craig rinder

[craig rinder @crinder1]

@squirma1967 @Hawkeye_74 Did you know the chap that played Alan Humphries passed away a few years ago. Very sad

[craig rinder @crinder1]

This is beautiful x

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

Hello, Vicky.

First things first: those trousers were a mistake.

Yes, I know you loved them. And yes, I know that says far more about me than it does about you.

People still talk about you, you know. Though perhaps that’s not surprising. You had a remarkable talent for collecting people and, more importantly, keeping them. Some of the friends you made when you were four years old were still your closest friends at twenty-three. I think about that often. Not because it’s unusual. Because it’s beautiful.

Then again, there were always people. The friends from school. The friends from university. The people you lived with whose lives we somehow knew in extraordinary detail despite never having met them. The California friends. The travelling friends. You’d talk about all of them with such affection and curiosity that they became familiar long before they became real. I never found any of it boring. I loved the updates. The stories. The endless cast of characters. People who’d never met somehow became familiar because you’d already brought them to life. A sort of heavenly soap opera. And when Dancing Queen comes on, you’re still somehow in the room. Actually, I think that’s because stories outlive the people who tell them.

Talking of which, I can still remember your number. 4568. I was fourteen when it became a ritual. I’d get home from school and, sooner or later, dial those four numbers. Not because anything had happened. Not because I needed anything. Just because that was what I did. Looking back, I don’t think I appreciated what a gift that was. Having somebody who makes you feel seen. Somebody who makes the world feel a little safer. You did that for me.

When I came out, your complete lack of interest in making a fuss was one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received. You somehow managed to make it seem entirely unremarkable. Which, of course, was precisely the point.

I still have your painting hanging on my wall. The A-level one. It’s a fish and a bottle of Jif. Which sounds ridiculous until you see it. The composition is beautiful. The light is beautiful. And there is something quietly poetic about the whole thing. The sort of poetry that can’t be taught. Perhaps that’s what talent looks like. I’ve spent years looking at art and yet that painting still stops me. Not because it belongs to you. Because it deserves to.

Do you remember that tiny box room? Of course you do. You were studying your palm and announcing that your life line meant you’d have a short life. I remember rolling my eyes. I still don’t believe a word of it.

But this year it will be twenty-five years since you died. And there are moments when that feels impossible. Not because time has stood still. Quite the opposite. Because so much life has happened since. I have stood on that beach in Malaysia. I have looked out at the same sea. And even now it feels impossible to reconcile the suddenness of it all with the scale of what followed. You were twenty-three. And somehow the world just carried on. The children who never got to call you Mum. The grandchildren you never got the chance to spoil rotten. The catastrophically unsuitable men who would undoubtedly have continued appearing in your life accompanied by persuasive arguments as to why everyone else had judged them unfairly. The stories we never got to hear. The people we never got to meet. The chapters that never arrived.

“O Robert.” Yes. I know.

I worry sometimes that I’ll forget things. Not the important things. The little things. The sound of your voice. The smell of Dewberry. The earrings you were wearing when I said goodbye. I know. Of all the things. But there they are. And perhaps that’s the point. Perhaps people don’t disappear all at once. Perhaps they survive in fragments. A painting. A perfume. A phone number. A story. A pair of trousers that were never remotely to my taste. A way of saying someone’s name.

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

Hello, Vicky.

First things first: those trousers were a mistake.

Yes, I know you loved them. And yes, I know that says far more about me than it does about you.

People still talk about you, you know. Though perhaps that’s not surprising. You had a remarkable talent for collecting people and, more importantly, keeping them. Some of the friends you made when you were four years old were still your closest friends at twenty-three. I think about that often. Not because it’s unusual. Because it’s beautiful.

Then again, there were always people. The friends from school. The friends from university. The people you lived with whose lives we somehow knew in extraordinary detail despite never having met them. The California friends. The travelling friends. You’d talk about all of them with such affection and curiosity that they became familiar long before they became real. I never found any of it boring. I loved the updates. The stories. The endless cast of characters. People who’d never met somehow became familiar because you’d already brought them to life. A sort of heavenly soap opera. And when Dancing Queen comes on, you’re still somehow in the room. Actually, I think that’s because stories outlive the people who tell them.

Talking of which, I can still remember your number. 4568. I was fourteen when it became a ritual. I’d get home from school and, sooner or later, dial those four numbers. Not because anything had happened. Not because I needed anything. Just because that was what I did. Looking back, I don’t think I appreciated what a gift that was. Having somebody who makes you feel seen. Somebody who makes the world feel a little safer. You did that for me.

When I came out, your complete lack of interest in making a fuss was one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received. You somehow managed to make it seem entirely unremarkable. Which, of course, was precisely the point.

I still have your painting hanging on my wall. The A-level one. It’s a fish and a bottle of Jif. Which sounds ridiculous until you see it. The composition is beautiful. The light is beautiful. And there is something quietly poetic about the whole thing. The sort of poetry that can’t be taught. Perhaps that’s what talent looks like. I’ve spent years looking at art and yet that painting still stops me. Not because it belongs to you. Because it deserves to.

Do you remember that tiny box room? Of course you do. You were studying your palm and announcing that your life line meant you’d have a short life. I remember rolling my eyes. I still don’t believe a word of it.

But this year it will be twenty-five years since you died. And there are moments when that feels impossible. Not because time has stood still. Quite the opposite. Because so much life has happened since. I have stood on that beach in Malaysia. I have looked out at the same sea. And even now it feels impossible to reconcile the suddenness of it all with the scale of what followed. You were twenty-three. And somehow the world just carried on. The children who never got to call you Mum. The grandchildren you never got the chance to spoil rotten. The catastrophically unsuitable men who would undoubtedly have continued appearing in your life accompanied by persuasive arguments as to why everyone else had judged them unfairly. The stories we never got to hear. The people we never got to meet. The chapters that never arrived.

“O Robert.” Yes. I know.

I worry sometimes that I’ll forget things. Not the important things. The little things. The sound of your voice. The smell of Dewberry. The earrings you were wearing when I said goodbye. I know. Of all the things. But there they are. And perhaps that’s the point. Perhaps people don’t disappear all at once. Perhaps they survive in fragments. A painting. A perfume. A phone number. A story. A pair of trousers that were never remotely to my taste. A way of saying someone’s name.

[Lord Sugar @Lord_Sugar]

Rob I could not get this on kindle , I haven't read a hard back for years. @RobbieRinder

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

‘Walid looks after my dad like his own’: Rob Rinder’s emotional tribute as Jewish Care dinner raises £5.6m - Jewish News https://t.co/Vs0SxvalM3

[craig rinder @crinder1]

@dannykellywords Wishing you all the best Danny. Everyone is with you.

[craig rinder @crinder1]

Shame 😂😘

[Tottenham Hotspur @SpursOfficial]

The legendary Gary Mabbutt is continuing to check in on our elderly fans with regular phone calls on their birthdays. Today he’s made his 20,000 call in the last six years.

Incredible work, Mabbsy 🤍

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

Yesterday I was at Heaton Park Synagogue, remembering Jews murdered by a terrorist. Today, Jews are stabbed on a London street. More terrorism. This does not come out of nowhere. It follows months of poison that downplays antisemitism, treats Jewish fear as suspect and turns public space into a place where that hostility feels normal. We’re told “antisemitism has no place in our society.” Then act like it.

[craig rinder @crinder1]

@dannykellywords Good luck Danny. Huge fan of all your work. Looking forward to hearing you back on VFTL and the radio.

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

I recently asked Jewish students at a leading UK university if they saw a future for themselves here. Not one said yes. Today Hatzolah ambulances, whose sole purpose is to save life - ANY life - are burned in London. A country where Jews no longer feel they have a future is already in crisis.

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

I’ve written to every Member of Parliament today.

Proposals before Parliament would remove jury trials from offences carrying up to three years in prison.

Freedoms rarely vanish overnight. They are chipped away in the name of efficiency.

Juries did not cause the crisis in our courts. Removing them will not fix it.

When the state seeks to take someone’s liberty for serious offences, the judgment of ordinary citizens should never be optional.

This is close to becoming law.

Please read the letter. Contact your MP now.

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

Today is Holocaust Memorial Day. My grandfather arrived here as a refugee, a Holocaust survivor and helped build the life and the democracy I stand in. Now denial grows. Antisemitism shapeshifts into “debate,” into “what about,” into language that makes hatred feel normal. He was saved by a country that chose courage. What kind of country will we choose to be? The responsibility to remember and to speak up is now ours @HMD_UK #bridginggenerations

[craig rinder @crinder1]

@danielwynne_ Daniel I wish you a long life

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

On the second anniversary of October 7, we remember the lives cruelly taken, the hostages still held and the grief that endures. Mourning the innocent is not a partisan act, it’s the beginning of our shared humanity.

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

On the holiest day of the year we are attacked at a Manchester synagogue. Our children walk to school behind barbed wire protected by guns. Yet some still answer this atrocity with “what about…” This is my country, the sanctuary my grandfather found after surviving the Holocaust, promising freedom under the rule of law. Today I pray for the victims, thank the brave who responded and wonder if that promise is fading. A community this small cannot stand alone. If you believe in Britain (wherever you’re from & whatever your faith) you must stand with us. Many Jews cannot imagine a future here and history tells us what follows when that happens.

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

My grandfather, a Holocaust survivor who had touched the face of tyranny, sometimes went to Speakers’ Corner. He would listen even to the most deplorable things and say: in a free country you can do that, because we are free. Free speech isn’t a luxury, it’s the foundation of democracy. When someone is shot standing on a stage speaking their beliefs, that’s beyond tragedy: it’s a warning. We must defend not only the right to speak, but the safety of ALL those who do.

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

Sunday 9pm @BBCTwo

[Rob Rinder @RobbieRinder]

Watch The Inheritance on Channel 4 at 9pm! SO ORDERED !!!!

[Trevor Avery @TrevorAvery10]

Countdown to Windermere and the eightieth anniversary of Arrival Day 14 August 1945-2025

1. Moishe Malenicky