Pretending to be the editor of The Spectator gets you a long way in Beverly Hills
At first, I thought the reason the British Consul General in Los Angeles had agreed to have lunch with me was because he knew who I was. Before setting off on my annual pilgrimage to Hollywood, I had emailed Bob Peirce to see if he might be able to squeeze in a quick drink. I was interested in chatting to him about BritWeek, an annual celebration of the Old Country that he inaugurated last year. To my astonishment, he suggested we have lunch at the Four Seasons, the grandest hotel in Beverly Hills. ‘Perhaps he’s read one of my books,’ I thought.
It didn’t take long for the scales to fall from my eyes. Shortly after I took my place opposite him at the best table in the restaurant, we were joined by Sarah Cairns, the Four Seasons’ director of PR.
‘Have you met Toby Young?’ he asked her. ‘He’s from The Spectator. Actually, what am I saying? He IS The Spectator.’ So that was it. This 53-year-old British diplomat thought I was the editor of the magazine. Naturally, I did nothing to disabuse him of this notion.
‘Boris interviewed me a couple of times in Hong Kong,’ he said, referring to a previous posting. ‘Very impressive guy. Really knew his stuff.’ In other words, a tough act to follow.
‘Er, yes. Quite.’ The director of PR excused herself and, before long, various members of the hotel’s staff began appearing at our table.
‘I hope you enjoy your lunch, Mr Young,’ said the head chef.
‘Let me know if you need anything,’ said the restaurant manager.
Evidently, word had got around that the editor of The Spectator was in the building. ‘I could get used to this,’ I thought, as complimentary dishes started to pile up. My only regret is that this misunderstanding didn’t arise during BritWeek itself. The brainchild of Nigel Lythgoe, an immensely successful LA-based television executive, BritWeek is an annual reminder that the UK is the largest single investor in California.
‘I realised how important it was to raise our profile when I gave a lecture to a group of journalism students at the University of Southern California,’ said the Consul General. ‘They were heading to the UK to do some work experience and I asked them to name some British brands. Long silence. I said, “Anyone ever heard of the Virgin Megastore?” They literally had no idea it was a British company. I don’t think that would have happened if I’d asked them to name some German brands.’ I told Bob Peirce that I’d encountered a similar level of ignorance during the year I’d spent at Harvard from 1987-88. In my first week I went around asking people whether they thought the close ties between Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan had reinvigorated the special relationship. Without exception, they had no idea what I was talking about. The phrase ‘the special relationship’ meant nothing to them. Clearly, the notion that Britain occupies a unique place in the hearts of the American people is a complete illusion.
‘I tend to steer clear of that phrase,’ said the Consul General. ‘Ever since Macmillan and Kennedy, it seems to be something whose health is measured by the relationship between Number 10 and the White House. In fact, the relationship between the two countries isn’t contingent on how well our respective leaders get on. The ties run far deeper than that.’ He then launched into a masterly analysis in which he traced the ideas contained in the Declaration of Independence back to their English intellectual forebears. As he warmed to his theme — which is that Britain and America are bound together by their shared history — his eyes began to burn with passion and I realised that he is no mere jobbing diplomat serving out his four-year posting. He is a true believer in the Atlantic alliance.
‘I’ve been coming to this country since I was 17 and my wife is American,’ he said. ‘I absolutely love it here.’ I promised him I would do my bit to draw attention to the huge role that British companies play in the social and economic life of California. However, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that this would be in my capacity as a Spectator columnist rather than as the magazine’s editor-in-chief. Who knows, I may be back in LA next April and an invitation to the residence would be very welcome.
Toby Young is associate editor of The Spectator.
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