I recently attended the Young Dancer of the Year competition at the Royal Opera House, organised by the formidable Jacquie Brunjes. Sixteen young girls and boys aged 14 to 16 who had won a place in the final, all strutted their stuff in the hope of becoming the eventual winner. I watched each performance with a keen amateur eye, and selected my three to be awarded prizes, and not one of them made it to the final. Dame Arlene Phillips selected Cooper Filby, and I asked her afterwards if he had a chance of making it on to the professional stage. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘The standard of young dancers in Britain today has never been higher and Cooper can look forward to a promising career.’ I returned home and switched on the television to see Vladimir Putin on the early evening news. I couldn’t help thinking I might never see the Bolshoi or the Mariinsky ballet companies perform again at the Royal Opera House. So I can only hope Dame Arlene is right about the future of British dancing.
James Cleverly gave the annual Ronald Reagan lecture. He made one telling observation: that we shouldn’t judge every woman leader of the Conservatives by Margaret Thatcher. He reminded the packed audience that Thatcher’s first year as leader of the opposition wasn’t exactly a triumph, but the party allowed her to grow until she finally became the Iron Lady. We should give Kemi Badenoch the same chance. Those idiots who are already discussing removing her should be reminded that we’ve had five leaders in the past five years, and replacing the Conservative leader shouldn’t be allowed to become an annual sporting event. Mind you, those same idiots would no doubt have got rid of Thatcher at the end of her first year.
There’s a formidable lady disrupting our lives in Britain and it’s not Rachel Reeves, but an Italian mobster called Giorgia Meloni, who is tempting our entrepreneurs and highest taxpayers to leave Britain and go and live in Italy by offering them a golden visa if they invest €250,000, regardless of how much foreign income they earn. I do hope our Chancellor will have something in the Budget to tempt them all back. Like a £250,000 golden passport, no tax on foreign earnings, no inheritance tax and the incentive to spend their vast wealth in Britain, not Italy.
If you had told me ten years ago that I would see a women’s football match attended by 87,192 fans at Wembley (the European finals) and this weekend 82,000 fans, not to mention millions on television, will be watching the women’s World Cup rugby final at Twickenham, I wouldn’t have believed it. The match will be between the Red Roses of England and Canada, which will be a treat for lovers of rugby, though I won’t be foolish enough to predict the winner.
I was interviewed for my latest book in the William Warwick series, End Game. The interviewer opened with a statement, not a question: ‘Ten years ago, you predicted that Nigel Farage was a formidable operator and not to be underestimated, and it might be wise for Cameron to put him in the Lords, so he wouldn’t do the Conservatives any more harm.’ Ten years later and Mr Farage is talking about putting his own people in the Lords – in great numbers – and I fear that unless we make some accommodation with him, I will not see another Tory government in my lifetime. Watch this space.
I strolled into the Liberal Club in Whitehall (not a natural habitat for me) to have lunch with Peter Wilding (a distinguished former civil servant from Brussels), who I found chatting to Farage. Peter introduced me and what you see is what you get. He’s a charming, confident politician who assumes it can only be a matter of time before he is living in No. 10. His parting words were ‘You’re beaten, Jeffrey’, which I took rather personally, as it’s publication day today and I’m up against Dan Brown, Robert Galbraith and Richard Osman. I wondered if, like the Conservative party, I’m going to end up in fourth place.
Mary and I went down to the gym for our twice-a-week session with our trainer. I am so old (85) that I can just about manage ten minutes on the treadmill at four miles an hour, followed by light weights (4lb) and finally stretching (agony). I once ran 100 yards in 9.6 seconds for Britain against the Russians at White City (and came last), and used to be able to do 50 press ups; I can now only do five. Old age doesn’t have a lot going for it, but I suppose I should just be thankful I’m still alive.
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