Notebook
Being on the point of leaving for Washington for a few days, I have borrowed a copy of the White House Phone List published by the National Journal. Not only does it tell one the number of President Reagan's telephone extension (2858), but it lists the names and numbers of everybody working on the staff — 2,743 people in all. This seems an awful lot of people, even for the most powerful office in the world, and I certainly will not have time to ring them all up. Even if I were tempted to do so, I would be too embarrassed to call many of them, simply on account of their names. American names are extraordinary. It is not that they are drawn, as one would expect, from a variety of different ethnic sources, but that their choice does not appear to be governed either by convention or precedent or by any sense of euphony or of the ridiculous. To judge by the White House Phone List, women's names tend to be more absurd than men's. There are a great many women working there, and I will list some of their names at random: Sherrie Cooksey, Nancy Risque, Judy F. Peachee, Lo Anne Wagner, Misty Church, Nancy A. (Missy) Hodapp, Nancy Bearg Dyke, Helene von Damm, Thelma Duggin, Lynn Smallpage, Mari Maseng. These are people who face considerable obstacles to being taken seriously, and one could mention many more. The men also have a lot to answer for. There can be no good reason for calling oneself CeCe B. Kremer, LeRoy J. Haugh, or Rutherford M. Poats (the last of whom works in something called the Planning and Evaluation Cluster of the National Security Council, which is full of such 'clusters'). As for Geza Feketekuty, I am not sure whether this is a man or a woman.
Those who suspect that the legal profession's avarice is only exceeded by its incompetence will have their prejudices amply confirmed by the way the Law Society conducted this year's examinations for 4,500 would-be solicitors. It took from the end of July to early November to complete the marking (Oxford does 2,500 honours degrees, including vivas for marginal cases, in five weeks), and students were promised notification to arrive by post simultaneously with publication of the results in the national press. In fact 1,600 letters were, on the Society's own admission, wrongly addressed, being sent to the students' colleges or lodgings rather than to their home addresses. This was blamed on a computer error — 'someone pressed the wrong button'. The published results showed only those Who had passed all subjects, a serious frustration for many, since students failing up to two papers can take them again rather than have to re-sit the entire examination next year. To crown it all, the Society have now admitted that 123 students were wrongly informed they had failed due to marking errors of an ineptitude that belies the Society's protestations that the complexity and care of its marking system justify the time it takes over it. Apart from the anguish the students have suffered, the prolonged delay means that those who have failed and are unable to re-take the examination find themselves job-hunting in mid-November, a difficult enough season at the best of economic times.
It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that it does not really matter who leads the Labour Party, whether it is Mr Foot or Mr Benn. Just because Mr Foot gets Mr Benn ousted from the Shadow Cabinet, it might be tempting to assume that Mr Foot is somehow to the Right of Mr Benn. But in important ways he does not seem to be so. He makes a unilateral nuclear disarmer (John Silkin) Defence spokesman and a confirmed anti-Marketeer (Eric Heffer) the spokesman on European and Community Affairs. Mr Healey, whom he has given the impression of supporting, finds his job as Foreign Affairs spokesman cut down to size by the removal of Europe from his brief. 'Senior right-wingers took the appointments with equanimity,' writes The Times's correspondent. 'They hold the view that Mr Foot will still be working for long-term fudge and compromise on the hard-line decisions taken by last month's party conference.' This, therefore, is the best that the right wing of the Labour Party can hope for — fudge and compromise. And they are hoping for it against a background of two crucial Shadow Cabinet appointments that look neither fudged nor compromised. It is hopeless. No wonder the Labour Party will be massacred at Crosby this week. And this will not be the result of media bias against Labour, as Mr Benn will no doubt try to convince us. The press has been kind to the Labour candidate, whom it likes, and very unkind to the Conservative candidate, whom it loathes.
It cannot be said that Jocelyn Stevens was a great success as managing director of Express Newspapers. Some may even see a certain justice in his dismissal, considering the number of people he has sacked during his career. It used to be joked that the Express should have its own cardiac unit because of the number of heart attacks among the group's executives. Nevertheless, the organisation will be even bleaker without him than it was before. He was at least flamboyant. Perhaps that is why the printers were so emotional about his departure at Tuesday night's leaving party. There is not much excitement to be had out of working for Lord Matthews.
T do not believe that my driving is much I worse than it used to be, but recently I have found it difficult to make the shortest journey through London in a car without somebody hooting at me. Whenever this happens, it comes as a shock. Few sounds are more provocative than the sound of a horn. It brings out all one's latent aggression. At this rate, I will soon be involved in an accident. While I am prepared to admit that I may sometimes drive in a manner that others justifiably find tiresome, I still feel that tolerance among drivers has greatly diminished in recent years. Simple goofiness, which might have been treated with sympathy, is now taken as an affront. It is all part of our national decline.
Arecent issue of the Bookseller, the magazine of the book trade, was very polite about the Spectator's literary section. Its pseudonymous columnist Quentin Oates wrote: 'Since its 8000th issue appeared last week, it would be an appropriate moment to congratulate the Spectator on the greatly improved condition of that paper's books pages of recent months. There have of late been some good attempts at matching the right book with the right person and ... [here I delete a note of criticism] . .. the general impression has been of somewhat wayward excellence.' As the Bookseller did not mention it, it is perhaps only fair to point out that the Literary Editor for the past nine months has been Mr Patrick Marnham, writer and journalist, and that he is in fact leaving the staff of the Spectator this week to complete a history of Private Eye. So Mr Oates got in his tribute in the nick of time. Mr Marnham's place as Literary Editor will be taken from next Monday by Mr A. N. Wilson, novelist and biographer, under whose aegis, we are confident, excellence will survive, but we can only speculate on his attitude to the waywardness which has meant that his own novels — however many plaudits and literary prizes they may win elsewhere — have tended to receive less than whole-hearted approval from Spectator reviewers.
Alexander Chancellor
Previous page
