Society

Portrait of the week | 17 January 2013

Home David Cameron, the Prime Minister, brought forward his speech on new relations with the European Union from 22 January when it was realised that it was the 50th anniversary of the Elysée treaty between Germany and France. Britain went to war in Mali by sending two transport planes in support of the French invasion directed against Islamist groups. The rights of a British Airways employee, Nadia Eweida, had been violated by her being forbidden to wear a cross at work, the European Court of Human Rights ruled. But a marriage counsellor sacked for saying he might object to giving sex therapy advice to gay couples, a registrar who refused

Diary – 17 January 2013

Washington DC: My elegant and sociable mother-in-law received an email this week warning that, should she wander on to her balcony to smoke on Monday, somebody might shoot her. The Secret Service is eager that nothing should go awry when our president is inaugurated for his second term. The inaugural parade route stretches a dozen city blocks along Pennsylvania Avenue from the Capitol, where the president gets sworn in, to the White House. The route is lined with office buildings and museums. There are few apartments with a view of the street, and my mother-in-law lives in one of them. When my father-in-law was alive, they’d throw a big party on

Just the tickets

Kingsley Amis was never a fan of the Arts Council. Writing in this magazine almost 30 years ago, he described it as a ‘detestable and destructive body’ whose grants and bursaries ‘in effect pay producers, painters, writers and such in advance’. This, he wrote, ‘is a straight invitation to them to sod the public, whose ticket money they are no longer obliged to attract, and to seek the more immediate approval of their colleagues and friends instead.’ Thus state funding ends up strangling the very culture it purports to foster, leaving the country poorer artistically as well as financially. A valedictory speech delivered this week by Liz Forgan, the outgoing

Barometer | 17 January 2013

Equine dining Horsemeat was found in hamburgers sold by Tesco, among others. Why did eating horses become a taboo? — In the 8th century Pope Gregory III instructed St Boniface, missionary to Germany, to forbid the eating of horseflesh to those he converted to Christianity. — There has been no tradition of eating horsemeat in Britain, where ‘I could eat a horse’ is as an expression of desperate hunger. — Horsemeat has a slightly sweet taste, like a cross between beef and venison. — Abattoirs have become the principal means of disposal of unwanted horses in Ireland. They are also subject to seizure by local authorities, which sent 589 horses

2093: Leading lights | 17 January 2013

The unclued LIGHTS are LEADERS, verifiable under the entry for RULERS in Brewer. First prize Sandra Speak, Dursley, Glos Runners-up  P. and R. Dacre, York; Norma Jacobs, Linton, Wetherby

2096: New World Symphony

The unclued lights (two of two words and the remainder when paired) are of a specific kind.   Across 1 Kind, like 7A (11, hyphened) 7 Well-spaced to start with (3) 13 Mate with old cattle causing fuss (7) 15 Singer losing nothing in outskirts of Mellieha – here! (5) 17 Money expended swapping model railway components (6) 18 This setter considers cross (5) 20 Changing stance, performs (6) 22 Campoli’s sauce (7) 27 Cut fruit and drink (not hot) for bird (7) 29 Divers trousers for eccentrics (5) 30 Old quote for bit of gravel in garden path (6) 34 Ungenerous chap takes pound from girl (6) 36 Organised

Alex Massie

Hillary Clinton 2016? If she wants it, then yes. – Spectator Blogs

Yes, yes, yes, speculating about the 2016 Presidential election before Barack Obama has even begun his second term is a silly business. But so what? Silly things can be fun things. So Jonathan Bernstein attempts to answer a good question: if Hillary runs, would she knock most of her erstwhile rivals out of the race before the contest even reaches Iowa? His answer is sensible: maybe. But I think I’d be a little more certain than that and rate it probably. In 2000, after all, Bill Bradley was the only candidate to challenge Al Gore’s inheritance and Bradley’s campaign never looked like prevailing. Now Hillary isn’t quite as obviously “next

Alex Massie

Barack Obama’s Gun Control Measures: Harmless but Ineffective – Spectator Blogs

Barack Obama’s response to the horror of Sandy Hook was entirely predictable, largely unobjectionable and most unlikely to make much of a difference to very much at all. Politics as usual, then. If the President had the air of a man dusting off a long-closed folder marked “Standard Democratic proposals for gun control” then, well, that’s because that’s pretty much what he was doing. Perhaps there was a sheepish air to his performance too, the look of a man who would have liked to do this long ago but lacked the opportunity – or desire – to risk venturing into this field. Nevertheless, none of the gun-measures Obama announced yesterday

The View from 22: Obama, the Pacific president

On this week’s View from 22 podcast, the Spectator’s assistant editor Freddy Gray discusses his cover feature on Barack Obama, who he argues is becoming the pacific-centric president. Although America has given us the impression they are angry with a potential EU withdrawal, Freddy concludes that Uncle Sam is just not that into us. When did this new attitude start emerging? And would it be any different under a Mitt Romney administration? James Forsyth also provides an update on David Cameron’s rapidly-approaching EU speech and asks whether the whole thing is a year too late. Will all the Tory party troubles be forgotten and will the speech be it be

Tom Courtenay vs fame

‘You can’t talk about what might have been,’ says Tom Courtenay, reflecting on an acting career that blazed like a meteor the moment he left drama school and is now in its sixth decade. ‘The things you might have done, the films you might have made. I just didn’t feel comfortable with the world of international cinema. I saw a bit of it, the so-called hellraising and what have you, and realised it wasn’t for me’. Not talking about the things he chose not to do doesn’t mean there is nothing to talk about. A trim 75, Courtenay has enjoyed a life blessed with good things, from the day he

The mother myth

Here she comes again. Back at the top of the news, draped in the robes of the righteous, embraced by those who sanctify all things traditional: the ‘full-time mother’. As usual, she is the undeserved victim of something or other; in this instance, it’s the incoherent shake-up of the child benefit system, leading to headlines declaring that ‘full-time mothers are being penalised’, followed by an implacable wistfulness that war is once again waged against the finer values of a finer past, when women dedicated their whole lives to their children. The trouble with this lament, much as I hate to spoil the Hovis commercial, is that they did nothing of

Off the wagon

Like half of London, I gave the new year a surly greeting. It was time to diet. There are two sorts of diets. First, the ones that may work for girls. Breakfast, part of a lettuce leaf. Lunch, the leftovers from breakfast. Supper, some cottage cheese with watercress. Second, boys’ diets, which all concentrate on avoiding carbohydrate. That is not easy. We all enjoy sinking our gnashers in a warm bread roll, liberally buttered, and good pasta is a culinary glory. That said, il faut souffrir pour être beau — and at least with a high-protein diet you can have something to eat. There is a downside. The boys’ regimes

January Mini-bar

Some people think that Southwold, that tranquil seaside town in Suffolk, is hopelessly middle class. So what? I love it. I like staying in the Swan hotel, with its great gilt swan on the outside, eating from the adventurous menu in the Crown, walking on the eccentric pier, admiring the strand of beach huts, and I really enjoy going to the Adnams Cellar and Kitchen Shop, one of those stores where you want to buy everything. Especially the wine. Adnams’ choices match, I believe, the tastes of Spectator readers, being full-flavoured while subtle, piquant yet satisfying, altogether delicious. To draw you in, they have knocked a generous tenner off the

Martin Vander Weyer

Hardly a hammer blow if 800 jobs have shifted from Swindon to Solihull

My item last week about brighter prospects for car makers looked forlorn by Friday lunchtime, when news bulletins were leading with a quote from one Tony Murphy of the Unite union to the effect that an announcement of 800 job cuts at Honda’s Swindon plant was ‘a hammer blow to UK manufacturing’. This was followed at the weekend by a rather less emphatic response to a press release from Jaguar Land Rover which included news of 800 extra jobs at Solihull, continuing a sustained expansion of its workforce that began two years ago. I was hoping Murphy might declare himself ‘over the moon’, but he left it to his assistant

Hugo Rifkind

I don’t care whether torture works. It still isn’t worth it

Torture is wrong. You can tell it’s wrong easily, not by the way it makes you feel, or by the extent to which it does or doesn’t conform to ancient moral codes made up in deserts, but by the way that, when it happens, it screws stuff up. When Barack Obama assumed office four years ago, shutting Guantánamo Bay was one of the first things he was going to do. A whole term later, there it is, utterly not closed, full of people who can’t have a fair trial because of past torture and can’t be sent home because of the risk of future torture. In Britain, meanwhile, torture stops

James Delingpole

Three decades of blood and horror – just the sort of history I like

In the church just a few fields from where I live stands the handsome, painted alabaster tomb to Sir Richard Knightley and his wife Jane. Round the sides of the tomb are reliefs of their 12 children — four girls and eight boys — variously the ancestors of George Washington, the Queen and David Cameron. But at least as impressive as Sir Richard’s dynastic achievements, in my book, are his dates — 1455 to 1534. Every time I go to see him, lying there with his SS collar (symbol of the victorious Lancastrians) round his neck and the dog (or is it a lion?) at his feet, I think, ‘You

My Venezuelan jail hell

There are two conditions British foreign correspondents must meet before they can consider themselves old hands. The first is having one’s work savaged by John Pilger; the second is spending time inside a cell somewhere abroad, preferably somewhere exotic and hot. It so happens that it was during a trip to sultry Venezuela that I came of age as a reporter and achieved the rare double. Not only did Mr Pilger describe my television work as a ‘one of the worst, most distorted pieces of journalism I have ever seen’, but I was also locked up, ordered to strip to my underpants, accused by a military prosecutor of espionage and