Latest news with #JuliusCaesar
Mint
3 days ago
- Business
- Mint
Why does the British tax year end on April 5th?
For Britons the end of the tax year looms on April 5th. Why such a seemingly random date? In the Middle Ages England's tax year—or a nascent version of it—ended on Lady Day, March 25th, a religious festival by when debts had to be settled. The country, like most of Europe, used the Julian calendar. But Julius Caesar's system was flawed, and in 1582 continental Europe, on Pope Gregory XIII's orders, shifted to a more accurate model. Protestant England resisted. By the mid-18th century England was 11 days behind the continent, creating scope for confusion in trade and diplomacy. To catch up it made a one-off excision of a week and a half from September 1752. People would go to sleep on September 2nd and wake up on the 14th. At the time, tax was charged not on income but on land and windows. These were annual payments, so to keep the tax period at 365 days people were given 11 extra days to settle their bill. Then, in 1758, the window-tax year was explicitly extended by 11 days, to April 5th. This was the date used when William Pitt the Younger introduced income tax in 1799, and has marked the close of the tax year ever since. Some may see this as an example of Britain's loveable eccentricity, others as a symbol of the arcane nature of the British tax code itself. The April date puts Britain at odds with countries such as America, France and Germany, all of which harmonise with the calendar year. Indeed, it does not coincide with the British government's own financial year, which begins (don't ask why) on April 1st. The Chartered Institute of Taxation, a body for tax professionals, says getting in sync with other countries would increase efficiency and reduce friction. Despite its name, the Office of Tax Simplification (OTS), an independent body within the Treasury, pointed in a 2021 report to the administrative effort that would be involved in changing the date, though it conceded that 'a tax year aligned to the calendar year would be the natural, simplest and easiest approach". Don't hold your breath: the OTS was abolished in 2023. Correction (March 31st 2025): The original version of this article mistakenly attributed the Gregorian calendar to Pope Gregory III, not XIII. Sorry. For more expert analysis of the biggest stories in Britain, sign up to Blighty, our weekly subscriber-only newsletter.
Straits Times
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Straits Times
My Perfect Weekend with SRT's artistic director Gaurav Kripalani
Gaurav Kripalani is the artistic director of the Singapore Repertory Theatre. PHOTO: COURTESY OF GAURAV KRIPALANI Who: Gaurav Kripalani, 53, is the artistic director of the Singapore Repertory Theatre (SRT). Over his 23 years with the company, he has produced more than 100 plays. The company is now staging Macbeth as part of its Shakespeare In The Park series. Running at Fort Canning Park till June 1, the outdoor production reimagines the Bard's classic tale of ambition, betrayal and the devastating cost of power. Previous runs of SRT's Shakespeare In The Park include Julius Caesar and A Midsummer Night's Dream. 'My perfect weekend would entail watching a good play, enjoying a plate of my favourite chicken rice, spending time with friends and family, and catching up on sleep. Every May, my friends and family organise a picnic for me in the park for my birthday weekend, as my birthday falls on May 8. In true Singaporean fashion, what is on the menu is a major part of the planning. There is usually an impressive spread and, over time, the whole thing has grown into something of a production. Each year, they choose a theme and go all out with decorations and props. It is equal parts over-the-top and incredibly thoughtful. Being able to lie on a picnic mat under the stars with those near and dear to you, enjoying a drink and a sumptuous meal, is a kind of magic you do not find often. For me, food, laughter and being surrounded by people who matter most – that is what makes a weekend perfect. And the cherry on top? Being able to sleep in late the next morning. When I do eventually surface, Sunday tends to be fairly relaxed and s tarts with coffee. I love the aroma as much as the taste – there is something comforting and almost ritualistic about it. I am quite addicted, to be honest. Gaurav Kripalani celebrating his 53rd birthday at a picnic. PHOTO: COURTESY OF GAURAV KRIPALANI I am also a bit of a news junkie, so I usually spend a couple of hours reading a mix of newspapers – local and international. It is my version of a slow Sunday. In the evening, I will often head out to catch a play and a meal with friends. Then it is back home, just in time to catch an Arsenal match or a Formula One race – sometimes both, if I am lucky. I feel very blessed to have a wonderful family and a few special friends who always go out of their way to make my birthday weekends memorable. They are the heart of it all – and the reason these weekends mean so much. ' Join ST's Telegram channel and get the latest breaking news delivered to you.
Boston Globe
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Boston Globe
Presley Chweneyagae, acclaimed actor of ‘Tsotsi,' dies at 40
Mr. Chweneyagae appeared in stagings of works by Shakespeare, playing the title character of 'Hamlet,' Mark Antony in 'Julius Caesar,' and Bottom and Puck in 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.' For 'Tsotsi' - his first feature film, released the year he turned 21 - Mr. Chweneyagae immersed himself in a more contemporary drama, one set close to home, in the Johannesburg township of Soweto. He played a gang leader hardened beyond his years by the loss of his mother to AIDS, the abuse visited upon him by his alcoholic father, and the hardship of life in a shantytown and on the streets. He is known, simply, as 'Tsotsi,' or hoodlum. Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up The film, directed by Gavin Hood and based on a 1980 novel by the venerated South African playwright Athol Fugard, was unsparing in its depiction of violence. Advertisement 'The character Tsotsi, played by the charismatic newcomer Presley Chweneyagae, seems to have consumed his share of big-screen shoot-'em-ups,' wrote New York Times film critic Manohla Dargis, calling him 'as compact as Al Pacino's Tony Montana and just as lethal.' Advertisement In a critical moment of the film, Mr. Chweneyagae's character prowls a wealthy neighborhood, shoots a young woman, drives off with her luxury car and soon discovers that her baby is in the back seat. He takes the infant home to his shack and attempts to care for him, fashioning newspapers into diapers. Tsotsi struggles to deviate from the violence that has reigned over his life. When the baby grows hungry, he orders another mother at gunpoint to breastfeed the child. But the boy gradually kindles in Tsotsi a tenderness that he seems not to have known he had. 'How strange, a movie where a bad man becomes better, instead of the other way around,' film critic Roger Ebert wrote of 'Tsotsi.' Praising the film for not sentimentalizing poverty, Ebert described the story as one of 'deep emotional power' about a 'young killer … who is transformed by the helplessness of a baby' and 'powerless before eyes more demanding than his own.' 'It's a story about hope, it's a story about forgiveness, and it also deals with the issues that we are facing as South Africans: AIDS, poverty, and crime,' Mr. Chweneyagae told Agence France-Presse shortly before 'Tsotsi' received the Oscar for best foreign film in 2006. 'But at the same time,' he added, 'it could take place anywhere in the world.' Mr. Chweneyagae was born in Mafikeng, in South Africa's North West province, on Oct. 19, 1984. He acted in church plays and community theater before beginning drama lessons at 10. His film credits after 'Tsotsi' include his performance as a prisoner in 'Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom' (2013), a biopic about Nelson Mandela. Advertisement Mr. Chweneyagae attracted a devoted following in South Africa for his performance in 'The River,' a TV series that ran from 2018 to 2024, about two families, one rich and one poor, connected by South Africa's diamond mining industry. His character, Cobra, inspired a spin-off, 'Cobrizi.' With Mpumelelo Paul Grootboom, he wrote a play, 'Relativity,' about a serial killer in a South African township and the lives of the many people around him. Mr. Chweneyagae was married and had several children, but a complete list of survivors was not immediately available. For his performance in 'Tsotsi,' Mr. Chweneyagae drew on his traumatic experience being mugged shortly before he agreed to take on the film role. 'When you are a victim of crime, you do tend to think, 'If I ever come face to face with that person, I'll kill them or do something to get back at them,'' he told the Lexington (Kentucky) Herald-Leader. But after working on 'Tsotsi,' he added, 'I can see that people do not choose where they come from. They do not choose their financial background or their social background. It's just circumstances that force them to be what they are.'
Telegraph
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
Conn Iggulden: ‘All problems feel better if you sleep on them'
Conn Iggulden is one of the country's most successful authors of historical fiction. In 2007, he became the first person to top the UK fiction and non-fiction charts simultaneously with Wolf of the Plains and The Dangerous Book for Boys. Following years of rejection from publishing houses, he was set to quit writing at 28, but decided to send his first Julius Caesar-based novel to just one agent before throwing in the towel. Then, a bidding war ensued, allowing him to resign from his teaching job and write full-time. He has now published more than 30 books – his latest, Tyrant (Michael Joseph, £17.99), is the second of his Nero trilogy. He lives in Hertfordshire with his wife Ella and their four children. Best childhood memory? I have a very unusual background – my mother was a former nun for 20 years until the age of 34. She had a strong urge to have children and felt her time was running out, then had to leave Ireland because of the shame of breaking her vows. My paternal grandfather was born in 1850; he was 73 when my dad was born. It's absolutely crackers that I have photos of him with mutton-chop Victorian whiskers. My dad was an RAF bomber pilot during World War Two. Our family background meant history wasn't something found in books – I could just ask Dad because he'd lived through it, or Grandad had. History was more personal and relevant because of all the major world-changing events he could tell me about, and his tales got darker and more detailed as I got older. He was also one of the most relaxed men I've ever known because he'd expected to die as a young man, so everything else was a bonus. That made a big impression on me. I have two older brothers – David and John – from Dad's first marriage. David travelled the world with the Merchant Navy, and I remember one time he bizarrely brought me back a Chairman Mao cap with a red star on it. Best lesson you've learned? Go to sleep. When life is completely overwhelming, if you go to sleep, the next morning your problems may still be exactly the same, but you'll be better able to deal with them. My mother also taught me the importance of little moments of kindness, especially in marriage. Best role model? There was a lovely old married man called Walter who lived up our street in London. Sadly, he's long dead now, but I still think of him. Walter taught me how to play chess. He had a lot of time for me; he was like a surrogate grandfather. He was quite eccentric, walking everywhere barefoot. Mum was a little concerned at first, but she vetted him. We used to set up mock war games with wooden blocks on his lounge floor. It makes me sad that this sort of friendship would be really discouraged nowadays because of people's fears. I have four children of my own, so I get it, but I learned a lot from him. Best conditions for writing? I used to sit at my desk for eight hours a day, smoking as I went, to help me concentrate. When I quit, I thought I'd lost my knack because I could only manage about 100 words before I had to get up and wander around my attic room. But I got back to the flow eventually. I developed lower-back problems, so I got a standing desk. I used to write during funny hours, too, from midnight to 4am and then noon to 4pm. The main thing that stopped that was Amazon – they were constantly ringing my doorbell in the morning, when everyone else was out. This was before the advent of Ring doorbells. The only thing that has stayed the same is I need silence. I tried music, but my brain couldn't handle two things at once and it was irritating. Best part of your job? I love telling stories that I'm excited about because I know others will enjoy them too. When my publishers let me out on the road, and I meet my readers and get to see their instant response to my stories, that's just lovely. It's an absolute joy bringing history to life. Best advice you've ever been given? Be in the delivery room with your wife. I had an oddly old-fashioned idea (a little understandable given my very elderly parents and grandparents) that I'd be handing out cigars to strangers in the hospital car park. At the time I was head of English at a secondary school and a fellow teacher in the staffroom told me, 'Conn, speaking as a mother, you might be the only one in the delivery room who actually cares about your wife, so I would be in there if I was you.' This turned out to be very sound advice because the delivery went horribly wrong and it turned into an emergency caesarean. Our three other children were planned c-sections as a result. I jokingly said we should get a zip put in. Best career moment? I felt like I was on top of the world when The Dangerous Book for Boys (non-fiction) and Wolf of the Plains (fiction) were number-one in the charts at the same time. I'd fantasised about being a successful writer since I was a kid, so it mattered a great deal to me. The bonus was when The Dangerous Book for Boys was named Book of the Year at the British Book Awards in 2007. Thankfully, both my parents were alive when they got to see my initial success. When they died, I found they'd saved copies of everything I'd ever written, which was touching. Worst trait? I'm terrible at small talk. I'm really awful at social events and asking the basic questions, even though I hear my mother's voice reminding me to ask them. I started writing down people's details on a card if I was likely to see them again, but it went disastrously wrong when I bumped into an editor in Finland and I tried to persuade her that she had three children, not the two she was claiming to have. Unfortunately she didn't find it funny. Worst part of your job? When I was horse-riding in Mongolia in the footsteps of Genghis Khan, doing research for Wolf of the Plains, I developed dangerous saddle sores and couldn't undress without getting into a bath to soak everything off. It was grim. I was also told not to ask for a wooden Mongolian saddle, but a Russian saddle, which is partially leather with a hoop of iron that sticks out of the top for your reins. Let's just say that my awful riding skills meant I became intimately and painfully acquainted with that iron hoop – all while enduring -20°C weather. I'd never seen a landscape that vast. We ate a lot of mutton, which I quite liked. Hands-on research brings my books to life. Worst habit? I'm terrible at taking time off: I feel guilty, bored and I constantly think I should be doing something; I can't enjoy myself. I love writing – I work until there's practically blood on the page, but it's never as good as I imagined it to be. I set an incredibly high standard for myself, which can be very frustrating. Most authors may manage a book a year. My publishers have three books in hand, completely finished and copy edited. Worst piece of advice? I was in a French restaurant and wanted to try an Andouillette sausage. The waiter said, 'You may want to rethink that because it is the food of French peasants, Monsieur', but I insisted. What was served both looked, smelt and tasted like the last six inches of the faecal cavity of a cow. I valiantly kept chewing, wanting to save face, while my fellow diners suppressed their laughter, all while encouraging me. Eventually I had to admit defeat. I should have listened. Worst lesson you've needed to learn? I can't solve everybody's problems. Because if I do, I will infantilise the people around me, and you could drive yourself to exhaustion. Worst lesson from modern history? It's now too easy to forget what's happened in the past, given how much information we're bombarded with in our daily lives, which makes it easier to repeat mistakes. And one life can make an extraordinary difference. But overall, I try to keep things in perspective, otherwise every day would seem like the end of the world, given the news. My mellow dad used to say, 'Are you going to care about this in five years? If not, why on earth are you worrying about it now?' That helps keep sight of what's important. Worst pet peeve? People who hang poo bags on bushes. It drives me bananas. I have three dogs – a 16-year-old terrier, an eight-year-old black lab cross and a 14-year-old ridgeback crossed with a bull terrier – and I always pick up after them. Before Covid, when I had a sense of smell, I used to dry heave, but now that my sense of smell has almost disappeared, I can pick poo up like nobody's business on my walks. Worst moment in the public eye? There are many. Early in my career, when the first of my five-book series on Julius Caesar came out, I was doing a book talk with two Roman legionaries from the local re-enactment society – but only an elderly couple showed up. And I think they were just sitting down for a rest. Then, another time, I was speaking at the biggest bookshop in Singapore and a microphone was thrust at me, with the orders that I was to stop the crowds walking by outside (who were more interested in clothes shopping) by just talking. Worst fear for the future? I'm an optimist, so my worst fear is that I will be proved wrong.
Yahoo
19-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
A one-teen prom on Newfoundland's Northern Peninsula brings small community together
MAIN BROOK — Breanna Bromley-Clarke may be the sole graduate of her all-grades school on Newfoundland's Northern Peninsula, but her prom helped bring many in her community together. The 18-year-old celebrated the end of her high-school years on May 2 in a pink dress she says was inspired by the main character of the Barbie movie. Its vibrant colour shone as Bromley-Clarke delivered her valedictory address at the Mary Simms All-Grade School in Main Brook. In some ways, her event in the community five hours drive north of Corner Brook, N.L., was similar to graduations at larger schools across the province. During the day, photographs were taken of the young woman in her stunning dress. She proceeded to the gym, which was fully decorated, and roughly 85 guests sat down to a delicious meal. The valedictorian's 10-minute speech included gratitude, memories and a description of plans to attend nursing school at the Memorial University campus in Corner Brook. Bromley-Clarke even quoted from William Shakespeare's character Brutus from the play "Julius Caesar:" "It's not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves" — a line she learned while studying English in an online course offered by the provincial Education Department. But Mayor Ian Brenton said in an interview Friday the local graduation ceremonies are major occasions for this community of about 200 people, which takes pride in each of the 16 students in the kindergarten to Grade 12 school. "It brings the town together for a celebration of our youth and that's an important thing," said Brenton, who said he's particularly proud of Bromley-Clarke, who over the past 12 years has raised about $45,000 for the Janeway children's hospital in St. John's, N.L. The school's principal, Amanda Parrill, said she finds the ceremonies honouring a single student as meaningful as gatherings at larger schools she's known. "It was a very personal celebration for this single graduate. Breanna actually presented flowers to the special women who attended her graduation. For example, her Mom, other family members, teachers, her diabetic nurse and dietitian, all received carnations from Breanna," she wrote in an email on Saturday. In an interview Friday, Bromley-Clarke described "pros and cons" to the one-person event. "It was nice in terms of decorating (the gymnasium) as there was nobody to argue with over my choices," she said, laughing. However, she acknowledged missing out on some of "those popular things that people at larger schools do." There was no seeing the sunrise together with classmates after late-night gatherings. And there's little point in having a "senior skip day," when graduating students collectively miss a day of school, with no classmates to spend it with. There will be no 20-year-later reunions to recall a shared night. But the young woman made the best of it. Together with her family she travelled to Guelph, Ont., in the summer to purchase the spectacular dress. Money was raised for the event with a yard sale and ticket sales. She invited members of a volleyball team from another school 70 kilometres to the west, which she'd joined due to a lack of players at her own school. The colours and the theme of the decorations all fell to the graduate and her mother, Regina Bromley-Clarke, and her father, Scott Clarke. Local businesses were well-represented at her graduation, including the convenience store owner and two hunting and guiding outfitters. Brenton, who is an advocate for economic development in the region, said that alongside pride he feels a little sadness at the small graduations, as he realizes it signals the declining fortunes of some Northern Peninsula communities. He said it motivates him to work harder to attract new businesses in hopes the number of children and teens might gradually rise. "Honestly," he said, "it makes me sad to see how small the school has grown." "I mean, nobody wants to see these towns dwindle and die." The young graduate said she doesn't know where she will head after university, admitting it may not be back to the picturesque, small town, far from urban life. But she won't forget May 2, 2025, and her special night. "I've always felt, and will always have, a sense of pride in my school and community, even though it's small," she said. — By Michael Tutton in Halifax. This report by The Canadian Press was first published May 17, 2025. The Canadian Press
