Society

Saturday

Peter Jones

Ancient and modern | 6 November 2010

Livy was recently invoked here to rally the top 15 per cent of earners to a bit of wholesome belt-tightening. Not that Livy had anything against the filthy rich. Far from it. But he did expect them to use their wealth wisely — no showing off, no power-grabbing — and if the state did interfere with it, he expected there to be an acceptable quid pro quo. According to tradition, Servius Tullius (the sixth king of Rome, 578–534 bc) divided the Roman people up into classes (same word as ours) by property. One of its purposes was to rank your ability to serve in the army. The top classis was the equestres, rich

The Spectator

Portrait of the week | 6 November 2010

Home A bomb was found at East Midlands airport. Home A bomb was found at East Midlands airport. It was in a parcelled computer toner cartridge filled with pentaerythritol tetranitrate (PETN), the high explosive found in the underpants of Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab on a flight to Detroit last Christmas day. A similar parcel was found in Dubai. Both parcels were sent from Sanaa, the capital of Yemen, and addressed to synagogues in Chicago, though British authorities said the bomb discovered in the East Midlands was intended to explode in the air. Both bombs had spent some time in the holds of passenger planes. Theresa May, the Home Secretary, said the bombs had been made by

Charles Moore Charles Moore

The Spectator’s Notes | 6 November 2010

Quite possibly the government is right. Perhaps it is impossible to win a case against the ruling of the European Court of Human Rights that prisoners must be given the vote. Perhaps it was impossible last week to prevent an increase in the EU budget. Perhaps one can never get what one wants from the European institutions. But if so, isn’t it — I speak in the mild tone of one schooled not to ‘bang on about Europe’ — a bit of a problem? Television reports of the service of blessing for a tourist couple in the Maldives, which was actually, unknown to the couple, a stream of insults, deliberately

Melissa Kite

Real life | 6 November 2010

Two years ago I had a spiritual experience while being pummelled by an Indian guru called Dipu. I was staying at a spa hotel in Porto Cervo where they had invited one of the world’s leading Ayurvedic practitioners to set up shop as a guest therapist. Being spa-sceptic (I was with a boyfriend who was a devotee of pampering) and only wanting to lie by the pool and read, I dodged the hotel manager’s entreaties to try Dipu, until finally I got so sick of being told I was missing out that I agreed to give him a whirl. I entered the darkened treatment room wrapped in a bath robe

Jeremy Clarke

Low life | 6 November 2010

We met outside Tate Modern. The location was convenient for us both and held shared fond memories of aimless Sunday afternoon strolls along the South Bank. She brought along her new baby, a happy, sociable little soul, and we sat under the west wall of the old power station for over an hour and had so much to say we kept interrupting each other. We were better friends, it seemed to me, thinking about it afterwards, than when we were ‘together’. We had no plans to go inside the Tate and look at the art. But the concrete ramp leading down to the Turbine Hall entrance was only ten yards

Taki

High life | 6 November 2010

I began thinking about this column one week before I noticed that Craig Brown had pinched it. Actually written what I meant to write one week before I decided to write it, which I guess cannot be called plagiarism just because I had thought of it first. (If I had, that is.) It’s about the man who wrote Downton Abbey, the greatest and most popular soap opera since Upstairs Downstairs. It was during a von Bülow lunch in a St James’s club which is also mine, and I was seated next to a plump, bald man who smiled brightly and introduced himself as Julian Fellowes. ‘My wife is lady-in-waiting to

Toby Young Toby Young

Status Anxiety: Trots ain’t what they used to be

I’m thinking of starting a political campaign. The idea is to draw attention to the rapid decline of one of the most treasured groups in British public life. Once a vital force in the Labour movement, they are now the political equivalent of an endangered species. The campaign will be called ‘Save Our Trots’. Take the efforts of my local NUT rep, Nick Grant, to whip up opposition to the West London Free School. Grant makes no bones about being a Trotskyist — he’s out and proud, as it were — and therein lies the problem. Because everyone knows he’s a member of the Socialist Workers Party, few locals take

Fraser Nelson Fraser Nelson

Diversity is the name of the game: different pupils have different needs

The Times has a spread on free schools (p20-p21) today (£), focusing on the model of Kunskapskolan, one of the largest Swedish chains, who are setting up shop in Britain. “Pupils set their own homework, decide their timetables, set themselves targets and work at their own speed – oh, and they clock off at 2pm,” says Greg Hurst, the paper’s education editor. He visits one of their schools in Twickenham. “At the heart of the personalised learning”, he says, lies a “one-on-one tutorial with a teacher for 15 minutes to review progress, weekly and long-term targets and timetables to meet them.” A pupil, Lisa, is quoted saying: “You talk to

David Blackburn

The Coulson saga rumbles on

Andy Coulson had a chat and a Bath Oliver with the Met recently. Rejoice! The News of the World phone tapping story continues. The allegations against Coulson do the government no favours. But, even if, in a hypothetical drama, Coulson were to be charged I doubt many would care. I don’t deny the seriousness of the offences already committed by employees of News International, but it’s a very tiresome story and saturation point has been reached. So the usual suspects make little impact when they call for Coulson to resign, fall on his sword, take the rap or whatever cliché they happen to adopt. Coulson needn’t resign because there is

David Blackburn

Waiting for welfare reform

After a summer of sporadic announcements, IDS’ welfare reforms will be published in a white paper next week. As in 1997, when Tony Blair urged Frank Field to think the unthinkable, there is consensus on the need for radical welfare change. IDS has earned respect as a moral and pragmatic reformer, and he attracts goodwill from across the House. The Liberal Democrats, Nick Clegg and Steve Webb particularly, were ‘vital’ in securing a spending concession from George Osborne, whilst Douglas Alexander has described IDS’ plans and ‘noble’ and pledges to support principle that welfare should be a safety net, not a vocation. He warms to the theme in today’s Guardian.

Mary Wakefield Mary Wakefield

Dear Mary…

Q. An old friend has been complaining to mutual other friends that I have dropped her because I have become ‘so grand’. The truth is that we are members of the same profession and currently I have to work incredibly long hours and travel a lot while she does not. But, to reassure her, I invited her to dinner on the first night I have free, which happens to be in early December. We arranged to meet at eight. Now, as luck would have it, I have been asked to something vital on the same night which I would not be able to leave till 9.15 at the earliest. Although

Rory Sutherland Rory Sutherland

The Wiki Man: Web building

After the womenfolk in the household have gone to bed, I like to spend a minute trawling a few porn sites. In my case it may be either www.privateislandsonline.com (the estate agency most beloved of James Bond villains) or more commonly www.savewright.org, with its section ‘Wright on the Market’ listing all the properties currently on sale that were designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. It is a senseless dream, of course. There are no Wright buildings outside the US (bar a handful in Tokyo) and those on sale are usually either a) priced at $4 million, b) in need of ruinously expensive restoration, or c) located seven hours’ drive from Des Moines. I

Interconnect

Competition | 6 November 2010

In Competition No. 2671 you were invited to submit a poem in which the rhymed ending of each line is a truncated word. This challenge invites you to follow in the footsteps of that master of light verse and lover of word-play Harry Graham, who, in his poem ‘Poetical Economy’, ‘found a simple plan/ Which makes the lamest lyric scan!’: When I’ve a syllable de trop, I cut it off, without apol.: This verbal sacrifice, I know, May irritate the schol.; But all must praise my dev’lish cunn. Who realise that Time is Mon. Honourable mentions to Jane Dards, Mae Scanlan, Paul Griffin and D.A. Prince, who were unlucky losers.

Aidan Hartley

Wild life | 6 November 2010

Laikipia I have a mob of finished Boran steers ready for the holidays. The butchers are suddenly chasing me and that’s a fine feeling. A year ago, we were in the worst drought for 50 years, with invasions of armed herders and 2,000 cattle. We were left with not a blade of grass. Our cattle were heartbreaking to see. Since then we’ve had rain every month. The animals have grown fat on rippling seas of red oat pasture. Now I must sell up, or I shall be penniless at Christmas. Or the Samburu will go mad with the temptation, rustle them and scoff the lot in the forest. The butchers

The Spectator

It can’t hurt to ask

A familiar story was played out in Brussels last week. A British prime minister entered the conference chamber vowing he would not give one inch to the European Union. He emerged a few hours later having given way but nonetheless declaring a ‘spectacular’ victory. It was John Major and Maastricht, Tony Blair and his ‘red lines’, all over again. How quickly David Cameron has settled into the role expected of him by Brussels. To pretend that he is happy to be giving away an additional £450 million a year to the EU. To sound the bugle of triumph, no matter what the outcome. To his credit, Mr Cameron did not

Lloyd Evans Lloyd Evans

The Spectator defence debate

Just a few hours after the publication of the strategic defence and security review, two crack teams of speakers clashed over the future of the armed forces at a Spectator debate sponsored by Brewin Dolphin. The novelist and military historian Brigadier Allan Mallinson proposed the motion — ‘The army, navy and air force are so 20th-century. Scrap them and have a massive British Marine Corps’ — with a heavy heart. ‘I love the armed forces,’ he said. ‘I watch the “Battle of Britain” with tears in my eyes.’ But the trinitarian approach had failed. He imagined a new combined force under the command of an army general. As Admiral Jackie

Peter Oborne

Tartan Taleban

On a freezing January morning two years ago, I joined a US army assault in an al-Qa’eda-controlled village in northern Iraq. We were dropped by helicopter half a mile from the village not long after midnight and shivered till dawn, when the soldiers launched their assault. They met with no resistance and by late afternoon had completed their searches and were mostly asleep. I sat in the garden of the makeshift company HQ — the largest house in the village, commandeered from a reluctant sheikh. Above me a US soldier was on sentry duty, while at the bottom of the garden women were cleaning clothes in a stream. There was

Theodore Dalrymple

Common people

When I returned recently from Paris, everyone asked about the strikes, the riots, the violence and the chaos. All I had seen was a queue at one petrol station and a notice of closure at another: otherwise, it was all oysters and Sancerre. My questioners were disappointed. It was as if the travails of France were the salvation of England. Much more pertinent to our national predicament is something that strikes me each time I return from France: the extreme vulgarity of the English by comparison with the French. It is as if the English had adopted vulgarity as a totalitarian ideology, a communism of culture rather than of the

Peter Robins

Wheels within wheels

I have seen only one actual fight in a London cycle lane. It was at St George’s Circus, south of Blackfriars Bridge, on an afternoon late last summer. Two young women were attacking each other over a prone Boris bike, with a third attempting to pull them apart. It seems likely that one had ridden the bike into the other, but I did not interrupt them to check. One learns quickly not to intervene in bike rage incidents. During my first year as a London cyclist, when I was less good at staying quiet, I was spat at, hit with an egg and, just the once, punched in the face

Celia Haddon

Legitimate question

My father believed – wrongly – that I wasn’t his child. If only there had been DNA tests to reassure him In this magazine two weeks ago, Melanie McDonagh suggested that DNA testing is tough on children whose apparent fathers turn out not to be anything of the kind. In particular, she had sympathy for the child whose TV presenter ‘father’ discovered that for years he had been paying child support for somebody else’s offspring. No doubt she has a point, but what of the children whose true fathers doubt their paternity? For me, DNA testing would have been a blessing. My father doubted I was his child, though I