Society

Monday

Matthew Dancona

America’s confessional cinema

Two big movies on release at the moment – Michael Moore’s Sicko and the thriller Rendition – have in common a deep strand of American self-loathing. Say what you like about Moore: his films are awesomely powerful and well-constructed. And who can doubt that his target this time – the US health system – is a soft one? But his travels to Britain to see the NHS, France, Canada and even Cuba – all to demonstrate the wickedness of America – are spectacularly credulous. In one scene, he interviews a British GP about how terrific his pay is, how brilliant the system is and (wait for it) how little the

Sunday

Alex Massie Alex Massie

First CAMRA takes Manhattan?

This New York Times piece by Eric Asimov has, for British readers, a certain charm. It’s rather like seeing the world through alien eyes. My what strange yet wondrous habits you quaintly old-fashioned humans have: I WAS sitting at a noisy bar on a beautiful fall afternoon, watching the bartender work, and she was indeed working. She pulled down on the tap, then pushed back, pulled down and pushed up, in rhythmic repetition like a farmhand at a well. The ale poured slowly into a mug, at first all foam, then turning translucent before suddenly clarifying into a brilliant suds-topped amber. I touched the faceted glass, cool, but not cold.

Fraser Nelson Fraser Nelson

The evil that the welfare system encourages

One of the benefits of doing Question Time is being taken to task on the blogosphere for days afterwards, and my comments on welfare and immigration have been reproduced and critiqued. Here’s my offending quote: “Right now we don’t really notice that we have 14% of the population on benefits, a huge figure.  But if immigrants weren’t here then my God we’d notice.  There’d be huge labour shortages everywhere, we would be forced to actually confront this huge joblessness.” Alex Hilton over at LabourHome, had this to say. “The Tory position seems to be that working class people should go and work in factories or call centres or bring in

Saturday

Alex James

Black Hawk down

My friend Spud had an Agusta 109. That’s the best type of helicopter. They’re like super-fancy flying Ferraris, shiny, and all Louis Vuitton and shagpile inside, the closest thing to a magic carpet that you can get. For Spud, the 109 was a skeleton key to everything, as well as a magic carpet to everywhere. People always wanted to borrow it to go to swanky soirées and special occasions in. Those he hardly knew invited him to grands prix, garden parties, Glastonbury, Glyndebourne and for the short amount of time that he owned it he went to absolutely everything. He sold it for a couple of million more than he

Robin Oakley

Speed limit | 27 October 2007

I will never agree with the video referee in England’s World Cup final, even if he produces a certificate signed by every member of the Royal College of Opticians. Though the South Africans deserved their victory, for me Mark Cueto’s effort will always be a try. But officials are not always wrong. The Newmarket stewards who the same day gave the Irish jockey Kevin Manning five days’ suspension for improper riding on the Darley Dewhurst Stakes winner New Approach were absolutely right. Yes, it was a thrilling victory from a first-class field of the horses likely to contest next year’s Classics. But I don’t like to see success obtained by

The Spectator

Letters | 27 October 2007

Stolen seats Sir: On what evidence does Stephen Pollard (Politics, 20 October) base his contention that the ‘only possible reading of the past three decades’ is that the voters ‘turn to the Conservatives only when the Labour party presents itself as unelectable’? Since 1977, the Tories have been in power for 18 years (60 per cent of the time) and Labour for 12 years (40 per cent). Apparently, then, Labour spend most of the time being unelectable. Even in 1997, opinion polls were showing that on all manner of economic and social issues, the voters consistently preferred Tory policies, albeit they had become sick of Tory politicians. Tony Blair, of

Charles Moore Charles Moore

The Spectator’s notes | 27 October 2007

This week, my family celebrated a century of continuous occupation of the house in Sussex where my sister now lives. The place came into the family in the 19th century, but was let to the Church of England Temperance Society as a home for 38 ‘adult male inebriates’ until my great-grandfather and his second wife reclaimed it. Their reoccupation is commemorated by a carved panel in the dining room which quotes the first line of the 127 Psalm — ‘Except the Lord build the house, their labour is but lost that build it’ — in Latin. The couple’s initials are picked out from the rest of text in gilt and

Matthew Dancona

Diary – 27 October 2007

Valhalla: Row H, Seat 9 It’s Wednesday, so it must be Rheingold. In an unlikely logistical triumph, I have managed to build my week around the second cycle of the Ring at the Royal Opera House — and quite something it is, too. As much as I might aspire to be George Bernard Shaw’s ‘Perfect Wagnerite’, I am still very much a novice in the world of neurotic gods, Niebelungs, giants, Walsungs, dragon music, stolen gold, sacred spears and Rhinemaidens. So the privilege of attending this amazing event — an unalloyed triumph for Tony Hall and his team at the ROH — feels all the greater (for expert opinion, see

Mary Killen

Your problems solved | 27 October 2007

Q. This summer I spent a couple of nights in an hotel in France. The friend I had been staying with suddenly had rather a lot of people so I volunteered to go to the hotel — quite a good holiday trick if there are a lot of children about. Usually when I check into an hotel room I never make use of the drawers or the wardrobe. I just scatter my things about the room so that when I leave I need only glance around to make sure I have not forgotten anything. This was quite a nice little hotel, (a favourite of the late Auberon Waugh)*, and on

Toby Young Toby Young

What bugs me is not identity fraud but who will be watchdog to BBC’s Watchdog

A couple of weeks ago I got a request from someone called Amba wanting to be my Facebook friend. Without thinking much about it, I said yes — I usually do when people ask to be friends with me on social networking sites. The upshot is that Amba now has access to my Facebook profile — she can see, for instance, that my favourite novelist is Charles Dickens — and can send messages to all my other Facebook friends. The following day I received an email from an assistant producer on Watchdog revealing that I’d been targeted as part of a story she was working on investigating social networking sites

Deborah Ross

Restaurants | 27 October 2007

St Alban, 4–12 Regent Street, London SW1 St Alban is the latest restaurant from Chris Corbin and Jeremy King, who have almost mythic status as restaurateurs, and rightly so. They are, after all, the team that at various times have been behind The Ivy, Le Caprice, J. Sheekey and The Wolseley but never Garfunkel’s, which is weird but, hey, if it ain’t broke why fix it? This newest opening is on Regent Street but not on the groovy bit. It’s on the sombre, shopless bit south of Piccadilly Circus, and on the ground floor of a block so dreary and anonymous I miss it several times. At one point I

Dot Wordsworth

Mind your language | 27 October 2007

‘Let your little tike show off their little trike with this trendy shirt’, read an advertisement for toddlers’ T-shirts that Veronica showed me. In British English, tyke means ‘bitch, cur’ or ‘Yorkshireman’. In American English it is often used innocently enough for ‘child’. But it was the slogan on the advertised T-shirts that struck me: pimp my ride. It sounded pretty rude to me, with unplumbed sexual connotations. Not suitable for toddlers. But Veronica explained that there is a popular programme on the MTV channel that goes by this name. It is all about tarting up cars. A trailer for Pimp My Ride says, ‘Once again, rap superstar and car

Fraser Nelson Fraser Nelson

The ghosts return as Brown fights to escape the Blairite past

At the Labour party conference in Bournemouth, Tony Blair was airbrushed out of the picture. But this week Blair’s ghost has returned to haunt Gordon Brown with a new biography of the ex-PM, sniping from the disaffected and the evidence of Yates of the Yard on cash for honours. The challenge now for Gordon Brown is to lay out an agenda that allows new Labour to move beyond its past. You could have spent the whole week at Labour’s conference in Bournemouth without realising somebody called Tony Blair had ever existed. His face, his ideas, his legacy had all but vanished from the official and fringe literature. He may have

Norman Stone

Turkey is right to fight for an end to the PKK

Istanbul Turkey at the moment is being swept by a great wave of patriotic rage. In the past several weeks a dozen or more young soldiers have been killed in the borderlands of Iraq, and even the most sober television channels again and again show their faces, their funerals, their weeping mothers and sisters. There have been vast demonstrations in Ankara and even in provincial towns, bringing the traffic to a stop for hours on end, and there is enormous pressure on the government for something to be done. The problem is a Kurdish terrorist organisation, the PKK, which had been dormant for several years. Its leader, Abdullah Öcalan, was

Tim Walker

A child of the Troubles with a smile on his face

Patrick Kielty says that there are three ages in a comedian’s life. ‘He starts off as the young Turk who is angry about the state of the world and wants to put it right. Then comes the age of hypocrisy — when he is still quite angry and still quite young, but quietly goes home after the show is over and puts his feet up at his nice pad in Chelsea. Then there is the final age when he is well into middle-age and making jokes about the goo-goo noises his children make. That is when he should, if he has any sense at all, give it all up.’ At

Harry Mount

Better always to be late than selectively so

‘Mr White Man’s Time’ would be a pretty racist nickname if it hadn’t been invented by black Africans. In Ivory Coast, though, it’s a term of some distinction. The nickname belongs to Narcisse Aka, a legal adviser aged 40, who has just won the country’s hallowed Punctuality Night competition — and a £30,000 villa — after he consistently turned up for work on time while his compatriots took a more relaxed attitude to punctuality. As the slogan of the competition goes, ‘African time is killing Africa; let’s fight it.’ Mr White Man’s Time might be a little surprised, then, if he came over to Britain for an urgent appointment —

Theodore Dalrymple

Global warning | 27 October 2007

At last somewhere in Europe as filthy and littered as almost the whole of Britain! If we can’t make ourselves better — and of course we won’t, so long as the final purpose of our public service is to employ the people employed by the public service — we can at least rejoice in the degradation of others. Indeed, in one respect Marseilles was worse than anywhere I have seen in Britain: for I have never seen so much graffiti anywhere in the world. Every concrete surface — and, to adapt the words of a well-known song slightly, there is an awful lot of concrete in Marseilles — was covered

Martyn Gregory

Of course there was no ‘flash before the crash’

The heavyweight legal collision between the coroner Lord Justice Scott Baker’s evidence-driven inquests into Princess Diana and Dodi Fayed’s deaths, and Planet Fayed’s evidence-free legal and media circus, had always threatened to be messy. Last week was the first full week of witness evidence from Paris and London, and it produced ominous signs. Planet Fayed’s three QCs are his performing elephants — already dubbed ‘Hugefee QCs’ by Private Eye. Three heavyweight legal teams support the Hugefees — representing Fayed, his hotel and his dead driver’s parents. Planet Fayed’s objective is to secure an ‘open’ verdict from the inquest jury; any other outcome would see the eclipse of Mohamed’s fantasies. Planet

Frank Keating

Club before country

Widespread focus of national passions on the conclusion of Lewis Hamilton’s dash for the chequered flag on the Formula One racetrack and rugby’s compelling World Cup muted much of England’s hostile recriminations over its inept football team’s almost certain elimination from the 2008 European championship. The diversions, however, only delayed the deluge of derision, and the buckets of whitewash will be teetering for some time yet on every doorframe lintel of the Football Association’s swish Soho offices. England are doomed unless Russia lose their last two group matches against a weak Israel and even weaker Andorra next month. From his uneasy understudy’s Act 1, Scene 1 entrance on to the

Lucy Vickery

Nonsensical

Competition No. 2520: On the road You are invited to submit a poem entitled ‘Meditation on the M25’ (maximum 16 lines). Entries to ‘Competition 2520’ by 8 November or email lucy@spectator.co.uk. In Competition 2517 you were invited to submit a nonsense poem with the first line ‘They went to see in a Sieve, they did…’, the opening to Edward Lear’s ‘The Jumblies’. This was an opportunity to leave reason behind and to make merry with verbal inventiveness, incongruous juxtapositions and distorted spelling. One of appealing things about nonsense verse is that the surreal, topsy-turvy worlds conjured up have their own internal logic, and I especially liked entries that managed to get