Notebook
Here we are, overflowing with Christmas spirit, our thoughts turning inevitably to Christmassy things like, for example, Mr Clement Freud. The Liberal MP for the Isle of Ely and director of the Playboy Club is the spirit of Christmas incarnate, the personification of fatness, greed and selfindulgence. This month his image, bathed in sepia, graces the front cover of the Tatler, a magazine which, like the first Spectator, was published by Joseph Addison but which, unlike the Spectator, has continued to appear uninterruptedly from 1709 until today. Now, under the inspired editorship of Miss Tina Bran, it seems to be employing most of the Spectator's contributors. But that is by the way. The photograph of Mr Freud appears beside one of Edward VII, the object being to demonstrate the exis.tence of a striking resemblance between the two men. This, however, is achieved only by dressing Mr Freud up in an Edwardian sporting jacket and wing collar. Apart from the fact that both have beards and not very much hair on the tops of their heads, there seems to me to be no resemblance between them at all. That being the case, it is interesting to learn from the Taller that Mr Freud has himself encouraged the idea that he and the late King are lookalikes'. He even, it is said, has a framed photograph of Edward in his drawing-room. Eager to discover more about this strange delusion, I made enquiries with Clement Freud's brother Lucien, the painter. Lucien has his own profound explanation. Clement, he believes, has never really thought he looked like Edward VII at all. It is all a red herring to divert public attention from the fact that he is in fact very nearly identical to Mr Bernard Cornfeld, the investment trust villain. Lucien also sees in his brother a strong suggestion of the late Sir Gerald Nabarro. I had not noticed any of this before, but then I do not have a painter's eye.
Talking of fatness, there was a very interesting programme on the television last weekend about the nature of obesity. Some of the programme I could not watch because it showed rats being dissected. During other parts, I was asleep. But I think I understood the principal message. This was the startling discovery that obesity has very little to do with over-eating or lack of exercise. Some people eat very.little but still are fat. Others consume vast quantities of food and drink but remain thin. The latter are people who are generously endowed with something called 'brown fat'. Brown fat differs from white fat in that it actually keeps you thin. It burns up energy by getting hot. It thus also keeps you warm, which explains why very fat people often get much colder than thin people do. One can think of many people whose bodies must contain substantial supplies of brown fat: Lord Home, for example, Lord Lambton, Mr Harold Evans, Mr Mark Boxer, Sir Anthony Blunt, even, possibly, Mrs Thatcher. Those who clearly haven't got enough of the stuff would 'include Mr Callaghan, Sir Harold Wilson and Mr Edward Heath. 'Brown fat' people seem to remain youthful and over-active in a number of ways.
What have I got in common with Mrs Cash-snaggy? Not very much. I am certainly not as fond of Mr Winston Churchill as she appears to have been, nor do I have expectations of becoming a billionaire. But both Soraya and I were recipients at about the same age of Daily Mirror largesse. In my case, it was my sister who won a Daily Mirror literary prize, something which I have referred to in this Notebook before. She wrote 200 words on how to solve the Suez crisis and was rewarded, in the winter of 1956, with a holiday for two in Jamaica. Most generously, she took me with her. But neither of us, I fear, had Soraya's gift for seizing the opportunities presented to us, though there were plenty of millionaires and millionairesses in Jamaica. This raises a question about Soraya. Did she in fact first meet her future husband during her Mirror — sponsored trip to Paris, as the newspapers have claimed? I hear a different story which I believe to be authoritative. This is that she met him while she was working in a London nightclub — Churchills, I think, or was it Winstons? Which brings us back to young Winston. Will his political career suffer as a result of his friendship with Soraya? If he ever had much of a political future, which I doubt, the chances are that it has not been jeopardised. Evidence of vigorous heterosexuality in these days of Sir Anthony Blunt and the Gay Christian movement is likely to find favour with the public. When Grover Cleveland was running for President of the United States in 1884, his opponents unearthed a scandal involving an illegitimate child, and the crowds chanted: Ma, Ma, where is Pa?
Gone to the White House, ha, ha, ha!
This prompted the comment by his campaign manager that he was glad the story had come out because he wanted to make it quite clear that the Democratic party was not running a gelding. Cleveland was duly elected. The exception to the rule could be Ireland, which is currently seething with rumours about President Patrick Hillery's private life dating back to his time as a Common Market Commissioner in Brussels. After the Pope's visit to Ireland, Dr Hillery held a press conference to deny any break-up of his marriage. But the rumours have continued, and so has speculation about his political future. There are many who would not be surprised if he were shortly replaced as President by the former Prime Minister, Mr Jack Lynch. This sounds unfair, but the Irish have never been very broad-minded.
Teddy Goldsmith, the brother of Sir James, once rode round East Anglia on a camel and didn't fall off. (He was fighting an election as an Ecology candidate, and the idea was to emphasise that only a camel would be able to survive in industrialised England). Lawrence of Arabia never fell off a camel either. Nor do children at zoos or tourists in Cairo. But Miss Dorothy Tutin, the actress, did fall off a camel at Olympia three years ago and is suing Miss Mary Chipperfield, the circus impresario, for damages. The case was being heard in the High Court last week, but has alas been postponed until next February when an 'expert on camels' can be called to give evidence. Miss Tutin was taking part in a charity race. She says that Miss Chipperfield's camels were frisky (too much 'brown fat', I expect). As a result of a back injury during the fall, she says that she gave an unconvincing performance as Cleopatra in Antony's death scene. 'I could not hold Antony in my arms when he was dying; he had to support himself,' she told the court. One would have expected Antony to understand about camel accidents, but there we are. The courts thus continue to offer us the best in entertainment, including my quotation of the month from PC Clement Gage who, after finding a murder victim in a pool of blood, told a court in Bodmin: 'He looked to me a classic case of being dead.'
Because of the timing of Christmas this year, it will be impossible for us to produce an issue of the Spectator next week. You will have to be content with this one until Thursday, 3 January, when our first issue of 1980 will be on sale.
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