DIARY
Lcaving aside the arrogance and incom- petence, what will finally destroy this Con- servative Government is the unashamed spiwery. The MPs For Hire scandal, which has erupted following the revelation that two Tory members were apparently willing to ask questions in the House, and were offered £1000 from a fictitious company invented by the Sunday Times as encour- agement, is merely the scab on the boil. The abiding image of this administration is that of a bunch of Brylcreemed gangsters sticking their elephantine trunks in a trough of their own creation. We are deal- ing with a collection of people who — in the memorable expression of my former editor, Kelvin Mackenzie — would sell their arses in Simpson's window. The Reg- ister of Members' Interests reads like the menu of an upmarket massage parlour: 'I'm an MP, Buy Me'. This virus of naked greed has even managed to infect and undermine many of the essential and suc- cessful privatisations of the 1980s. Witness the number of former ministers now sitting on the boards of former nationalised indus- tries which they themselves helped return to the private sector. There is no need to single anyone out, and the list is too long to reproduce here. They know who they are. We know who they are. They know we know who they are, but they still couldn't give a damn.
It is not just the way in which ex-minis- ters have lined their pockets which sticks in the craw. There is no more glaring example of the way in which privatisations which were supposed to benefit us all have enriched the men in the boardroom, than this week's report from the National Con- sumer Council, which concludes that con- sumers have been ripped off to the tune of £1 billion since the water companies were removed from public ownership. The sort of man who was happy to accept annual remuneration in the region of £50,000 When he was working in the public sector has now made himself wealthy beyond his Wildest dreams. The salary of the chairman of Severn Trent, for instance, has increased from £51,000 pre-privatisation to £302,000 today. That does not include £200,009- Worth of share options. The chairmanship of the Thames Water Company, which was valued at £41,000 per annum in 1989, has ballooned to £317,000. Meanwhile, water bills, which used to constitute a minuscule Item of household expenditure, have increased in some parts of the country by up to 150 per cent. It is a national disgrace. Sadly the inclination of most Conservative MPs is not to try to derail this runaway Ori- ent Express of a gravy train but to clamber on board. RICHARD LITTLEJOHN Meanwhile, the party in the public sector continues unabated, stoked with fresh supplies of taxpayers' money for every kind of deviant behaviour. When the National Health Service is not artificially impregnating persons of the sapphic per- suasion it is handing out free rubber john- nies to sodomites. The Camden and Isling- ton Health Authority, in conjunction with the Barnet Health Authority and the Cam- den HIV Unit, has set up a stall on Harnp- stead Heath to distribute condoms to homosexuals who gather there for casual sex. The Independent once ran a feature on the open-air orgy taking place nightly in the shadow of Kenwood and Jack Straw's Cas- tle, providing a layman's guide to such exot- ic locations as 'Gobblers' Gulch' and 'The Yum-Yum Tree'. It was a favourite haunt of the late overrated cinema director, Derek Jarman — an heroic figure in the 'gay community'. I have no wish for anyone to die as a result of their sexuality, but I can see nothing heroic about being buggered by
'Is it safe?' a complete stranger in a public place. And I refuse to accept that it is the job of the NHS to encourage this disgusting behaviour.
The malignant disease of political cor- rectness is now rampant. Last Friday I pre- sented my first television programme on LWT, Richard Littlejohn, Live and Uncut. I found myself lined up against an array of ghastly professional lesbians. I was arguing rationally and reasonably that it was not the business of the NHS to provide artificial insemination for women who can't even abide the thought of becoming pregnant in the natural manner. I also ventured the rev- olutionary opinion that in an ideal world all children needed both a male and a female parent. I was on a hiding to nothing. Even one of my guests for the evening, the delightful and robustly heterosexual moth- er, Nigella Lawson, food critic of this magazine, described my position as 'extreme'. We are all going to hell in a handcart.
There has to be a concerted fightback against this kind of nonsense. Ian Hislop spoke for millions when he wrote in this Diary some months ago of his distaste for the little red Aids ribbons being sported by assorted pop singers, politicians and luvvies and being pressed upon guests at awards ceremonies. We should find a way of demonstrating that, in the words of Peter Finch in the film Network, we are mad as hell and are not going to take it any more. We need our own badge of pride, to be worn on the lapel at all times. A miniature noose might do the trick.
Ihave always hated Margaret Beckett and all her works, ever since — as I explained on this page two weeks ago — I covered her election to Parliament in 1974. It has always troubled me that even though I disliked her politics, her manner and her appearance, there was an extra, irrational dimension to my loathing, which did not apply to other aesthetically challenged, strident left-wingers. Now I know what it is. It has been revealed that Mrs Beckett is a weekend caravaner, a member of the tribe of anoraked nui- sances responsible for 14-mile tailbacks on every country road, and for cluttering the view at the seaside and inland beauty spots with their absurd vehicles, metal tea urns and Calor Gas stoves, which do not explode often enough. Perhaps this week- end she might like to park up on Hamp- stead Heath arid hand out a few contra- ceptives.
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