a crowd scene from the Spurs v Manchester United game at Wembley. On our way home, another friend sent a screenshot with the question: “Why are you two the only people who look thoroughly miserable?” It’s all about authenticity. A true Spurs fan knows there is nothing to celebrate when you are 2-0 up with 10 minutes to play. The only time to risk enjoyment is when there is technically not enough time left in the game for Tottenham not to win. | There’s also money to be had as film extras. Even if you are a criminal. At an event in parliament organised by Global Witness, James Watkins and Hoss Amini, the creators of the BBC Sunday night drama McMafia, told the audience that several real-life money launderers could be seen loitering in the background of some shots. Never let it be said that the Beeb doesn’t go the extra mile in making its dramas realistic. BT Sport seems to have done much the same thing by including me and my friend Matthew in a crowd scene from the Spurs v Manchester United game at Wembley. On our way home, another friend sent a screenshot with the question: “Why are you two the only people who look thoroughly miserable?” It’s all about authenticity. A true Spurs fan knows there is nothing to celebrate when you are 2-0 up with 10 minutes to play. The only time to risk enjoyment is when there is technically not enough time left in the game for Tottenham not to win. |
| Thursday | Thursday |
| As a lifelong hypochondriac, I take a keen interest in longevity. So it was with some sadness I learned that the world’s oldest man, Francisco Nunez Olivera from Spain, had died at the age of 113. At that rate, I’ve only got a little over 50 years left. Olivera claimed that the key to his long life was having a slice of cake and a glass of milk for breakfast, followed by a glass of red wine and fresh vegetables later in the day. But that kind of logic – though attractively deductive – is inherently flawed. Because it’s equally possible the cake he was eating in the morning and the wine he was knocking back were doing him absolutely no favours at all and that if he had only been prepared to settle for a bowl of porridge and some water he might have gone on living for another 10 years. These are the kinds of things that keep me awake at night. And almost certainly lower my own life expectancy. | As a lifelong hypochondriac, I take a keen interest in longevity. So it was with some sadness I learned that the world’s oldest man, Francisco Nunez Olivera from Spain, had died at the age of 113. At that rate, I’ve only got a little over 50 years left. Olivera claimed that the key to his long life was having a slice of cake and a glass of milk for breakfast, followed by a glass of red wine and fresh vegetables later in the day. But that kind of logic – though attractively deductive – is inherently flawed. Because it’s equally possible the cake he was eating in the morning and the wine he was knocking back were doing him absolutely no favours at all and that if he had only been prepared to settle for a bowl of porridge and some water he might have gone on living for another 10 years. These are the kinds of things that keep me awake at night. And almost certainly lower my own life expectancy. |
| Friday | Friday |
| Damien Hirst has written that his greatest career move was to break in to the home of a neighbour in the early 1980s. Not as a burglary, but out of concern because he hadn’t seen the old man for a while. There he found piles of junk and had the idea of doing collage. My own best career move was rather more mundane. It was to be called Crace. Having wasted my entire 20s, I belatedly decided I needed to get a proper job. Easier said than done when you have a CV with a large number of gaps in it. So I decided to be a freelance writer. I quickly wrote something and sent it in to the Independent on Sunday on spec. To my astonishment, I got a call back from the editor saying she would be delighted to publish it and offering me £400. During the course of the conversation it became clear that she had actually thought I was the rather better known novelist Jim Crace. She took the disappointment with good grace and didn’t retract the offer. Though for my next piece she only paid me £200. | Damien Hirst has written that his greatest career move was to break in to the home of a neighbour in the early 1980s. Not as a burglary, but out of concern because he hadn’t seen the old man for a while. There he found piles of junk and had the idea of doing collage. My own best career move was rather more mundane. It was to be called Crace. Having wasted my entire 20s, I belatedly decided I needed to get a proper job. Easier said than done when you have a CV with a large number of gaps in it. So I decided to be a freelance writer. I quickly wrote something and sent it in to the Independent on Sunday on spec. To my astonishment, I got a call back from the editor saying she would be delighted to publish it and offering me £400. During the course of the conversation it became clear that she had actually thought I was the rather better known novelist Jim Crace. She took the disappointment with good grace and didn’t retract the offer. Though for my next piece she only paid me £200. |
| Pictures of the week | Pictures of the week |
| Digested week, digested: Auntie May | Digested week, digested: Auntie May |
| Genealogy | Genealogy |
| Digested week | Digested week |
| David Cameron | David Cameron |
| Family | Family |
| Damien Hirst | Damien Hirst |
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