property or being followed in the street. A quarter said it led them to hesitate before making decisions; more than two in five said they avoid getting involved in some policy debates altogether. Those figures will surely rise. On July 9th Ann Widdecombe, a 78-year-old former Tory MP who became a member of the populist-right Reform UK, was found dead in her remote bungalow in Devon. Police later concluded that she had been murdered in a “targeted attack”. A 28-year-old white British man from Rotherham, 430km away, has been arrested on suspicion of terrorism offences. The motive is unclear. Ms Widdecombe was the third prominent politician in Britain to be murdered in little over a decade. Jo Cox, a Labour MP, was killed in the street by a far-right extremist in 2016. David Amess, a Conservative lawmaker, was stabbed at a constituency surgery in 2021 by a radical Islamist. The phenomenon is not new. From the 1970s to the 1990s, Irish republicans targeted mostly senior Conservatives, killing four MPs and narrowly missing the entire cabinet. Yet such acts at least were governed by a degree of organisation and strategy that gave the security services a chance to predict and disrupt them. Today’s threat is diffuse and unpredictable, the work of individuals rather than groups. Ms Widdecombe seems an improbable target: a Conservative minister in the 1990s, she left Parliament in 2010. When not on “Strictly Come Dancing”, a reality-TV show, or giving interviews about her garden, she spoke on immigration and justice for Reform. Amess’s killer had researched over 250 MPs before attacking the mild-mannered backbencher. Cox had been in Parliament little over a year before she was killed. If they could be targets, so could almost anyone in public life. MPs feel under siege. It is impossible to tell the difference between unpleasant cranks and potential murderers. Penny Mordaunt, a former Tory minister, said this week that she had received more than 700 threats to kill or rape her; there hadn’t been a day for four years without a live police investigation or court case into her pursuers.
Protecting MPs has become a significant operation. The task is split between the Parliamentary Security Department and the Metropolitan Police’s Parliamentary Liaison and Investigation Team, which investigates crimes against lawmakers and co-ordinates with provincial police forces. A specialist Security Information and Risk Analysis Service weighs intelligence. MPs’ homes and constituency offices are routinely fitted with arson-proof letter boxes and panic rooms. The question of what protection MPs are entitled to has become bitterly partisan. On July 14th a man was arrested for threatening on social media to shoot Nigel Farage, Reform’s leader. “I am going to shoot you in the head if you win,” he wrote. Reform accuses the police and government of purposefully denying its leaders adequate security for political reasons, a charge the authorities deny. It has an interest in having such a row: the party claimed that a previously undeclared £5m ($6.7m) donation to Mr Farage, now subject to intense scrutiny, was for the purpose of private security arrangements. It is often said, after an attack, that violence will not change a country’s way of life. But the fear of violence is now woven deeply into the fabric of British politics. ■ For more expert analysis of the biggest stories in Britain, sign up to Blighty, our weekly subscriber-only newsletter. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//britain/2026/07/15/violence-is-reshaping-british- political-life
Britain’s bookies have weathered a tricky World Cup But bigger problems are stacking up July 16th 2026 “We were lucky today,” said England’s manager, Thomas Tuchel, after his team’s nerve-shredding 2-1 win over Norway on July 11th. Britain’s bookmakers enjoyed their own good fortune: England reached the semi- finals of the World Cup, but for betting purposes the match was a draw. By convention, match wagers are settled on the 90-minute scoreline (1-1). England’s winning goal came in extra time, saving the bookies millions of pounds. Across this expanded 48-team World Cup, favourites have won 63% of matches in normal time, compared with 53% on average in the previous three. Underdogs prevailed in only 10%, against an average of 23%
previously. Such results would once have perturbed British bookies, which do well when favourites don’t. Not this time. Bookies have steered many customers towards “bet builders” (or “same-game parlays” in America). At Kambi, a sportsbook supplier, these made up more than 30% of bets at recent football tournaments. Punters might bet on, say, England to win, Jude Bellingham to score, and the match to have over nine corners and more than two bookings, all in one wager. In the Norway game, only one of those outcomes occurred in regular time. Such bets help the bookies’ profits. Trading data shared with The Economist by four of them suggest that, despite match results generally favouring customers, all remain broadly on course to achieve their usual margins. Yet a decent World Cup will not dispel the industry’s broader worries. Tax and licensing reforms in the early 2000s were intended to allow gambling to flourish in the internet age. They succeeded, until the political wind changed. Last year’s budget raised the tax on online casino-style profits from 21% to 40%. From April 2027 most online sports betting will also face a tax increase, from 15% to 25%. And the Gambling Commission, the industry regulator, has pressed ahead with “financial risk assessments”, intended to identify customers at risk of gambling harm. Bookies argue that the checks are intrusive and are driving customers to unlicensed operators. Anthony Kaminskas, founder of AK Bets, says 78% of his customers refuse to provide financial records when asked. Gambling’s new growth story is America. Flutter, the world’s largest online- betting company, and owner of British brands including Betfair and Sky Bet, will delist from the London Stock Exchange next month, making New York its sole stock-market home. Britain’s bookies have cracked the problem of predictable football results. Their bigger challenge lies in Westminster. ■ For more expert analysis of the biggest stories in Britain, sign up to Blighty, our weekly subscriber-only newsletter. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//britain/2026/07/14/britains-bookies-have-weathered-a- tricky-world-cup
London’s private members’ clubs are proliferating But building a new community is harder than it looks July 16th 2026 ON A WARM afternoon at Fulham Pier in west London, the Thames glints in the sun and members of Lighthouse Social, a private club, drift between coffee, meetings and glasses of Aperol spritz on the terrace. The relaxed mood is no accident. Much effort has gone into assembling the right mix of members in the right space. “It’s like whispers of smoke,” says Glen Sutton, the Pier’s director. “You can’t grab what makes a club. But you know when you’re in one that isn’t working.” London has long been a city of clubs. From the 18th century the grand houses of St James’s offered a home from home for aristocrats and politicians. More recently came the “anti-clubs”: the Groucho, opened in 1985, drew a rowdy creative set; Soho House followed a decade later, aimed
at a similar crowd. Both ended up full of bankers. Debauchery was dialled down, but revenue went up. Now, London clubs are proliferating again, part of a wider trend: a report in 2024 by Knight Frank, a property consultancy, pointed to an acceleration of club openings in Europe and America. Today London has over 130 members’ clubs (excluding those that are primarily gyms or sports clubs), roughly double the number in 1985, according to Seth Thévoz, a historian of clubland. In a city where working and social lives are less tied to offices, clubs offer a place to spend time—and money—throughout the day. Jamie Caring, a club consultant, says roughly three-quarters of the inquiries he gets about new clubs now include a wellness element. Many are extensions of existing businesses—restaurants, hotels or co-working spaces —with the trappings of a club bolted on. Lighthouse Social forms part of a redevelopment around Fulham Football Club’s Riverside Stand, to generate activity beyond match days. During the pandemic Londoners spent more time in their local areas and many have stuck with those habits. “People have become much more invested in their neighbourhoods,” says Mr Sutton. His club’s members largely walk in from surrounding streets. Families are welcome, and there is an on-site crèche. The small-scale feel is deliberate: too much growth, he argues, would turn it into “an airline lounge”, devoid of community. At the other end of the spectrum sits the Pembroke. It is due to open later this year in a former prime ministerial residence overlooking Buckingham Palace Garden, and is an exercise in scale. Backed by the Oman Investment Authority, it will include multiple restaurants, lounges and a late-night bar with a £1m ($1.3m) sound system and a DJ booth carved from Italian marble. A job advert in Country Life for a “butter sommelier” with an “encyclopedic knowledge of toast” was posted partly in jest; the volume of applications helped turn it into a real hire. Membership costs £3,250 a year, or £60,000 for life. The club says it has already sold more than ten life memberships; perks include a “life loo”, exclusive use of one of the 55 lavatories.