Westminster corridors
My old friend Nick Fitzfosse has told me for above this half Year that he had a great mind to try his hand at a Spectator and that he would fain have one of his Writings in my Works. The other morning 1 received from him a Piece in Latin couplets (for he is something of a Classicist) which on translation (for 1 am something of One also) proved most interesting.
It would seem that Mr Joe "SS" Haines, the Prime Minister's faithful stormtrooper and press secretary is to be given a Life Peerage (Lord Haines of Tunbridge Wells is the name 4upon which he is set) and made head of the new Ministry of Information which will be lodged in Goebbels House, London W.
This, of itself, might not seem greatly newsworthy (for we have long known of the faithful Haines's leanings and now that Mr Wilson has ceased to shake hands on salutation and instead raise his right arm the writing is fairly plainly on the bunker wall).
What is of some Significance is the name of Mr Haines's successor. Naturally, I had hoped (in view of my long and honest service to the Prime Minster) to be preferred. In the event (though no doubt it was a close run thing) I was not and another Scribe, whose, urn, qualifications are considerable, is about to be appointed. wanted to come through the open door and out of the sun.
The British and French bureaucrats had produced some formidable documents. They were made even less intelligible than usual because the bridegroom had once changed his surname so that, by Scottish law, he could inherit a place in Aberdeenshire. The lawyers of Aberdeen, assisted by the Garter King of Arms, had hereby declared repeatedly, and often in Italics with Seals, that the aforementioned, now residing at Crichie, Stuartfield, was formerly someone else residing at Vincent Square, London. Monsieur le Maire had digested all this and thrown up some more verbiage which really can't have made sense in any language.
My main fear, as I sat in the front row was that I might suddenly be called upon to say something completely incomprehensible and unpronounceable. 1 was also a bit worried that, having described me as a journalist, the mayor might ask me for some kind of identification. I had left my passport in London and this mountain of paperwork might collapse if they discovered that the best man was an illegal immigrant.
Loomy
Arnaud and Claude, two Paris musicians who were going to London with a van to collect some amplifying equipment, had offered the day before to collect my passport and I gave them the key of my house. They were also taking with them an enormous loom (six foot square and about four foot wide) belonging to the bride — how would she, a professeur de dessin from a Paris art school, occupy her time when married to un exploiteur agricole, ou comment dit le gentleman farmer from Mr Michael Cudlipp (of that Ilk) is the new man. I asked Fitzfosse if this Cudlipp was one of them and Nick said "yes" (which, of course, explained a lot). Mr Cudlipp, who was once Home Editor of the Thunderer to the eternal delight and happy memories of so many, left that journal to run something known as London Broadcasting (which has to do with the new fangled wire-less).
He was soon discovered to be an even greater disaster at this than he had been in Printing House Square. In no time at all he was (as they say) "on the Street". Mr Cudlipp (fortunately) has avuncular connections (some suggest he also has avuncular leanings, but that is by the by).
In no time at all, in the days of cuts in Government spending that is, he was appointed Principal Adviser to the Northern Ireland Committee (PANIC for short) on Public Relations. This new post, with Civil Service grading and responsibility directly to the Secretary of State, one Mr Merlin "We're Off To See The Wizard" Rees, understandably carried a handsome Emolument.
Now Mr Wilson's closest confidante (yes, the Duchess of Falkender has always had a fine eye for Talent) has been telling him that Mr Cudlipp "is terrific" (whatever that might mean).
So Hot Lips (as the Duchess has christened him) is preparing to move into Number Ten with a large staff comprising a Features Editor, a Design Consultant, a Tea Lady and Others (about whom the Duchess has yet to find out).
Which all goes to show that it matters not Aberdeen? Arnaud and Claude had rung up from London at 2 a.m. to say that they had found the passport but had been delayed by the loom. The customs objected to them importing a loom — it. is easier to enter the United Kingdom without a passport than with a loom — and then they had a struggle getting the loom through my door. In the event however no one asked for proof of my identity. All the mayor wanted was a kiss on both cheeks.
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