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Diary

Oscar Humphries

Wednesday, 26th September 2007

London Fashion Week is one of those events, like the Lib Dem Conference and the Max Power show, that is important to a few people but passes most of us by.

London is tribal. I am on the periphery of several tribes, including the art tribe, the antique tribe, the former scoundrel tribe, and the occasionally writes tribe. I live in Pimlico, home to real estate agents, ex-wives who used to live in Belgravia, and chavs. The youth of today shock even the youth of a couple of years ago. They swear and loiter and dress badly. ‘Think you’re Oscar Wilde?’ said a track-suited thug the other day. He had a good eye. There was something of a Victorian decadence about my suit. These kids also throw stones at people. Three times in one year I’ve been pelted. Once at Hyde Park Corner with conkers. Then twice with small stones near my flat. There is something comical about looking about oneself to see where the rocks came from and the fast-paced scuttling off required to escape. ‘Art scoundrel stoned by kids’ would, I think, force the parents of these stone-stowing tribes into action. I sound fogeyish saying this, but they really are out of control. I never thought I would say this, but the Daily Mail is right about the hooded generation. When I was a teen, ringing on a doorbell then running away was as antisocial as we got. It is unlikely any of them read The Spectator regularly so I won’t fear reprisals.

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‘A money-financed tax cut is essentially equivalent to Milton Friedman’s famous “helicopter drop” of money.’ So said Ben Bernanke, now the chairman of the Fed, in a speech about how to ward off the ‘extremely small’ chance of deflation, which he delivered in 2002.