Society

The mod acrostic

In Competition No. 2482 you were invited to supply an acrostic poem, involving questions and answers in which the first letters of the lines read SOCRATIC METHOD. Smartypants will have spotted that the title of this competition is an anagram of the required phrase. In hospital one undergoes much questioning as well as treatment. The other day a nurse with a clipboard asked me, ‘Are you apprehensive in this hospital?’ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Why?’ she inquired. ‘Aren’t most people in hospital apprehensive, because they’re ill but they don’t know how ill?’ ‘Oh,’ she said most un-Socratically, ‘that was rather a silly question, wasn’t it?’ ‘Yes.’ Commendations to Paul Griffin and

Fraser Nelson

Making life difficult for Gordon

Frank Field has been up to mischief. Since leaving government in 1998, he has not been a fan of Gordon Brown, but last week he declared all-out political war against the Chancellor. In an article for the Guardian he outlined exactly why Mr Brown should not become party leader, arguing that he is too associated with past failings to offer hope for the future. He concluded his attack with four words which caused even more havoc, ‘Step forward, David Miliband.’ If Mr Field were an ordinary maverick Labour backbencher, no one would much care what he thought. But he has been proved right too often in the past to be

Diary of a Notting Hill Nobody | 17 February 2007

Monday Am fed up. It simply cannot be the case that everyone smoked cannabis at school. They’re clearly all just saying it to suck up to Dave. Head office unbearable. I’ve had it up to here with Moroccan black, red seal and ‘Maui wowie’. Well, I’m not going to lie. I have never smoked marijuana. There — I’ve said it! The taboo has been shattered. Found out this afternoon I don’t have clearance for Operation Mary Jane meetings but Poppy and Wonky Tom do. Stopped Jed outside Tranquillity Room and asked him straight out: ‘Is it because I’ve not smoked cannabis?’ Jed said: ‘No way, man, you’re cool with us,

Charles Moore

The Spectator’s Notes | 17 February 2007

Was it really an ‘own goal’ for 10 Downing Street to invite people to petition it on subjects of interest to them, and then find more than a million people saying that they opposed road pricing? It was information worth knowing. Politicians should not be frightened to look at new ways of getting people to participate in democracy. One reason that fewer people vote now is that voting has become, compared with other forms of choice, so ‘clunking’. A single decision on who should be your MP for four or five years does not feel very empowering. The Our Say campaign, headed by Saira Khan, advocates a system by which

Diary – 17 February 2007

It’s finally dawned on me that my relationship with the Conservative party has irrevocably changed. Dave and his young, dynamic, thrusting team are simply not interested in me or my Neanderthal views. They couldn’t give a stuff what I think. And I don’t blame them. There are far more votes to be gained from stern disapproval of global warming and renewing my massive subscription to the NHS than in escape from Europe and tax cuts. There are millions out there even younger than Dave or the Spectator staff who couldn’t or didn’t vote last time and they must be the number one target. This is a great relief. I can

Letters to the Editor | 17 February 2007

Beating bird flu From Peter Dunnill Sir: Ross Clark’s article on what will happen if bird flu becomes a pandemic (‘Will you have a place in the bio-bunker?’, 10 February) is correct in its criticism of government. However, our government could learn a lot from America. Mike Leavitt, the equivalent to Patricia Hewitt in the USA, has worked his way through the States with the message that ordinary people must do their part. Put a tin of food under the bed each time you shop, he advises, which is official US government advice. Ross Clark asks why children are not a vaccination priority, and US research can help us here

Restaurants | 17 February 2007

My partner is a total tea fascist and whenever I make a pot it is never, ever right. It’s: ‘Did you use fresh water?’ Then it’s: ‘You used re-boiled, didn’t you?’ And then, with a sniffy look: ‘How long exactly did you leave this to brew?’ When I give up, think sod him, and just dunk a teabag into a cup for myself, does he leave me alone? No. I then get: ‘Ooh, make yourself a cup of tea, why don’t you? After all the pots I’ve made for you…’. You may well ask what has kept us together all these years, to which I don’t really have an answer

Russian invasion

Gstaad There’s more happy dust to be found indoors around here than powder on the slopes. Last week I drove to the Diableret glacier and skied my legs off trying to catch up. At 3,000 metres — the maximum height the old prop planes used to reach when crossing the Atlantic — and upwards, the white stuff was perfect. (I mean the snow on the ground.) Although I smoke non-filter Camels and drink the heavy stuff, my lungs felt perfect. My feet hurt like hell, however, and I became convinced while skiing that I had gangrene, or something equally disgusting. After two hours I could bear the pain no longer. I stopped and

Risky business

There was at least one game girl on the race train back from Newbury on Saturday. ‘You didn’t smell very good on the sofa this morning,’ the carriage heard her tell a potential swain on her mobile. ‘But if you’re up for a celebration tonight then I am, too.’ On the basis of a flat-mate’s introduction to a temporary lodger, she was clearly willing to take a chance. Many are going to have to take a similar risk with this year’s Cheltenham Gold Cup favourite Kauto Star, who is giving a new definition to the concept of a flawed diamond. The biggest star of the jumping scene remains a question

Painting with the Winds

What colour is the wind today,that Boreas shimmers from the north?White and blue and shivery grey,ice and gentians on his breathto fan the ashes in my hearth. Does Notus burnish southern windsto drift bright dreams through summer treesin opal shades of sea and sand,gilding with sunflower-tinted breezethe silver-fingered olive leaves? Bleak Eurus’ eastern palette’s darkwith gloomy greens as sour as bilesince Poseidon, churlish, stuck his forkto churn the ocean’s lurching swellinto a surly, heaving pool. Zephyrus, swaggering from the west —before whose rage leaf-armies fled —daubs flaming orange, autumn-dressed:Sienna browns and clashing redsspark bonfire music in my head. Aeolus, ruler of the winds,can colour pictures with his voice,transform a rainbow

February Wine Club

Order your wines by email I’m pleased to say it has become an annual tradition: our February offer of the new vintage of Chateau Musar with Lay & Wheeler. It has been a tremendous success with Spectator readers. The wine won’t be in the shops until May, but it can be shipped to your door a month earlier, and at a reduced price. This year’s crop is the 2000. The red is, perhaps, slightly more austere than usual, closer to a fine Bordeaux, but it will age gratifyingly well for a very long time. And you can drink it with great pleasure now: all that soft, velvety, peppery, spicy, earthy,

The battle of Croke Park

There was generally bonny acclamation as the French rugby team ran out to play Ireland at Dublin’s Croke Park stadium last Sunday. I forecast a significantly tauter edge to proceedings next Saturday when the English XV takes to the Republic’s hallowed sports field and lines up in front of the Irish Army Band to belt out ‘God Save the Queen’. For the French match on Sunday, you imagined a few daydreamy old-hand historians indulging in a smug two-centuries-old reverie concerning that untimely storm off Bantry Bay which scuppered the chances over Christmas 1796 of Wolfe Tone’s planned and bloody clear-out of the English from Ireland with the help of the

The front-row forward who never loses a fight

Of the Australian tycoon Alan Bond it used sometimes to be remarked that, after a nuclear war, there would be only three things left alive: seaweed, cockroaches and Bond. In British business these days, there is probably only one man with the same kind of durability: Peter Sutherland, chairman of BP. The recent warfare at the top of the giant oil company, which led to the early departure of its much-admired chief executive Lord Browne, might not have been nuclear. But it was noticeable that after the dust had cleared, Sutherland was still in his job and Browne wasn’t. To anyone who knows him, that was no surprise. Sutherland has

A win-win proposition, but not for the punters

Edie Lush endures a ‘Win Investing’ seminar which fails in  its promise to reveal the secrets of stock-market success ‘What percentage of ten trillion pounds do you need to be happy?’ asks the young Australian called Jonathan who is instructing the ‘free’ Win Investing seminar I’m attending. You may have heard Win Investing’s irritating ads on Classic FM, pressing you to attend one of about 18 free sessions a week available in Bristol, Birmingham, Manchester, Oxford, Cambridge, Edinburgh and London. You’re promised that by spending two and a half hours with a tutor like Jonathan, you’ll learn the secrets of trading the £1 trillion UK and £9 trillion US stock

Are we heading, eyes open, to a materialist Hell on Earth?

If I wanted to pick an artist whose work and mind seem peculiarly apt for the present day, my choice would fall on Hieronymus Bosch (c. 1450-1516), the Netherlandish master who specialised in moralising fantasies and diablerie. The world we live in is characterised by unchecked and unpunished, widening and deepening evil, manifesting itself in countless ways but in particular by what I call the Seven Deadly Sins of the 21st century. These are: violence and brutality, not just of a physical kind but expressed towards all the finer feelings of virtue, religion, temperance and gentleness, which are mocked and spat upon; grotesque lusts of the flesh, expressed in the

A nation of babysitters

First, let us not submit to the self-indulgence of moral panic: there has never been a time when British children have been less afflicted by poverty, disease and malnutrition. The new Unicef league table for ‘child well-being’ across 21 industrialised countries, for all its disturbing statistics, gives little sense of historical perspective. Much of the information it collates is seven or eight years out of date. The report also idealises the notion of childhood and, in its litany of figures, glosses over the reality of human experience through the ages. St Augustine was under no illusions about the capacity of even the youngest child to be brutal and selfish: ‘Myself

Fraser Nelson

After Blair’s Big Tent, Brown plans a Big Football Stadium of popular causes

The 2018 World Cup is, by every measure, a long way off. Fifa intends to take three years to decide on which continent the tournament should be hosted, and only then start thinking about a specific country. Even the Football Association (which would submit a bid for England) has not yet come to a decision. But one fan is agitating already. Gordon Brown has commissioned a Treasury feasibility study and is already talking up Britain’s chances. The football world may not be ready, but the British political calendar cannot wait. There is something about a campaign for a sporting tournament which allows a politician to speak on a special frequency

Meeting Professor Torture

Guantanamo Bay has just marked its fifth anniversary. John Yoo was instrumental in setting up the prison camp which the normally solidly pro-American Daily Mail has called ‘the sort of show that once only dictators like Joseph Stalin and Chairman Mao knew how to put on’. Yet Yoo’s infamy in America derives less from clearing the legal way for Guantanamo than from being the author of the ‘Torture Memo’, a legal opinion filed on 2 August 2002 by the Office of Legal Counsel (OLC), a section of the Department of Justice. It examined what methods of inflicting pain and suffering constitute torture, and whether the President can order torture if