Diary

12 December 2009

Veronica Wadley opens her diary

On Hampstead Heath, running in my hoodie at 8 a.m. Since leaving the former Evening Standard at the start of the year, I no longer have to be presentable by 5 a.m. and in the office before dawn, but the London agenda cannot be dodged. Heading up to Parliament Hill, I am stopped time and again by friends to discuss the latest twist in the Arts Council board game. Ever since Boris Johnson suggested I apply for the chair of the London Arts Council, I suspected the Labour government might seek revenge for my part as a campaigning editor in ousting Ken Livingstone as London’s mayor. The left is famous for waging never-ending vendettas but I hadn’t expected Ben Bradshaw, the Culture Secretary, to conform so quickly to type. His veto of my appointment, artlessly leaked to the Times during the Tory party conference, was as subtle as his frenetic solo standing ovation for Gordon Brown during Labour’s party conference. Bradshaw and his chums, mixing distortion with defamation, have tried to portray my appointment as an act of cronyism, dubbed Wadleygate by Ed Vaizey, the luvvies’ Tory pin-up. A waspish Hampstead shrink recently diagnosed Bradshaw as suffering from ‘malignant narcissist syndrome’. I think that’s far too grand. Any culture minister who declaims on TV his ignorance about Roman Polanski — ‘I was very young when he made his films’ — doesn’t deserve serious analysis.

The chair of the London Arts Council is a serious job. As the editor for seven years of London’s last paid-for newspaper, I was intensely involved in every aspect of the city’s cultural life. Daily I observed the glorious strengths and crippling weaknesses of its arts organisations. My support for Boris’s candidacy was strengthened by his commitment to culture and arts education. Even with his limited powers, he could do much to improve the lives of London’s poorest children, betrayed by Labour’s divisive education policies. The Guardianistas’ irritation over Boris’s determination to use the power granted to the Mayor by the Labour government and choose an ally to help implement his cultural manifesto reflects the left’s passion for filling every quango with their cronies. A letter arrived this week, inviting me to re-apply for the chair. Will I? Won’t I? Ever since Bradshaw declared war, I have been overwhelmed by support from London’s cultural leaders. Am I up for it? You bet. And not for the money, which will barely cover my Oyster card.

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