Prince Harry's legal battles have once again brought him into the spotlight, this time as he seeks to overturn a decision by the UK's Home Office regarding his personal security arrangements during visits to the UK. The case, heard at the Court of Appeal, raises significant questions about the treatment of former royals, the discretion of security committees, and the balance between public resources and personal safety.​ The Crux of the Appeal At the heart of Prince Harry's appeal is the contention that he was treated unfairly by the Royal and VIP Executive Committee (RAVEC), which decided in February 2020 that he would no longer receive automatic police protection in the UK. His legal team argues that this decision was made through a "bespoke" process, lacking a formal risk assessment, and deviated from the standard procedures applied to others in similar positions. ​ Represented by barrister Shaheed Fatima KC, Prince Harry's counsel emphasised that he is not seeking special treatment

Today I am also turning a spotlight onto a courtroom drama involving one of the UK’s most polarising public figures — Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, better known by his alias Tommy Robinson, was back before the Court of Appeal — this time not for breaching a reporting restriction or jeopardising a criminal trial, but for something that takes us into even more complex legal territory. His current 18-month sentence relates to contempt of court arising from a homemade documentary film — one he published online in defiance of existing legal orders and containing material the courts had already determined to be false. It’s a case that tests the limits of personal grievance, propaganda, and the rule of law. What Was the Contempt This Time? Robinson’s video, published online and widely distributed through his networks, revisited a previous set of legal proceedings in which he had already been found to have misrepresented key facts. Despite that finding, and despite existing court orders that made cle

Growing up, I was told—more times than I care to remember—that I would never do as well as my older sibling. The comparisons came fast and loud. Teachers. Family. Friends. And those comparisons didn’t just sting—they stuck. They formed the walls I had to learn to climb. I remember getting A grades in my mock GCSEs. Not one or two—consistently strong marks across the board. And I thought, maybe I’m not so different. Maybe the gap everyone keeps pointing out is imagined. But then came the diagnosis: dyslexia and previously dyspraxia in my early years. Suddenly, my path wasn’t mine anymore. It was rewritten by others. I was moved into lower sets, told I couldn’t handle the more challenging curriculum, and—perhaps the greatest blow of all—I was restricted to foundation-tier exams. The ceiling was set before I’d even stepped into the hall to sit the real thing. All the evidence of my potential—my mock grades, my work ethic, my ability to keep up—was ignored. The label took over. As if that

As a Scottish gay man deeply invested in the advancement of LGBTQ+ rights—and with a lukewarm interest in Scots Law—I have been closely following the Supreme Court case of For Women Scotland Ltd v The Scottish Ministers. This case centers on whether individuals with a Gender Recognition Certificate (GRC) identifying them as female are legally recognised as "women" under the Equality Act 2010. After reviewing the hearings and legal arguments, I believe the appeal will be refused. Yes, I watched the whole thing—so you don't have to. Procedural Context and the Question Before the Court The legislative background starts with the Gender Representation on Public Boards (Scotland) Act 2018, which aims to increase the proportion of women on public boards. The Scottish Ministers issued statutory guidance which defined "woman" to include transgender women with a GRC. This definition was challenged by For Women Scotland Ltd (FWS), arguing it was beyond legislative competence because it redefined