High life
Out and about
Taki
The last time I saw Roy Jenkins it was at a New York dinner which I wasn't in- vited to and didn't attend it. It was at this particular dinner that Jenkins allegedly ad- mitted to a few close American friends that Mrs Thatcher would win the next election, and a lady friend of mine passed on the in- formation. I then heard that Mr Jenkins was angry and that he denied saying it. Well, I suppose even honest politicians like Jenkins have the right to speak with forked tongue sometimes. And it hardly matters now. Dr Death said the same thing and, for the record, on the first day of the cam- paign.
So off I went to Brixton last weekend to see for myself how an essentially shy and de- cent man copes with, for lack of a better word, the art of bullshitting everyone with a straight face. But Roy Jenkins was not much help. He made it hard for me to avoid feeling that he loathed campaigning, and that if he could gain high office through a dignified debate at Brooks's, say, he would. And I don't blame him.
So once again, I found myself in the same position I was in last year during the Falklands campaign: rooting for England but feeling sorry as hell for the Argentinian army. This time I'm rooting for Mrs T as I never have before, but I'm sorry that Jenkins is involved. He's not going to come even close but will be blamed for not using the thug-like tactics of someone like Denis Healey.
It used to be that a successful politician had to have either passion, intellectual dimension, or both. Today the latter is a handicap, especially where television is con- cerned. The few people I tried to talk to in Brixton laughed out loud when I asked them what they thought of Roy. They also gave me the impression that they thought I was pretty strange myself. I suppose it was because of the way I was dressed, having flown in from Paris and a funeral that mor- ning. The trick with crowds such as the one at Brixton is either to provoke them, or to ignore them. Most politicans try the pro- found banality ploy. To his credit Jenkins tried neither. He tried dignity, but reading the papers the next day one would have thought he had fallen asleep. To the hacks, I suppose, there is no difference between the two.
My advice to Mr Jenkins is to adopt what I call an aggressive absence of style. The fourth estate will take care of the rest. But I'm sure he won't listen. Two months ago I advised him to drop out of the filthy business altogether. After 9 June he will have no choice, unless my political instinct is as wrong as my gambling one.
There are those who say that Jenkins did the decent thing when he broke away from the Stalinists of the Labour Party. To me that is like saying Kerensky did the decent
thing to leave Russia after Lenin hijacked the country. (Decency shouldn't be confus- ed with weakness. After all, who should be held responsible for allowing the Stalinists to prevail?) When I talk about Jenkins in smart salons the rare nobs who can think, say he's a dreadful climber. They probablY prefer people like John Jermyn. The nobs who cannot think, say that he's an awful climber too. I don't know what this says for Roy, but I do know what it says about the people I hang about with. Still, when I saw the loathsome Melina Mercouri and the dreadful Healey I missed following Mr Jenkins around, and I sud- denly realised what it is I have against him. He would, if elected, probably give back the marbles, even invite the dreadful woman back for a state visit.
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