DIARY
RICHARD LITTLEJOHN Senator Bob Dole has outraged multi- culturalists in America by insisting that English is the bedrock of western civilisa- tion and must be recognised as the official language of the United States, by federal law if necessary. The Republican presiden- tial front-runner is alarmed at the refusal of recent Hispanic and Asian immigrants to learn English. Perhaps he would have strengthened his case if he had explained that he wanted everyone to speak Ameri- can. While we may have given English to the world, the version of English now spo- ken around the globe has an American accent and vocabulary, embellished with euphemism and management consultant obfuscation. It is contagious. There are already English/American phrase books on sale at airports. One of the pleasures of fly- ing British Airways is — or rather used to be — the knowledge that immediately you board your return flight in America, you will be greeted not only by that day's Lon- don newspapers but by a cabin crew which speaks plain English. However, just as it is alleged that Quantas air stewards assisted the international spread of AIDS, so I now fear that BA staff are now aiding and abet- ting the spread of American. A few months ago, our captain informed us that we would be arriving at Heathrow half an hour early because we were 'benefiting from a positive wind coefficient', which I presume meant a strong tailwind. Then our 'senior in-flight cabin services manager' — chief steward? — advised us to make sure we had all our belongings when 'de-planing'. This week, as I settled down to dinner on the way back from Detroit, my BA steward offered me a basket of rolls and asked, 'Mr Littlejohn, do you have any bread requirements this evening?' This has gone way beyond toma- to/tomayto. Let's call the whole thing off.
Judging by the newspaper headlines, we should have put our watches back 20 years on arrival in London, not just five hours. Alarmist headlines about a revival of trades union militancy and dire predictions of an Autumn of Discontent accompanied reports of the annual TUC gathering in Brighton. Welcome to the start of the con- ference season, in many ways far sillier than the traditional silly season. Over the next few weeks an avalanche of nonsense will spew out of temporary political garrison towns by the sea. There will be Left Snub For Blair; Gay Rights Setback For Ash- down, Tory Split Over Europe and Tri- umph For Major stories by the truckload. Events at the Winter Gardens and else- where will be invested with hyperbolical significance. Over a £100-a-head dinner with a political correspondent in a £160-a- night hotel, Tory ministers will denounce the unions' demands for a £4-an-hour mini- mum wage as a recipe for economic ruin. So will Labour front-benchers, for that matter. My advice, as a conference veteran with a clutch of Storm Clouds Gather Over Gale-Lashed Blackpool splashes under his belt, would be to ignore politics altogether until Parliament resumes. Nothing that happens by the seaside in the next month will make any difference to the price of fish or the outcome of the next general elec- tion.
Nor, come to that, will the defection of Alan Amos, the former hang 'em and flog 'em Tory MP for Hexham, Northumber- land, to the Labour Party. Mr Amos, you may recall, was forced to resign his seat after being arrested on Hampstead Heath and cautioned by police in connection with an act of gross indecency with another man. Mr Amos, formerly a councillor, in Enfield, north London, stepped down despite main- taining that he is not a homosexual and had 'We took him off the critical list - it's full up.' not been convicted of any offence. You would have thought his experiences would have put him off politics for life. Not so. The more I see of them, the more I am convinced politicians are a breed apart. The game is more important than the result or which side they are on. They will do any- thing to stay on the pitch. Alan Amos, now a local government officer, may not have a criminal conviction, but does he have any political convictions, either?
When the Hexham constituency Con- servative Association met to pick a succes- sor to Mr Amos, they apparently decided not to take any chances. Their candidate must be married, must be a local, must not be a lawyer and must support hunting. There were over 100 applicants far the seat. Gradually they fell by the wayside after failing to meet one or more of the requisite qualifications. Step forward Peter Atkinson, former Fleet Street hack in his late 40s and, after unsuccessfully applying for selection in a number of constituencies, beginning to think perhaps his time had passed. Happily married with two daugh- ters, fortuitously born in the constituency, and a prominent member of the British Field Sports Association, Atkinson found himself on a short list of one and now sits for Hexham with an increased majority. It helped that during the election campaign, the Hounds of Wapping also exposed the Liberal candidate as a homosexual. Metropolitan enlightenment has obviously not reached Hexham, where they still apply Rule One: No Poofters. It must be com- forting for the defeated Liberal to know that should he choose to defect he will be welcomed with open arms by New Labour.
Rule One: No Poofters originates from the Monty Python 'Australians' sketch red- necks. Elsewhere in the antipodes,' they breed them softer and more sentimental. In New Zealand, employers have agreed to give paid leave to staff when their pets get sick. 'I'm sorry, I can't come to work today because my wallaby's got the flu.' You couldn't make it up, or so I thought until I mentioned the story to the editor of The Spectator. He had been speaking recently to a college lecturer in this country who had been asked to cover for a colleague whose dog was unwell and whose tutorial clashed with visiting hours at the veterinary hospi- tal. It had to happen here. Employers brac- ing themselves for a national minimum wage and an Autumn of Discontent should prepare to pay for statutory time off for staff with poorly pets.
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