Society

Thursday

14 May 2015

The Spectator’s notes | 14 May 2015

David Cameron is taking a bit of trouble to unite his parliamentary party. Having built a coalition outside it last time, he knows he must now build one within. The best way to do this lies to hand. It is to return to the pre-Blair custom of having Prime Minister’s Questions twice a week. Advisers always tell prime ministers not to do this, on the grounds that it is a waste of time and can only expose them to added risk. But in fact it has two good effects. It makes MPs feel much happier, and so discourages plotting. It also makes the Prime Minister the master of every area

Dumpynose

2211: Toddler hero

Clockwise round the grid from 37 runs a quotation plus its source (3,3,5,8,8,5,2,3,6,2,3,4) suggesting the outcome of 2. Remaining unclued lights, combined and subjected to 2, identify the author (three words). Elsewhere, ignore an accent. Across 8 Garden cheers New World mammals (8) 10 Green and half-green bacteria (5, two words) 12 Lag Ivy Leaguer had rebuffed (5) 13 Flyer’s navigation manual (page missing) (7) 14 Plucky giant cycling (4) 15 Painter of meadow weeping (7) 17 Outdated trials in anterooms lacking force (5) 19 Detective meets senior prisoner (8) 25 Secretary goes round with bearlike creature (5) 26 I am feeding docked bullocks in compound (5) 27 Day

Martin Vander Weyer

Full employment, Prime Minister? What exactly do you mean by that?

‘Two million jobs have been created since 2010 — but there will not be a moment of rest until we have reached our goal,’ said David Cameron in a Telegraph article a fortnight before the election: ‘Two million more jobs; or full employment in Britain.’ It was a bold statement. Indeed you might think, given unemployment at 1.84 million in the winter quarter, that the target for new jobs was actually an error on the part of who-ever drafts the Prime Minister’s prose. Either way, it drew little attention amid the smoke of battle. But now the air has cleared it merits revisiting, because it connects all the key themes

The Spectator

Books and arts – 14 May 2015

Dumpynose

To 2208: MORT

The fictional SCHOLAR (28) was Billy Bunter, described by his creator, Frank Richards, as a ‘FAT GREEDY OWL (22A/31/26)’ (in ODQ). SILLY (13) and PUFFING (18) are associated with ‘Billy’ and KEUPER (4) and MUSCHELKALK (16D) (in Chambers individually and under ‘Triassic’) with ‘Bunter’. Title: ‘bunter’ is a low woman or mort. First prize R.R. Alford, Oundle, Peterborough Runners-up B. Taylor, Little Lever, Bolton; Frank Maslen, London W1

Ross Clark

People are avoiding retirement because of low interest rates. Who can blame them?

‘Bank of England says that migrants are holding down wages’ the headlines screamed this morning. Yet Mark Carney, when interviewed on the Today programme this morning, spun a slightly different story. Migrants bear some responsibility for downwards pressure on wages, he said, but not so much as another group of people: British workers in the 50s and 60s who are returning from retirement, or who never retired in the first place. Over the past two years, net migration is up by 50,000, but that number is dwarfed by 300,000 people whom the Bank of England would normally have expected to have retired by now, but who have carried on in

Ed West

Nigel Farage isn’t the biggest threat to the Eurosceptic cause. Vladimir Putin is

I keep on reading that the ‘Outers’ are going to lose the upcoming EU referendum because Euroscepticism has become associated with Ukip, and Nigel Farage is too divisive. It has been talked about for some time but I’ve seen it far more since the party won 13 per cent of the vote last week. The paradox is that, as Ukip’s support has risen since 2011, conversely British support for EU membership has actually increased. It’s possible, of course, that the public has come to associate Euroscepticism with Ukip whereas it once associated it with the Tory Right, although how much less toxic that brand is must be open to debate. It’s

Melanie McDonagh

A radical guide to boosting your baby’s ‘brand individuality’

A Telegraph journalist, Lucy Denyer, has written about how rubbish it is that people are calling their children stupid, made-up names. (Spoiler alert: I’m anti stupid made-up names.) Trouble is, while she hasn’t exactly gone the Fifi Trixibelle/Peaches route herself, she has called her son Atticus. And no, it’s not the friend of Cicero she had in mind; it’s the bloke from To Kill a Mockingbird. Difficult one, Atticus. Classical names like Titus, Marcus or Octavia do dangerously expose your child’s class background, increasing their chances of getting beaten up. On the other hand, I’m all in favour of Cornelius, which is obviously from the Acts of the Apostles, and was formerly a

David Colquhoun

Prince Charles’s letters reveal the extent of his lobbying for dangerous ‘alternative medicine’

The age of enlightenment was a beautiful thing. People cast aside dogma and authority. They started to think for themselves. Natural science flourished. Understanding of the natural world increased. The hegemony of religion slowly declined. Eventually real universities were created and real democracy developed. The modern world was born. People like Francis Bacon, Voltaire and Isaac Newton changed the world for the better. Well, that’s what most people think. But not Charles, Prince of Wales and Duke of Cornwall. In 2010 he said: ‘I was accused once of being the enemy of the Enlightenment,’ he told a conference at St James’s Palace. ‘I felt proud of that.’ Then he added:

Rod Liddle

Memo to David Aaronovitch: we’re not all metrosexual now

Still inside that bubble, David Aaronovitch informs us that, regardless of the election result, we are all of a metrosexual mindset, whatever that is. Like it or not, the country as a whole is becoming ‘more like’ London. This was written in response to the slings and arrows flung at Labour for neglecting its northern, English, working-class base – something I’ve been banging on about for at least fifteen years (and perhaps until now to no avail whatsoever). I think David ought to shift his fat arse and get out a bit more. There has always been a deep resistance to and suspicion of the identity politics and race-obsession of

The Spectator

The Spectator at war: Don’t let’s be beastly to the Germans

From ‘The Right Spirit of Concentration’, The Spectator, 15 May 1915: It need not be supposed that we are blind to the dangers which arise from a large number of aliens in our midst. We have several times written of these dangers. But latterly, whenever the subject was debated in Parliament, the answer was that the War Office were responsible for the control of aliens who could do harm, and that the War Office were doing what they thought necessary. We may, if we like, suspect that the War Office were not doing enough, but they, at all events, were in possession of the facts and we were not. In

Jonathan Ray

May Rosé Offer

After the thundering success of our last rosé offer, courtesy of FromVineyarsDirect.com, we make no apology for having something of a re-run featuring once again the pink wines from Sacha Lichine’s Château d’Esclans estate in Provence. Yes, they’re the same wines we offered previously, but they’re the most recent vintages thereof, with some tasty discounts to boot. In fact, you’ll be thrilled to hear that this makes them cheaper than last time. Having some experience of making fine rosé himself (he famously put Château de Sours on the map), FromVineyardsDirect.com’s Esmé Johnstone reckons that anything he ever did has been totally eclipsed by Sacha Lichine and his esteemed partner —

Claudia Massie

Normandy

I am compiling a list of the best black puddings. It began in Spain when I encountered my first morcilla de Burgos, a rich, spiced black sausage bulked up with rice. I was smitten. No black pudding could compete with this, I thought. But then I moved to Cumbria and in the flat hinterland of the Solway plain I found a butcher who made trays of the black stuff, studded with nuggets of fat the size of a child’s thumb. A portion of this was a veritable slice of heaven. I’ve sampled Stornoway’s, of course, and a black-pudding Scotch egg, but nothing ranked alongside the twin fruits of Burgos and

Roger Alton

A few tips for Straussie

If you watched England’s three-day Test defeat by the West Indies in Barbados the other day to the bitter end you will have heard some of the England players being interviewed afterwards. They uniformly referred to their coach, the now departed Peter Moores, as ‘Mooresie’. And therein you feel lies a few of the problems infesting English cricket. It’s hard to imagine even John Terry shouting across the car park: ‘Oi Mouro, that was bang out of order.’ Or in an earlier time, a post-match David Beckham telling the world about ‘Fergie’. No, it was always The Boss, or Sir Alex. I know we are all in favour of flat

Kate Eshelby

Away from the herd

Erbil, Iraq The Kurds here are fighting Isis — everyone knows that. Most of us are at least peripherally aware that the brave Peshmerga (Kurdish militia) have proved an effective force against the Islamists, and we cheer them on. What we don’t realise is that as they battle the world’s latest bogeyman, the Kurds are also simultaneously suffering from another sort of crisis. Traditionally the Iraqi Kurds are nomadic pastoralists. They’ve herded sheep since biblical times, leading their flocks from the mountains to the lowlands and back. The passion they feel for their land is rooted in this pastoral tradition. It’s a weird irony, then, that as their dream of

Mark Mason

Dead expensive

They say that death and taxes are the only two certainties in life. But there seems to be a third, linked to death and as painful as taxes. It’s the astronomical cost of organising a funeral. My partner’s father died recently, and for the honour of a bog-standard cremation in a far from fashionable part of East Anglia she was charged just over £4,000. Jo felt no shame in asking for the cheapest option (it’s what her father would have wanted — he was never a man to waste money), and so the answer came as something of a shock. When a figure has you imagining the cheeky little jaunt to

Max Hastings

Demob unhappy

After all the carousing and flag-waving that followed VE day in 1945, millions of young men fortunate enough not to be still fighting the Japanese faced a problem. Having spent five or six years in uniform, they needed jobs. For those who lacked explicit civilian skills, which meant most, it was hard to persuade employers that a talent for flying a Spitfire, commanding a gun battery or navigating a destroyer qualified a man to run a factory or even sell socks. For years after the shooting stopped, newspapers bulged with small ads placed by demobilised officers. Many such entries exuded unconscious pathos. That quirkily brilliant writer Richard Usborne had the

Lucy Vickery

Gizza job

In Competition No. 2897 you were asked for a job application by a well-known writer, living or dead. Inspiration for this comp came from a young Hunter S. Thompson’s characteristically unorthodox pitch for a position at the Vancouver Sun. An unflattering portrait of his relationship with a previous employer — ‘The man despised me, of course, and I had nothing but contempt for him’ — is followed by an attack on journalists en masse, who are, he says, ‘dullards, bums, and hacks …stuck in a bog of stagnant mediocrity’. The godfather of gonzo didn’t get the job. Commendations to Peter Goulding, R.M. Goddard and Josh Ekroy. The winners take £25.

Hugo Rifkind

Why won’t the lefties show London a little more love?

London is a bad thing. Everybody knows this now. Britain has had enough of London. Ed Miliband failed in part because he was ‘too north London’ (euphemism) and Chuka Umunna would fail just the same because he is too south London (euphemism). According to one commentator, Britain’s capital is now a ‘Guardianista colony’; filled with the ‘petty moralism’ of the ‘cultural’ elite. According to another — in the Guardian no less; no fan of his own colony, this guy — this is a city of glass and steel, so different from northern cities of ‘brick and hard stone’, and it produces in his northern soul a sense of ‘cultural alienation’.

Peter Robins

Sharpen your pencil

‘I had had a fantasy for years about owning a dairy farm,’ says Mary Norris, as she considers her career options in the first section of this odd but charming cross between a memoir and a usage guide. ‘I liked cows: they led a placid yet productive life.’ Instead, she found a productive life — if not always as placid as she might have liked — as a copy editor on the New Yorker magazine. In Between You and Me, she presents the accumulated wisdom and winsome anecdotes of several decades of proof-reading, editorial queries and office arguments, ‘for all of you who want to feel better about your grammar’.