Notebook
e have an interesting article in this W
„„ issue of the p on 21nbustion. There araeper many peoplespontaneous who 'r do not believe in this well-documented phenomenon. However, it was nearly twieved this week by the eminent editor of e Sunday Express, Sir John Junor. This ,as at a Foyles literary lunch held on _9Y at at the Dorchester Hotel to celebrate the (Implication of Patrick Marnham's history 6frivate Eye. All went well until Mr l'a'n'ucolin Muggeridge took the floor and tic,,,gtlidly described the Falklands expedi- " as the most 'fatuous' venture ever 13,3 It'ertaken, even by this country. At this t,,,„t Sir John's colour changed from ",ls1rlet to a dangerous purple, the room 07 Perature rose dramatically, and guests ti:Ited nervously around for fire ex- toRishers. Mr Muggeridge is so out of tich that he did not seem to realise that he t14151 said anything shocking; he seemed to viloalc that he was stating something so ob- bo I's that the majority of people were CrUnkirttl to agree with him — just as Mr siZam Greene thought he was saying Filet, }ling obvious when he blamed the pn.mands war on the Foreign Office. It was 47sibly Mr Muggeridge's innocent 00tuoPtion that his views commanded 1011111ar support which so nearly set Sir
n alight.
I ',doubt if General Galtieri would have 11,4`nt a Christmas card to anybody who oi'thquestioned the wisdom of his invasion ly „, e Malvinas. I was therefore particular- 4gov k , ed to receive a card from the Prime OnIster and her patient, self-effacing hus- d kits • I have received Christmas cards from % Thatcher before, but this was the first 4rit.t° which Denis had attached his name, the Irig 'Denis and...' in blue ink in front of katiW,.°'Ils 'Margaret Thatcher' in black. I a wh'a a Sunday newspaper that they spent %eh °e weekend at Chequers signing 2,000 toicards. The card itself is rather IlicIng• It is a picture of Mr and Mrs 1) 0at, h, her er standing in front of Number 10 • llg Street, looking very small and shy ill 4 e a Couple of visitors from the North tcass souvenir photograph. It is a cosy, biap,silring image, which makes me feel tlitiZer towards England and its Prime tiltie7ter that I have felt for quite a long bast week the London Weather Centre 41Iirinas bombarded with telephone calls in-
ii)Cg about the 'freak' weather condi- )4 The weathermen were surprised.
'holeirtit e had been rather a lot of rain, it was . in some parts of the country there had ea been some flooding. But there was
nothing freakish about the weather. It was, in fact, entirely normal for the time of year. It would be strange, the experts pointed out, if one didn't get a bit of wet and stor- my weather in December. It shows how greedy people are for sensation. They can- not abide the idea that everything is or- dinary. For this, perhaps, the press must take some of the blame. It is always in search of superlatives to describe the weather. A stranger reading the English newspapers might get the impression that we have an unusually dramatic climate — a succession of 'freak' storms, 'flash' floods, droughts, and record-breaking temper- atures. In reality, we are blessed with rather an unexciting climate.
Ahousewife living in Hamburg recently opened an envelope addressed to her husband, a German tugboat captain. It gave her a nasty shock, for it contained a gruesome photograph of the British nurse Helen Smith lying in her coffin and a letter from her father, Mr Ronald Smith, accus- ing the German of raping and murdering her. Mr Smith later withdrew the allegation and apologised. It was, as the German housewife put it, 'a bad thing for Mr Smith to do'. This is not the first 'bad thing' Mr Smith has done. He has been recklessly free in his accusations against all sorts of people whom he holds responsible for his daughter's death at an illegal drinks party in Saudi Arabia three and a half years ago. He has also alleged a conspiracy to cover up the crime involving not only the Foreign Office, but Mrs Thatcher, the Church of England, and the judiciary as well. Many people think he is tiresome, obsessive, and possibly mad. His surviving daughter and his ex-wife are among those who have lost patience with him. But the inquest in Leeds which ended last week with an 'open verdict' has been his vindication. Only a man with an obsession could have got the inquest held to begin with, and the inquest showed — if not
that Helen was murdered — that there were good enough grounds for suspicion. Only a man with an obsession could have got as near to the truth as he did, given the deep embarrassment which the Foreign Office felt about the affair. If everyone was like Mr Smith, life would be a nightmare. But one doesn't have to like him to recognise that in certain circumstances only obsessives are capable of getting anything done.
hannel Four has already established a
reputation for broadcasting bilge, but, as I haven't watched it, I didn't realise quite what bilge it was capable of broadcasting until I read a reprint of a talk by the novelist Salman Rushdie in last week's New Society. Since winning the Booker Prize last year, Mr Rushdie's views on many subjects have become increasingly familiar to newspaper readers and television viewers, He is an example of the new 'political' novelist, a person to be consulted whenever there is thought to be a need for somebody of left-wing opinions. I wonder if Mr Rushdie is quite ready for this demanding role. His talk on the subject of racism in Britain contained some extraordinary assumptions. One was that 'the British authorities', having been deprived of an empire abroad, 'have chosen instead to im- port a new empire, a new community of subject peoples.' This explanation for the mass immigration of former colonial citizens since the war is the most novel I have ever heard. Does anyone, apart from Mr Rushdie, believe that the presence of so many coloured people in Britain is due to a craving by nostalgic imperialists for a supp- ly of 'wogs' to boss around?
It is well known that landlords will go to almost any lengths not to maintain their properties, usually contriving to blame their tenants for anything that goes wrong. But I have never heard anything so ridiculous as the case of Mr and Mrs Paul Haswell, tenants of a council flat at Dagenham in Essex. They complained to the local council that the flat was riddled with damp. The council's reply was to ask them to stop making love; their heavy breathing, it said, was creating condensation in the bedroom. The Haswells, protesting that their marrried life was like 'one long honeymoon', angrily refused to show the required abstinence. This story appeared so improbable that I rang up the editor of the Daily Mirror, who published it, to ask if it was some kind of joke. He assured me that it wasn't. When the Mirror checked with the council, an of- ficial confirmed the Haswells' story, quali- fying it, however, in these words; 'Of course, we don't want Mr and Mrs Haswell to stop having normal relations altogether, but if they could help us it would make the flat more habitable'. Take no notice, Mr and Mrs Haswell! Have a happy Christmas!
Alexander Chancellor
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