A CROWDED FIELD

The contest for the Leadership of the Conservative Party – and hence succession to the Premiership – starts next week and there are already 13 contenders. By any standards that is a crowded field and we know that in a crowded field some horses trip over, knock others sideways and obstruct the rest. So, we can be sure of a spirited if not an elegant race. The field is not strikingly attractive with no obvious thoroughbreds, a few old nags, some bouncy fillies and quite a number with no form at all.

The contenders face two quite different electorates. To start with, they are whittled down to two by the 313 Conservative members of Parliament, a group containing a bloc of convinced Brexiteers but most of the others are tepidly agnostic with a few fanatical Remainers. A series of votes are taken and the surviving two are then put to the 124,000-strong national membership of the Party. This membership is thought to be pro-Brexit and it is quite likely that the MPs will have slimmed the field down to one Brexiteer and one erstwhile Remainer – I guess Dominic Raab and Sajid Javid.   I must say my prophecies should be taken with a large pinch of salt – I have got previous contests entirely wrong and my recent predictions on Eurovision, for example, were wildly off the mark!

Dominic Raab, my tip for the top job

Sajid Javid, his likely rival

Today the bookies’ favourites are Boris Johnson and Dominic Raab but I fear Boris has too many enemies in Westminster to last the course. He has “curb appeal”, instantly recognizable with his untidy shock of blond hair. He has a broad cosmopolitan culture, a keen sense of humour and is an effectively persuasive campaigner. He was a success in his 8-year term as Mayor of London. And yet……..He has an excessive liking for the ladies by prim Home Counties standards, is erratic and harrumphing in his utterances and is short of gravitas, retaining too much of his spoilt-brat, toffish Etonian aura. He suffers too from the burden of endorsement by Donald Trump. Boris’ colleague Michael Gove deserted him crucially in 2016, doubting, it is said, Boris’ capacity for detailed hard work. Boris would enliven any team, even inspire it, but perhaps does not possess the utter dedication of a Thatcher.

Boris’ handicaps rather open the door to Dominic Raab, aspirational, meritocratic, recently immersed in EU politics and belonging to the right age-group. He is a straight-forward and eloquent Leaver even though he does not have a high public profile. He is an easy choice.

The other Big Beast of the Brexit camp is Michael Gove himself, whom I greatly like, not least because he is a Scotsman from my native Aberdeen. He is the most cerebral of the Tory candidates, he speaks very well, debates intelligently and calmly and he has shown his mettle and his grip in the ministerial offices he has held. Alas, the Tories in the shires have not forgiven him for knifing Boris in 2016 and his loyalty to Theresa and her dud Withdrawal Bill counts against him. He has no chance of the leadership, but surely will have major office in a future Tory government.

Boris Johnson and Michael Gove - 2 Big Beasts I think will fall short

There are 3 strong women candidates – Andrea Leadsom, Esther McVey and Penny Morduant – all talented and solid citizens – but they are not likely to get far in this crowded field. Other ambitious contenders are just too obscure to be taken seriously – Matt Hancock, Rory Stewart, James Cleverly, Graham Brady and Kit Malthouse.  The Party rules for this contest allow any Tom, Prick or Tristram to throw his hat into the ring irrespective of his real support – a rule change is indicated.

Two more serious contenders are capable (and rich) Jeremy Hunt and admirable Sajid Javid. Hunt does not get my pulses racing but has been a reliable minister. I see the merits of Javid, the self-made son of a Pakistani bus-driver in Bradford – the incarnation of the Tory One Nation dream. He too is a late convert to Leave and will attract the cautious vote. Whatever, we will know soon enough who the two surviving candidates are; a final choice will be made in mid-June and the victor will emerge in July.

Of course, all this may be made irrelevant by House of Commons obstruction. I guess a Brexiteer will win the Tory race and head the Government and then the focus will be on Parliament. With the EC declining to negotiate further, the May Withdrawal Bill is all that can be tabled. All opposition MPs are adamantly opposed to a “no-deal Brexit” i.e. leaving without an agreement with the EC, and instead operating on World Trade Organisation terms involving mutual tariffs. The Theresa May deal is anathema to Tory Brexiteers and is certainly wholly unacceptable to the large numbers supporting Nigel Farage’s Brexit Party in the country, though he has no MPS. Will anyone move or will we progress inexorably to civil disturbances and instability? The Wreckers in Parliament, the Speaker – and at one remove, the BBC, the Bank of England and the Establishment- will have much to answer for. A general election could break the Westminster logjam, probably at the cost of destroying the Tory, Labour and LibDem parties, all three of whom would fragment hopelessly.

We need a sure-footed guide out of this morass!

SMD

31.05.19

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2019

THE WRONG CHOICE

One of my favourite summer tipples is Dubonnet and tonic on ice, although I admit I have not drunk it recently. I had a yen to refresh myself with this drink as the sun at last burst through and assumed my local Sainsburys could supply me with a bottle, as it has aisle upon aisle of booze. I asked a girl where I might find it – to be met with total incomprehension. She called the drink specialist and he too had never heard of Dubonnet! I felt as if I were some kind of creaky anachronism. Apparently, Waitrose has it and no doubt others, but I had to content myself meanwhile with a cooling Bordeaux rosé - no great hardship. 

Our good neighbours had a similar experience with sherry – not available in any form at the bistro they were patronizing, which boasts a well-stocked bar! It must be a generational thing – sherry and Dubonnet being unfashionable drinks, even through both are delectable and were once ubiquitous. Yet I did notice that Sainsburys were well stocked with saveloys, those mainstays of Dickensian London, much loved by “Boots” Sam and his portly coachman father Tony Weller, clearly enjoying a revival.

Dubonnet, a drink favoured by the late Queen Mother, HM the Queen and me

 

Other choices have gone agley – I apologise unreservedly to my kind readers for my false prophecies on Eurovision. I tipped the French transvestite Bilal Hassani to win with Roi but he failed to enthuse the camp hordes and instead the laurels went to a bland Dutch effort called Arcade by Duncan Laurence. Nor did the UK effort garner nul points but it was still bottom with 11 points, revised down from 16 on the night after some euro-blunder. I do hope the UK contestant Michael Rice does not have to return immediately to his native Hartlepool, a rather dismal spot these days.

How Ya Goin’ to keep ‘em down on the farm

After they see Tel Aviv…?

Worse, I suppose, is Scunthorpe, an industrial hell, perhaps soon to lose its British Steel furnaces, though her doughty citizens are trying to keep their chins up and their livelihoods going. Sadly, the end of the line is looming and the choices are narrowing hourly.

I wrote above about euro-blunders and one is being perpetuated as I write. We had elections yesterday for the European Parliament, (to be counted on Sunday in line with the rest of the EU), never contemplated when Brexit was supported by the referendum, as Brexit Day was supposed to be 29 March, but May’s incompetent gang missed the deadline. The infuriated electorate will of course give Nigel Farage a landslide; only Farage has stuck to the necessity and desirability of Brexit, hard or soft, ever since 23 June 2016. The voters appreciate him and he will speak for a large percentage of them when he loudly rattles the bars of his cage in Brussels. His endorsement will be a valuable asset to anyone standing in a future UK general election. He is indeed the People’s Choice.

Theresa May's sad but inevitable resignation

            

Today’s big event was the long-anticipated news that Theresa will be standing down on Friday 7 June as Tory Party Leader, but remains as a caretaker Prime Minister until the Tories choose a successor. I cannot lament the departure of Theresa as she has been a notably unresponsive Premier who has mishandled Brexit; I do not doubt her devotion to creating unity nor her patriotism. She was simply the Wrong Choice – at heart a Remainer, a timid and conventional thinker with no rapport with ordinary people.

May our new Prime Minister be a true believer in the Brexit cause and a determined champion of the interests of this nation!

SMD

24.05.19

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2019

SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE ON

It is one of the more agreeable facets of human existence that we are able to dream, to imagine ourselves in other places and in other incarnations, to taste fame and fortune as in a fairy tale or to be the victor of a titanic mythological contest. Some such reveries place us in palaces or vast mansions, to roles to which we aspire but will never experience: but other daydreams are more realistic and place us in more familiar territory, our homes, our streets our shopping malls or our jobs. Hollywood was the most successful purveyor of all these dreams for a century and has left an indelible mark on our collective psyche.

Such thoughts have been brought on by the passing a few days ago of Doris Day at the grand old age of 97, a star of stars and the most successful female performer of her time. Already a much admired big-band singer, her screen persona was as American as apple pie, confident and energetic, the tomboy girl-next-door. She exuded wholesome innocence and yet also an understated whispery allure, enormously fortified by her genuine singing ability.

Doris Day

I first saw Doris in It’s Magic in about 1950, her film debut, in a modest cinema in Aberdeen called The Grand Central, long gone, and she shone brightly, well supported by such reliable faces as Jack Carson, Oscar Levant and S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall. In the early 1950s she delighted with nostalgic pieces like Tea for Two, On Moonlight Bay and By the Light of the Silvery Moon co-starring with Gordon McRae. Her career moved up a notch with the hit Calamity Jane (1953) with Howard Keel. Her delivery of rollicking numbers like The Windy City and The Deadwood Stage were memorable but the best song was Secret Love with Doris in classic torch song mode.

Doris as Calamity Jane

Doris exuded the optimism and unchallenged attitudes of America in the Eisenhower era, when all obstacles could be overcome and all peaks climbed. Her apogee was actually in the early 1960s with her popular comedies playing opposite Clark Gable, Cary Grant, Rod Taylor, James Gardner and above all Rock Hudson, with whom she had a unique chemistry. Films like Pillow Talk, That Touch of Mink and Move over, Darling epitomized the genre, with Doris enjoying a sexless battle of the sexes and the public loved her. From 1960-64 Doris was ranked the biggest star in America eclipsing all others.

Inevitably tastes changed and stronger meat was demanded: Doris gradually lost her audience, latterly being derided as “the oldest virgin in America”. She made her last film in 1968 but carried on with her TV show. Her third, of 4 wholly unsatisfactory husbands, had embezzled her $30m fortune and she was broke. She had to work hard to rebuild her finances and eventually retired to Carmel, California devoting herself to animal charities. The media said she was reclusive, but she saw plenty of her friends – declining intrusive interviews was her call and entirely rational. Given her tempestuous private life, she would doubtless echo Madame de Stael in the early 19^th century “The more I see of men, the better I like dogs.” Brigitte Bardot followed the same road. Let’s allow Doris her privacy and happily celebrate her brilliant talent and life-enhancing career.

Our next purveyor of dreams is The Eurovision Song Contest, whose final throes are on Saturday – indeed its motto is “Dare to Dream”. This year it comes from Tel Aviv and her more Orthodox citizens will be astonished by the invasion of vast numbers of gays, trans-sexuals and bohemians to attend, commentate upon and perform at this peculiar SongFest. Last year’s winner was Israeli 25-year old Netta, a very well-built lady, who sang “Toy” wearing Micky Mouse ears and bounced about like a demented chicken. This is part of an increasingly eccentric Eurovision tradition – who can forget bearded trans-sexual Conchita Wurst who wowed us in 2014, the pride of Austria!

Netta, triumphant in 2018

                                                                

Heroically I managed to watch the first semi-finals last night, 2 hours and 10 minutes of torture, as the dire singers from 17 nations displayed their wares. I somehow kept awake and kept my scores and quite how dismal Slovenia and tuneless San Marino got through escapes me. Maybe 5 of the songs were passable. The lighting effects are flattering and we watched the girl from Australia (that well-known European country), dressed like a Christmas-tree fairy, rise through the clouds on high wires singing her ditty. Tomorrow a further 18 hit the semis and Saturday’s grand final will feature 26 contestants. I may have lost the will to live by then or will have slipped into a catatonic trance, so I cannot promise to cover the story further. Eurovision always springs surprises and even if the Balkans all vote for each other, the Scandinavians ditto and Greece and Cyprus scratch each other’s backs, my tip for the week is that the juries will be seduced by the French entry “Roi” sung by Bilal Hassani, the young gentleman below. Oh….. and by the way, the unpopular UK will gather in nul points!

Bilal Hassani, tipped singer for France

The Eurovision contestants and their fans will have their dreams of fame and fortune, as will those in all manner of global talent show. Their dreams will be very unlike the dreams of Doris Day and her followers – different aspirations, different values and quite different worlds.

SMD

15.05.19

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2019

THE BUDS OF MAY

We cherish May as the first true summer month, when we can expect some balmy and unforgettable days, many flowers are in bloom, a time for picnics and barbecues, the start of the cricket season and the climax of the football one - and yet as Shakespeare warned us in his sonnet:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

This month can be very changeable – this year a gloriously warm Easter has been followed by an indifferent start to May and we have shivered in our cotton trousers, donned too hastily we fear. So, May has many pleasures but also hidden perils.

The traditional flower of May is the Lily of the Valley, a delicate and sweetly aromatic blossom, which formed the basis of a famous Dior perfume and makes a delightful wedding bouquet. Traditionally it symbolises chastity, happiness and good luck.

Lily of the Valley

               The downside is that this flower is highly toxic to eat – so keep babies, dogs and cats well away – another example of the sinister side of May!

             “May” is used as both a Christian and a surname. Princess May of Teck, of German origin but born and bred in Cambridge, was handsome, intelligent and biddable as a young girl. She was first betrothed to Edward VII’s eldest son Albert Victor, heir to the throne, but he almost immediately died of ‘flu. May easily transferred her affections to the new heir George and they duly married. When George V ascended to the throne in 1910, May became known as Queen Mary and well supported her dull martinet of a husband. Mary became very imperious and formidable.

Formidable Queen Mary

               Her long life ended in 1953, by which time she was the Dowager Queen Mary, grandly ensconced in Marlborough House. She was famously acquisitive, terrorising aristocratic hosts with heavy hints that she coveted their heirlooms and it is rumoured Mayfair antique dealers shuttered their shops, when news spread she was in the area, for fear of losing stock, and money, to her desire for a “kind gift”!

May's famed on-drive

                                              

               Of those whose surname is May, my schoolboy favourite was Peter May, captain of England’s cricket team in the 1950s, a prolific batsman with 13 test centuries and 85 first class centuries to his credit. An amateur, he captained England 66 times, Surrey in its glory, playing a straight bat to life in a different world from ours.

               A newer generation will cherish Jonny May, the English rugby winger and pride of Leicester Tigers. Still in his prime, Jonny is most admired for his speed and finishing skill and he will carry on scoring tries.

Jonnie May scores for England against France

         

               Of course, the elephant in the room in discussing the surname “May” is our Prime Minister, Theresa May. She has none of the skills of those above and we Brexiteers will never forgive her incompetence and double-crossing and prefer not to talk about her. This piece therefore will not carry her likeness!

               I earnestly hope Brexit will happen and my belief in miracles was much fortified by this week’s amazing 4-0 victory by Liverpool over Barcelona after trailing 0-3 from the first leg. A feast awaits us with the Champions’ League Final in Madrid on 1 June!

What a Win!

SMD

8.05.19

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2019

GETTING THINGS DONE

As a deserving pensioner and venerable greybeard, I believe I am on top of my game, dispensing robust opinions on a range of matters, matured by a long experience of the ways of the world. This is another grand illusion: the truth is more earth-bound and banal. I am far from being an exemplar to others. I am idle, sedentary and obese; I receive my cultural and intellectual stimuli stuck firmly in my armchair; my doctors treat me for high blood pressure, diabetes, incontinence, heart irregularities and gout – otherwise I’m fine! I am also slowly going gaga, forgetting names, places and events, and not just the nasty ones, forsooth!

The way things are going!

I can be very critical of others when they fail to do what I think they ought to do, but I have to admit I too am guilty of indolence, incompetence, procrastination and that spirit of manãna, which we pin on the Spaniards. I veer away from making that long-delayed financial return, avoiding awkward phone-calls, or proffering that necessary apology, eating that slice of humble pie or proposing that compromise to kick-start an agreement. As we grow older, alas, we tend to become more stiff-necked, stubborn and bloody-minded – making my notions of society more confrontational and less comfortably inclusive. Any liberal ideals have withered, as I see it, due to their abuse by the chattering classes and they are now relegated to guilty memories. I wish it were otherwise, but there we are.

How much harder it is for a nation to agree a defined course of action and get things done, when the issue is as complex, divisive and now emotionally charged as Brexit. Parliament is dead-locked, parties are divided and the government is paralysed. Persuasive leadership or alternative plans are entirely absent, a sad commentary on this feeble generation of politicians.

The luckless electorate looks on with horror at this Westminster spectacle. The voters were promised Brexit on 29 March by all the major parties – it has not happened. We fume and take our anger out on the local elections – the Tories lose 1,300 seats as supporters go on strike (even faltering in iconic Tunbridge Wells and my staunch Folkestone) while Labour makes no progress, losing 70 seats (even in heartlands like Sunderland and Bolsover). Yet these results will not matter to the Brexit shenanigans. More spectacular will be the landslide success of Nigel Farage’s Brexit Party in the Euro-elections on 23 May, with the Conservatives facing annihilation. I will vote for Farage whose witty and eloquent advocacy of the Brexit cause has been admirable. I will feel better for the protest, but again Brexit will be no nearer.

We are asked to invest our hopes in a compromise between May’s Tories and Corbyn’s Labour. This is a highly unappetizing prospect. May has already secured a dud deal, three times rejected by the Commons and a compromise will only make it worse. Labour, confused and contradictory throughout the Brexit debate, favours negotiating access to the Single Market and becoming a member of a new Customs Union linked to the EU. To my ears, this amounts to Brexit in Name Only, and anyhow is unlikely to be accepted by the EU, who will insist on freedom of movement for the UK/EU too and veto UK foreign trade deals.

Expect nothing from these two has-beens

Frankly I would not do business with Corbyn, whose absurd policies and background in far-Left agitation put him beyond the pale. His retinue is even worse. Theresa May is a busted flush with no authority and the sooner she is sacked as Tory leader the better. She has shown herself to be not up to the job and to be arrogant and uncommunicative into the bargain. New leadership is now essential.

Our feather-bedded politicians boast of their skill in securing a deal by their mastery of fudge, ambiguity and the clever management of opinion. Well, the public is waiting to see their display of the black arts – it had better be good or else the fabric of our society may start to disintegrate and change, reform or revolution (call it what you may) will carry all before it in a mammoth and rather nasty tsunami.

SMD

5.05.19

Text Copyright Sidney Donald 2019