Charlie Kirk's killing and the reaction to it offer a bleak lesson on division

Charlie Kirk is dead. You don't have to agree with him to show him respect. You don't even have to like him. But he was someone who travelled across the United States, standing on stages and inviting people to challenge him, to debate him, to ask him anything. Yes, he was a Republican. Yes, he was a friend of Donald Trump and an important voice in the MAGA movement. But he was also a son, a Christian, a father. And he didn't deserve to lose his life because of his politics.

This is where we are now: the extreme left and the extreme right so consumed with rage that violence feels like an acceptable answer. It isn't. Deep political divisions and victims on both sides of the political spectrum are growing.

Earlier this month, after I interviewed Nigel Farage on our new Daily Expresso show, I had friends on the left telling me I shouldn't be laughing with him, I shouldn't be seen in a photo with him. Is that really where we are? Are we so divided that simply listening to someone you disagree with is seen as betrayal?

Here's the truth: I am not left, I am not right. I see things I agree with and things I disagree with on both sides. There isn't a single politician or party I could ever fully support. And if you're sitting there right now thinking: "Well, I completely agree with my side" - then I'm sorry, but you're either lying to yourself or you've abandoned any attempt at independent thought.

My favourite politician of all time is Tony Blair, but I don't believe every decision he made was good. I've never voted Tory in my life but I respect the Statesmanship of David Cameron. Even now, as a Labour member I'm appalled at our PM, Starmer, and openly criticise him. Why? Because I'm open to all sides and led by common sense.

We've become too tribal today, obsessed with labels, addicted to outrage. And if we can't learn to listen - really listen - to people we don't agree with, then we're not just losing politics. We're losing the possibility of a society that can talk to itself.

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Paul Burrell is at it again. The former butler has popped up with yet another book, The Royal Insider, claiming he's setting the record straight and taking aim at Prince Harry. He's branded the Duke of Sussex "petulant" and declared Harry's truth "may not be the complete truth". Forgive me, but why on earth are we still listening to this clown?

Burrell hasn't been relevant to the Royal Family for 28 years. He left their service in 1997, in the aftermath of Princess Diana's death. William was 15. Harry was 12. Since then, neither prince has sought his advice, his friendship, or his approval. Yet somehow Burrell continues to make a living pretending he is the keeper of their secrets.

Let's be blunt: Paul Burrell is not a royal insider. He is a former butler who has built an entire career on dining out on Diana's memory. His bookshelves groan with "revelations" he's already sold once, twice, sometimes three times over. He's done the chat shows. He's done reality TV. He's milked the title of "Diana's rock" until the phrase has lost all meaning. What he hasn't done is let the woman rest in peace.

And now, spotting an opportunity in the polarising figure of Prince Harry, Burrell is back in the headlines. He knows Harry divides opinion. He knows criticising him will get coverage. So he's hitched his wagon to the Sussex soap opera, as if he has any first-hand knowledge of the man's life beyond a few foggy memories of him as a 12-year-old boy.

But here's the truth Burrell won't admit: he has no new insight. None. He hasn't worked for the royals since Tony Blair was Prime Minister and Oasis were still topping the charts. His "inside track" is older than most of the memes flying around TikTok.

Paul Burrell is not protecting Diana's legacy. He is exploiting it. He's not offering truth. He's selling stories. And he's certainly not an authority on Prince Harry's character in 2025.

It's time we called him what he is: a grifter. And it's time the rest of us stopped giving him the platform he so desperately craves.

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Thomas Skinner is making headlines again, this time not for flogging mattresses at dawn but for storming out of the Strictly Come Dancing press interviews.

Yes, you read that right - the cheeky chappy from The Apprentice who reinvented himself as a Twitter personality and market-stall folk hero has thrown his toys out of the pram before a single paso doble has been danced.

For those who don't know him, Skinner first popped up on our screens in 2019 on Lord Sugar's boardroom battlefield. He didn't win, but his "bosh!" catchphrase and larger-than-life persona earned him a cult following.

Since then he's become something of a social media star, sharing endless videos of fry-ups, banter, and bargain bedding. He's loveable in small doses - a bloke you'd happily share a pint with down the local.

But does that qualify him for Strictly? That's where the BBC has come under fire. Strictly used to be the preserve of genuine household names, the kind of stars you'd never expect to see on a Saturday night dancefloor.

These days, the line-up increasingly resembles a jumble sale of reality TV alumni and viral personalities. Skinner fits the latter category perfectly: famous for being famous, not exactly a national treasure.

So when reports emerged that he'd stomped away from press duties, refusing to play ball with journalists, it only underlined the criticism. Strictly is supposed to be about glitter, joy and good fun - not sulks and strops before the first rehearsal footage has even aired.

Skinner may have built a brand out of shouting "bosh!" into his phone, but on Strictly, you need more than a catchphrase. If he keeps storming off, the only thing getting bosh'd will be his chances of lasting past week two.

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Jeremy Clarkson has never been shy of a headline - usually for his mouth rather than his waistline. But at last week's National Television Awards, the former Top Gear presenter unveiled a noticeably slimmer figure, the result of a health scare that forced him to take stock of his lifestyle. And frankly, good for him.

Clarkson has admitted to turning to modern medicine to help him on his journey, first with Ozempic and now with Mounjaro, the new wonder drug that's changing waistlines across the world. But that's not the whole story.

He's also swapped cigarettes for Pilates mats, cut back on the booze, and started to put his health before his appetite. For a man in his sixties who once made a career out of mocking kale and cardio, that's a genuine transformation.

Of course, there will be the cynics who sneer at medical shortcuts or roll their eyes at celebrity lifestyle shifts. But Clarkson's efforts aren't about vanity - they're about longevity. He wants to be around longer for his partner, for his children, and for the simple pleasures of life. And that, no matter how you feel about Clarkson, is worth applauding.