Diary
Since Mr Nigel Lawson became Chan- cellor, I have given help to at least three (maybe more) writers who were composing profiles of him. I was asked Chiefly, I suppose, because in 1966-67 he was the editor of the Spectator and I the Political correspondent, though he stayed as editor till 1970. I would emphasise to my questioners his lack of readiness in speech — his lengthy silences, hesitancies and pacings up and down the room — together With his reluctance to take decisions or write the leader until beyond the last minute. Indeed Mr Lawson's late leader caused the enactment of a weekly panto- mine. At Waterloo the guard of the train would be asked, in consideration of a small sum, to drop the copy off at Aldershot, Where the paper was then printed, a Member of the staff having been posted on the platform there to take delivery. Some- times this arrangement worked, sometimes not: the guard would forget his task, the leader would end up somewhere on the South Coast and Mr Lawson would have to transmit it on the telephone, causing trouble all round. I retail these adventures to the profile writers not to depreciate Mr Lawson, for I like and admire him, but, rather, to try to render him more human than he often seems. Does a word of it appear? It does not. Mr Lawson is invari- ably described as fluent, decisive, efficient and, above all, energetic. Once opinions about people's characteristics become generally accepted they are, I fear, virtually impossible to shift.
The phrase 'the Anglo-American alliance' has been the small change of Political chatter for as long as I can remember. The fashion is to assert that it is a Phrase, little more, concealing the reality of power. So it may be: but I have several friends and acquaintances in Fleet Street who regard their loyalty to the alliance — or even the United States alone — as superior to their loyalty to this country. One of them said to me recently that, if Britain were so unfortunate as to be under a Labour Government led by Mr Tony Berm, committed to unilateralism and neutralism, he would have no hesitation in betraying secrets, if he had any, to the US Administration, though he would not ex- pect any payment in return. When I asked him whether this was not to behave as Anthony Blunt had, he replied that yes, it Was, but that Blunt had betrayed his Country to the wrong power for the wrong reasons. This friend was not, I should Make clear, Mr John O'Sullivan of the Daily Telegraph, who is shortly to leave us tt) assume the late Bruce Rothwell's posi- tion of editorial director of the New York Post. It would be fair, however, to say that Mr O'Sullivan's stimulating column in the Telegraph has rarely strayed far from the State Department line. What would be incorrect would be to conclude that extreme pro-Americanism is confined to journalists of Mr O'Sullivan's political per; suasion, that of the 'radical right'. For it is equally powerful, and more pervasive, in those who regard themselves as on the 'liberal Left' — and who are for ever flitting in and out of the American Embas- sy or embarking on trips to Washington, even though in an ideal world they might prefer someone other than President Reagan.
Still, poor old England. What is one to do about them? The rugby team, I mean. The point is surely that after the Australian match we all said: 'Bound to happen. England picked an inexperienced team.' Yet Ireland picked an if anything even more inexperienced team. They were also mad enough to omit Tony Ward, who has, it appears, displeased the selectors in some mysterious fashion. Nevertheless they might have won. Michael Kiernan miraculously turned into another Ward, kicking three penalties. It would have been unjust if they had won, but they certainly demonstrated, as England did not, Gener- al Nidgett's virtues of zip, drive, initiative and, in the last resort, sheer physical fitness. The aficionados are more likely to remember the match for the intervention of the linesman, Mr Clive Norling, who virtually instructed the referee to award an undeserved penalty to Ireland. Mr Norling is himself an international referee, and there were times on Saturday when it seemed he wanted to take over completely. Half the point of writing a column of this kind is that you can grumble. (The other half is that you can mention your friends. I refuse to be intimidated by the clever dicks who write Old Bores Corner in Private Eye.) This week's subject is the London Electricity Board, not bril- liantly original. I agree, but worth atten- tion nonetheless. Who knows? I may be helping some other consumer along the way. A few months ago I moved house. The vendor had taken away two light fittings from one room, sentimentally attached to them as he was, and having made clear his intention of removing them. His openness did not, however, resolve my problem, of what to do about two pairs of wires, taped but possibly unsafe, one pair emerging from a wall, the other from the ceiling. A believer in public enterprise but no handyman, I telephoned the Electricity Board. Two youths arrived. I explained to them that I wanted two simple battens fixed, nothing fancy. They poked around perfunctorily and one of them announced that there'd have to be a complete rewiring job, squire, cost a bomb. They then had a look at a light in the bathroom that was not working and advised me to buy a new bulb. For this fleeting visit the Board is claiming £23.93. I am now having the job done by an ordinary builder. In reply to my protest the Board tells me that 'the usual proce- dure is to advise the consumer to contact their (sic) own electrical contractor.' Should I also have an electrical contractor as I have a solicitor, a dentist and an accountant? My contractor is the LEB. I am sure Mrs Margaret Thatcher approves of its putting work in the way of private enterprise but simultaneously charging for the very work it refuses to carry out.
Mr Anton Mosimann of the Dorchester is a good — many say great — chef and a nice man. Not the least of his virtues is that he is unfailingly courteous to his staff. As his virtues are evident, I wish he would (for six months, say) abstain from appearing on television, from cooking meals for food writers, publishers and PR persons, and from being empanelled to test baked beans or whatever. (I have attended one of his dinners, I should add.) I can see why he does it and why he is asked to do it. But this food business has now grown quite out of hand. Some of the advice proffered is grossly misleading as well. In a recent issue of the Sunday Telegraph Magazine, for instance, we are instructed that to make daube provengerle we should marinate all the ingredients, meat and vegetables alike, for 24 hours, bung them together, bring to the boil and cook slowly in the oven: nothing whatever about searing the meat, frying the onions (opinions differ as to whether carrots should be fried), deglazing the pan or, if necessary, reducing the wine and tomatoes. This lamentable prescrip- tion comes under the name of Miss Prue Leith, journalist and entrepreneur or euse. Perhaps we still need Mr Mosimann after all.
Alan Watkins
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