Society

Saturday

5 Dec 2009

Neighbours from hell

I try not to be a party pooper but the other night I came home to such a cacophony of revelling from a neighbour’s house that I concluded there had to be a gathering of international gangsters, drug barons and hookers in my street. The thumping hip hop, screaming and glass smashing was coming from a house whose back garden borders mine at the bottom; so I crept outside to see if I could catch a glimpse. I picked my way to the end of the garden in the dark, pulled myself up over the fence and braced myself to see hoards of Nike-swathed homeboys dripping in gold chains and spliffs.

Mary Killen

Dear Mary | 5 December 2009

Q. The other night I attended an enjoyable lecture on the Mitford sisters at the British Institute in Florence, the former townhouse of Harold and William Acton, who were lifelong friends of the sisters. The library where the lecture was delivered was packed to the rafters. My enjoyment was spoiled, however, by the ordinary, conversation-level chatter which was taking place between two ladies in front of me, one on each side of the aisle — and they were not even talking about the Mitfords! I am shortly to give a lecture myself, on a similar theme, and would find myself quite undermined were such an intercourse to start up while

Toby Young

If I can keep my mouth shut long enough, we will build the Eton of the state sector

As readers of this column will know, I’ve spent the last year leading the efforts of a 250-strong group of local parents to start a new state secondary school in west London. One of the toughest things about this crusade is constantly having to bite my tongue. As a journalist, I used to delight in being able to say whatever I pleased and to hell with the consequences. Now I have to be more circumspect. One ill-judged phrase and the whole enterprise could be derailed. I’m often asked what sort of school we’re trying to set up and the answer I want to give — but am reluctant to because

Dot Wordsworth

Mind your language | 5 December 2009

For once, my husband has backed me up, if on dubious grounds. A friend, of previously good character, astonished us both by insisting that the ‘correct’ form of Welsh rabbit was Welsh rarebit. ‘No, it’s not,’ said my husband. ‘I had one at my club only last week.’ It is difficult to see why rarebit should be accorded stronger explanatory force than rabbit. The lamented Robert Burchfield noted in his edition of Fowler’s Modern English Usage: ‘This dish of cheese on toast emerged, with rabbit so spelt, in 1725.’ It is also rabbit in Hannah Glasse’s The Art of Cookery, By a Lady. Here is her recipe: ‘Toast the Bread

The Spectator

Letters | 5 December 2009

Shooting, moi? Sir: We act for Cherie Blair. We are instructed with regard to an article… The Spectator’s Notes by Charles Moore (28 November). It alleged that our client attended a shooting party at Lord Rothschild’s house in Buckinghamshire with ‘Saif Al-Islam Gaddafi, son of the Libyan dictator, and the man who escorted the Lockerbie bomber, Al Megrahi, home to a hero’s welcome in Libya in August.’ Plainly, this article is highly defamatory of our client as, in suggesting our client was at this shooting party with Saif Al-Islam Gaddaffi [sic], you have alleged that our client was, socialising or ‘rubbing shoulders with’ an individual who, in your words, is

Tamzin Lightwater

Diary of a Notting Hill nobody | 5 December 2009

Monday Oh dear. Maybe Mr Maude was right. Maybe we are heading for… no, I won’t say it. I refuse to say the HP words. A few rogue polls, that’s all it is. Dave says this would never have happened if we had got his No Complacency message out properly. We are now under orders to brief that ‘we take nothing for granted’ to at least 50 journalists a day. If we do not fulfil our anti-complacency briefing quotas, we face having our pay docked. Still, there’s some good news. The first official portrait of Dave has been unveiled to universal acclaim, making worthwhile all those hours we put into

Charles Moore

The Spectator’s Notes | 5 December 2009

On Sunday night, I went to Wellington College to defend God. The Almighty does not need human help, of course, but I was asked to oppose Professors Richard Dawkins and A.C. Grayling, and — with Lord Harries, the former Bishop of Oxford — propose the motion that ‘Atheism is the new fundamentalism’. I had hoped that the audience would consist largely of the stalwart pupils and parents of Wellington, which would have had our side in with a chance. But in fact the event was run by the brilliant, Notting-Hilly debating organisation Intelligence Squared. This meant that 1,500 people turned up, cramming the vast sports hall. It also meant that the

Melanie Phillips

Diary – 5 December 2009

To Edinburgh, that most gracious and civilised of cities, for what promises to be a less than altogether agreeable experience. I have to confess that, when BBC1’s Question Time rang to ask whether I might be available to take part in last week’s show from that city, the words ‘hole’ and ‘head’ sprang to mind. Scottish audiences tend not to be — how to put this — entirely sympathetic to my general take on the world. And since the likely topics for this encounter are global warming and the Iraq war inquiry, the chances of this audience responding with enthusiasm to a right-wing warmongering certifiable neocon Zionist climate-change denier with

The Spectator

Portrait of the week | 5 December 2009

Mr Gordon Brown, the Prime Minister, announced that Britain would send an extra 500 troops to Afghanistan, bringing its strength there to 10,000. Earlier he had criticised Pakistan for not making ‘more progress in taking out’ the leader of al-Qa’eda: ‘We have got to ask ourselves why, eight years after September 11, nobody has been able to spot or detain or get close to Osama bin Laden.’ The High Court ruled that two men in prison accused of being al-Qa’eda terrorists, who cannot be named, have the right to hear the secret evidence against them or be released. Lady Warsi, the opposition spokesman on community cohesion, was pelted with eggs

The Spectator

Battle for the City

For years, the French have resented the success of the City of London. It has become the Rome of the globalised world, where the best financiers flock to do business, make money and pay tax. When Britain wisely stayed out of the eurozone, the City consolidated its lead as Europe’s only world-league financial centre. The best French financiers climbed aboard the Eurostar and headed north. Today, when you enter the quant trading division of firms like Barclays Capital, you hear the finest minds of the école Polytechnique speaking French to each other. It is fashionable, nowadays, to declare this to have been a fraud, the City little more than a

Alex Massie

Prejudice Isn’t Daring; It’s Boring

So, yes, we all know that Rod Liddle’s shtick is to try and be as offensive as possible so that he can chuckle at those po-faced ninnies who dare to be offended by his courageous insistence to tell it like it really is. But like his comrades Clarkson and Littlejohn Liddle confuses being offensive with being provocative. The latter requires that you be, you know, interesting. Here’s Rod however: The first of an occasional series – those benefits of a multi-cultural Britain in full. Let me introduce you all to this human filth. It could be an anomaly, of course. But it isn’t. The overwhelming majority of street crime,

Rod Liddle

Benefits of a multi-cultural Britain

The first of an occasional series – those benefits of a multi-cultural Britain in full. Let me introduce you all to this human filth. It could be an anomaly, of course. But it isn’t. The overwhelming majority of street crime, knife crime, gun crime, robbery and crimes of sexual violence in London is carried out by young men from the African-Caribbean community. Of course, in return, we have rap music, goat curry and a far more vibrant and diverse understanding of cultures which were once alien to us. For which, many thanks. UPDATE: A PCC adjudication relating to this blog-post can be found here.

Fraser Nelson

Global warming: the truth

Last month, 1,000 emails leaked from the University of East Anglia’s Climatic Research Unit. The institution is more important than it sounds: for decades, it has been at the centre of the global warming debate, keeping in touch with the close-knit group of scientists who guard the various projections about global warming. Or, as the emails showed, the lack thereof. ‘The fact is that we can’t account for the lack of warming at the moment and it is a travesty that we can’t,’ said one scientist. Another said: ‘We can have a proper result — but only by including a load of garbage.’ As the world leaders gather in Copenhagen

Samuel Brittan

Why we must dare to debate

I have no expertise on the subject of global warming; nor do I have a strong view about it. But I do know attempted thought control and hostility to free speech when I see it; and I find these unlovely phenomena present among all too many of the enthusiasts for climate action. Words such as ‘denial’ are intentionally brought into the debate and recall those who deny the reality of the Nazi Holocaust. Since my undergraduate days I have been carrying around a copy of John Stuart Mill’s timeless essay On Liberty, which contains the following stirring sentence: ‘If all mankind minus one were of one opinion, and only one

Amander Baillieu

The thin green line: cross it at your peril

It was when I saw an internet tweet comparing me to Nick Griffin — with 2,000 people signed up to it — that I realised just how much trouble I was in. It was when I saw an internet tweet comparing me to Nick Griffin — with 2,000 people signed up to it — that I realised just how much trouble I was in. My sin: I had written an opinion piece entitled ‘Is global warming hot air?’ I’d wanted to see if my 18,000 architect readers agreed with the line now adopted by the Royal Institute of British Architects (Riba) that ‘man-made’ climate change is the greatest challenge facing

Nils Axel-Morner

Why the Maldives aren’t sinking

The President of the Maldives recently held a Cabinet meeting underwater, saying his islands may be submerged. In an open letter Nils-Axel Mörner assures him his country is safe Dear Mr President, You are obviously very concerned about the effect that sea level rises may have on the Maldives. Your Cabinet has been photographed meeting underwater, and you have even declared that ‘we are going to die’ if the climate change summit in Copenhagen fails. I am now writing with what I hope will be some good news. The scientific side of the situation is quite different to that which you imagine. You are, in fact, not going to die.

Paul Richards

Primary schools or training camps?

When Ed Balls left a Labour fundraiser at a Westminster curry house last Wednesday to be interviewed on Newsnight, he had the look of a man with an ace up his sleeve. David Cameron’s attack on the government for allowing public funds to go to schools influenced by Islamist extremists was blunted by some slapdash research. Although understandable given their profusion, muddling up ‘pathfinder’ funds was stupid. Far more foolish was the response of ministers, who leapt on the muddle as proof that the central charge was also flawed. As a former special adviser, I understand the need for survival tactics in what Denis Healey called the ‘jungle warfare’ of

Leah McLaren

Why do we long to be Nazis and tarts?

As the fancy-dress party season begins again, Leah McLaren wonders why the British are never more themselves than when they’re pretending to be someone else There is a popular urban legend about a British couple in New York who attended a black tie gala dressed as a pair of pumpkins. Turns out they had misinterpreted the host’s instruction to ‘dress fancy,’ as an invitation for fancy dress — something Americans only do once a year on Halloween. Did they burst into tears and run home? Not a chance. Being Brits, they put on brave faces, pulled their orange foam bellies up to the bar, and proceeded to get shamelessly drunk

Matthew Parris

It’s time for journalists to be honest about their corrupting involvement with PR

I was due this week to interview a person I much admire, for a publication I respect, and for a fee I could more or less live with. My putative interviewee was my undoubted superior in terms both of intellect and genius: someone who has for many years managed a career with skill and flair. The parameters of the interview were benign: given the surrounding circumstances and the nature of the publication there could be no question of my wanting to embarrass or trap my interviewee. In short, this was to be a friendly interview with a capable adult conducted for the mutual advantage of both parties and (in this

Lucy Vickery

Competition | 5 December 2009

In Competition 2624 you were invited to submit a poem in the style of the legendary William Topaz McGonagall on an issue of contemporary relevance to the Scots. Hailed by the TLS as ‘the only truly memorable bad poet in our language’, McGonagall built his reputation on appalling yet beguiling works of inadvertent comic genius. Neither plagued by a lack of self-belief nor hampered by self-awareness, the handloom weaver from Dundee forged ahead with his art in the face of universal mockery and derision. He has had the last laugh, though: his star burns brightly still more than a century after his death. The sincerity of the original voice (which