Society

Saturday

17 Dec 2011

The turf: A good read

Racing brings in all sorts. Former Archbishop of Canterbury Robert Runcie came by the family route. He used to help his blind father write out his bets every Saturday and the family would be shushed into silence as the racing results were read out on the radio. One Saturday the results were delayed for a broadcast address by the then Archbishop. ‘Turn him off, unctuous old bugger,’ said Runcie’s father, clearly having no clue what direction his son’s career would take. My father didn’t bet and nobody took me racing, but I was hooked early too. We lived next to the long-defunct Hurst Park racecourse near Hampton Court. I used

Melissa Kite

Real life | 17 December 2011

‘You don’t have long. That dog won’t be a puppy for ever. Don’t waste this precious time.’ Those were the wise words of my friend Vince when I brought Cydney home. ‘Get out there with her,’ he explained. ‘Walk her in all the big parks. Maximise your pulling opportunities.’ Vince claims he never had so much luck with women as when he paraded his pug puppy around Hyde Park and, notwithstanding my disaster-prone nature, he was sure that even I could manage to attract a mate whilst walking a cocker spaniel as cute as Cydney. The little black hound does indeed have powerful magnetic qualities. I cannot get down the

Jeremy Clarke

Low life | 17 December 2011

Royal Mail bosses have suggested to postmen that they should not accept a Christmas tip if it’s £30 or more. This is because under the terms of the new Bribery Act that sort of money could conceivably constitute a bribe. I’ve never been a postman, sadly, let alone a postman at Christmas. I don’t know how much a postman expects to make from Christmas tips. But I was seven years a dustman and for us Christmas was always a cash bonanza of mind-boggling proportions. I have lots of happy memories of stepping down from the dustcart on Christmas Eve, already tight as a tick, and heading straight for the pub,

Taki

High life | 17 December 2011

Let’s start with the bad news: in honour of China’s economic rise, a Chinese-looking woman was the first Christmas Grinch here in the States. The sourpuss teacher in upper New York ruined the Christmas spirit for a class full of seven- and eight-year-olds when she told them that there is no Santa Claus, and that the presents under their trees did not come from the North Pole and St Nick but were put there by their parents. Boo, you stupid woman, it’s outrageous that a teacher would strip children of their innocence and demystify something as precious as Christmas. Then there’s always the Brooklyn Museum and its annual attack on

The Spectator

Portrait of the year | 17 December 2011

January The government introduced a Health Bill to give control of the NHS budget to GPs. Andy Coulson resigned as head of communications at Downing Street. Prisoners set Ford open prison on fire. Gerry Rafferty, the singer, died, aged 63. Nigel Pargetter fell to his death from the roof at Lower Loxley. A fox weighing 26.5lb, suspected of having killed a cat, was trapped at Maidstone. President Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali fled Tunisia in the face of a popular uprising. Crowds rioted in Cairo. Floods drove people from their homes in Sri Lanka, Brazil and Australia. Gabrielle Giffords, a Democratic congresswoman, was wounded by a shot to the head at

Andrew Marr

Diary – 17 December 2011

This is the time of year when we all need an epiphany or two. Mine came last week driving near Seville, where I’ve been filming. Far away, across the valley, I saw a vision. There was a tall figure, bathed in radiant light — light which both shimmered in two huge wings, yet also seemed to cascade upwards. The angel of the south? No, it turns out, not quite a Pauline moment. This was a solar tower onto which hundreds of mirrors beam sunlight, the rays turning water into steam and producing energy. It was very beautiful. It’s rare at my age that you see something you’ve never seen before

The Spectator

Letters | 17 December 2011

Enough Brussels Sir: Owen Paterson (‘Dave’s big push’, 10 December) is absolutely right to suggest that we should use the EU summit to renegotiate our relationship with Europe. The Prime Minister’s wielding of the veto offers real scope for change. He must now be bold enough to seize the moment. This fundamental renegotiation of our relationship needs to be based on free trade, competitiveness and growth, and not on political union and dead-weight regulation. This is not some grand utopian vision — it exists today. Switzerland in particular has an excellent relationship with the EU, enjoys easy access to its markets without burdensome regulation, and prospers as a result. Such

Peter Jones

Ancient and Modern: The rules of tyranny

Since tyrants have had such a high profile this year, child-slayer King Herod, an important player in Matthew’s version of the Christmas story, though absent from Luke’s, is sure to bulk larger than usual in Christmas homilies. Pompey had annexed this volatile part of the world in 64 bc, and part of the settlement involved allying with local kings. Herod’s father Antipater had been a client of Pompey and ally of Julius Caesar. Appointed procurator of Judaea, Antipater made Herod governor of Galilee, but was poisoned in 43 bc. Antony (Caesar’s successor) saw Herod as a safe pair of hands and in 40 bc, against much local opposition, made him

Dot Wordsworth

Downton at Pemberley

A national hobby during the screening of Downton Abbey was to spot supposed anachronisms in behaviour and language. It drove poor Lord Fellowes into a frenzy. When last week I read Death Comes to Pemberley, P.D. James’s whodunnit set in the world of Pride and Prejudice, I soon found myself tempted to play the Downton game. It’s not fair, of course. Lady James did not set out to write the book in the language of Jane Austen. At the same time, nor did she wish to produce any such sentences as: ‘“Whatever,” shrugged Darcy.’ In this she succeeded. Yet some items of speech come pretty close, sticking out as anachronistic

Fleur Macdonald

Bookbenchers: Caroline Lucas

This week’s Bookbencher is Dr Caroline Lucas, the Green MP for Brighton Pavilion. She reveals her soft spot for Julian Barnes and that she’s not a fan of Roger Scruton. Which book’s on your bedside table at the moment? Interpreters by Sue Eckstein, a friend who lives in Brighton Which book would you read to your children? We’re Going on a Bear Hunt by Michael Rosen and Helen Oxenbury Which literary character would you most like to be? Pippi Longstocking Which book do you think best sums up ‘now’? Maggie Gee’s The Flood (if we don’t act fast!) What was the last novel you read? Pereira Maintains by Antonio Tabucchi

Sam Leith

Blast through Boxing Day

Video games are an ideal gift – especially the violent ones Not long ago, Salman Rushdie took to Twitter to say, ‘Passed this billboard: “From the Makers of Doom… Rage!” What does it say about us that these are the names of games?’ The author of Fury had a point. Video games are now bigger business than movies, and the biggest business in video games is war: exploding aliens, terrorists being shot in the spine, guns, guns, guns. To those who don’t know their FPSs from their STDs, it looks like a bewildering miasma of regressive male adolescent nonsense. Which, of course, it is. Most of these games have crude

James Forsyth

A patient cure

Andrew Lansley stands on the concourse of Euston station cracking jokes with a gaggle of civil servants. Lansley, who must be at least 6ft3, towers over the group. He looks relaxed. The contrast with how he looked a few months ago could not be sharper. Then, the Health Secretary seemed to be carrying all the troubles of the coalition’s NHS reforms on his shoulders. He had developed a stoop and he would talk to you with his arms crossed. But now his controversial, much revised bill is almost through parliament. What he calls his period in ‘purgatory’ is nearly over. For a Cabinet minister, Lansley is surprisingly free from ego.

Susan Hill

Winter Notebook

You don’t go to North Norfolk in winter for good weather, but we had it — vast blue skies, sunshine and a couple of wild gales. North Norfolk in summer, like the Cotswolds in which I live landlocked, mingles the horribly overcrowded with quiet spaces about which locals keep schtum. In late November it had been reclaimed by them and was half-empty. Staying in a peaceful converted barn, we were there to work but also to walk on near-deserted Holkham Beach, where Poppy the border terrier thought she had died and the sand and sea were heaven. Best, friendliest coffee shop was in Burnham Market, small, un-chic Tilly’s, which sells

Tom Hollander

I can’t get out of bed

Life is about choices. You can explain your lot away as bad luck, but I face you with the possibility that your lifestyle is the result of choices you have made. Said the therapist I went to see last week. Before leaving I made another appointment to see him so that I wouldn’t appear to have the problem with commitment that he had identified. But I don’t think I’ll go. I went to see him because, with the combination of the end of a relationship and George Osborne’s well-named autumn statement, I’ve been finding it hard to get out of bed. I went to see Ruby Wax’s excellent show about

Ed Smith

He knew he was wrong — Daniel Kahneman interview

When I was 13, my school cricket team received a visit from a top professional cricket coach, an intoxicating visit from the big leagues. I tried to hear what the great man was saying as he watched us, how he advised our teacher. ‘Never praise kids — they only mess it up next time,’ I overheard him say. After pausing to berate me for a below-average cover drive, he whispered to the teacher, ‘It’s different with criticism — that really works.’ Like a typical cocky teenager, I longed for a clever riposte. Perhaps fortunately, I didn’t have the intellectual insight to deliver one. But last week I met up with

Adam Werritty

Breaking the silence | 17 December 2011

When you hire a morning suit for a wedding, you count on being photographed a few times on the day — for photos that will be quickly buried in wedding albums. But by now, half the country will probably have seen pictures of me as Liam Fox’s best man at his wedding, six years ago. Had I known, I’d perhaps have hired a suit that fitted a little better. But I’d never have imagined that I’d end up in a Force 12 political storm. When this all began, some three months ago, I opted to keep a low profile, thinking that any other course of action would only fan the

Geoffrey Wheatcroft

Parliament shouldn’t pay

This year has seen a sombre centenary, which passed almost unnoticed. It was in August 1911 that Members of Parliament voted to pay themselves for the first time — an annual stipend of £400 a year. What was meant to open parliament to all ranks of society and allow men of low birth but high gifts to sit as MPs has proved a fine example of the law of unintended consequences. A seemingly modest innovation began the process which has culminated in what we now have: the professionalisation of politics and the creation of a new class of full-time but mediocre politicians. And instead of changing the House of Commons

Roger Scruton

The green and the blue

For as long as I can remember, the word ‘conservative’ has been used in intellectual circles as a term of abuse, while to call someone ‘right-wing’ has been the next thing to social ostracism. This habit has persisted throughout 50 years in which the Conservative party has had the largest overall share of the vote. But the habit is not new. It took root two centuries ago, when the French Revolution excited British intellectuals to think that they too might get the chance to cut off the heads that contained less brains than their own. John Stuart Mill, when a Liberal MP, spoke for the intellectual majority by denouncing the

Bruce Anderson

Projecting Thatcher

‘The Iron Lady’ and the Iron Lady I knew The Iron Lady is a cruel film: brutally unsparing in its depiction of the hazards of old age. I was ready to be angry and to believe that, like jackals, Hollywood lefties were closing in on an aged lioness, safe in the cowardice of assailing the vulnerable, overlooking in their sniggerings the obvious point. In her prime, one roar, and they would all have fled in terror. Those suspicions were unjustified, for this is cruelty in the pursuit of art. The outcome is cinematographic power. It is a work of force and pathos. For most of the time, I was enthralled;

Hugh Eakin

Here comes Qatar

Suddenly, the tiny Gulf emirate is the Middle East’s superpower In late October, Syrian state television aired a 17-minute documentary unmasking what it said was the real force behind the country’s seven-month-old revolt: the tiny Persian Gulf emirate of Qatar. ‘The name of Qatar surfaces once a disaster or conflict breaks out in the Arab and Muslim world,’ the programme begins. ‘Qatar intervenes in major and minor issues, seeking to wield influence by backing rebel and extremist movements as well as armed Islamic groups.’ Along with sowing ‘sedition’ everywhere from Egypt and Tunisia to Sudan and Yemen, Qatar had been ‘financing and arming the rebel movements in eastern Libya.’ Now