La Neige d'Antan
Everyone else has gone on holiday, although I suspect that a number of our senior citizens are only playing bowls until the news of the Armada comes. The political columnists have made up their end-of-term reports, and have switched from speculating about the Tory leader- ship to the fascinating game of forecasting Cabinet shuffles. All of them list Frank Cousins for the chopper. The Spectator has been arguing that it is discreditable for Mr. Cousins to remain in the Cabinet, unless, of course, he has com- pletely changed his views on nuclear defence and an incomes policy. And if he has, he should say so. But there is perhaps a simpler and deadlier reason why Mr. Cousins should now pack it in. He and his ministry have become -a joke.
One curious feature of the session has been the elimination of the new men. The dragons Balogh and Kaldor have been gloriously slain by the Treasury knights. But what has happened to Bowden and Chalfont, Caradon and Snow? They sound like characters out of A. A. Milne, but, in fact, they were called from campus and desk to build the new Jerusalem in a hundred days. What on earth have they been doing? And where, in particular, is the Snow of yesteryear?
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