DIARY
RUPERT HAMBRO The other day I felt someone kissing me on the top of the head as I sat at dinner. I looked up in surprise to find it was a chap doing the kissing; and not only that, but the chap in question was Michael Ashcroft, the Tory party treasurer who has been ennobled recently. It came about like this. About ten of us were having dinner — a fund-raising event, like everything else in life — with William Hague. Perhaps it was the influence of the delicious champagne, but I ventured to make a very mild criticism of the Tory leader. I believe that he is doing very well— he's bright; he's winning; he's got Labour on the run at last — so I thought I would risk mentioning that he misread the audience in a recent speech I had heard him make. `What do you mean, misread?' asked Mr Hague, noting that the press had given him very good coverage the following morning. Well, I said, the occasion was the Conserva- tive Winter Ball and the audience were his most loyal workers and supporters. All he had to do was thank them and cheer them up, and instead he gave them a party-politi- cal speech, full of stuff bashing Labour and the Lib Dems. People stopped listening and started to talk among themselves. It was after I had discharged this message that I received the kiss. 'Thank you for saying that,' said Michael Ashcroft. 'It needed saying.'
Ihave just had a word with Colin Marshall of British Airways about a lacuna in his com- pany's schedules. It is absurd that there is only one flight a week from London to Mar- rakesh, and none at all by BA. My wife and I know this because we have just bought a small house outside the town, next to the spectacular new Amanjena hotel. Our house faces the Atlas mountains where you can ski, should you tire of swimming at Essouira, or of watching the camel races and eating in the many wonderful restaurants with their rose- petalled tables. And, if you can't be bothered to go to the desert, there is a golf course next door, which is why my wife calls our house `Wentworth by the Souk'. It is hardly surpris- ing, as I pointed out to the BA chief, that more and more people want to visit this delightful country, when, after a three-hour flight, you can be in the warm desert air, and without having to change your watch. Houses are inexpensive: for instance, a four-bedroom house, fully furnished, with a view of the mountains, would cost only £150,000. Lord Marshall of BA said he would look into the matter. You may say I am being self-interest- ed in raising this question of flights; to which I would say, what is wrong with that?
AFlemings's shareholders prepare to receive their money from the Chase Man- hattan Bank, I cannot help thinking of the sad demise of the great British merchant banks. Barings, Warburgs, Hill Samuel, Schroders, Kleinworts, Morgan Grenfell, and, yes, Hambros are all gone or swallowed up. The US merchant banks are totally dom- inant, and those few British ones left rely on the crumbs from their tables. What hap- pened? The answer is that the British banks completely missed the point of their busi- ness. They did what estate agents do, and what cement companies do. They bought maps and stuck flags all over them. They rushed around and opened offices all over the place. The buzzword was globalisation; and the result was that they found them- selves undercapitalised to take on the com- mitments requested by their customers. The good news is that this Wimbledon phe- nomenon (we have the top tournament, but none of the top players) will offer opportuni- ties for small brokers and advisers to carve a niche for themselves, as the likes of Peel Hunt and Beeson Gregory have done. I had a very enjoyable eight-year partnership in such a business with George Magan. We eventually sold out to NatWest, but I think George must have enjoyed it, too, as he has just bought back our old office in Queen Anne's Gate.
Talking of globalisation, and the ruthless operation of the international free market, I have an idea to safeguard the long-term future of Rover. I am, in a way, a bit of a car manufacturer, in the sense that we make the bodies of cars. We make the bodies for Mer- cedes station-wagons; for Ford and Mack trucks. At our factory in Coventry, we make the aluminium bodies of the Land-Rovers that are being used in Sierra Leone. We make body shells for Rolls-Royce, and Bent- ley and Aston Martin and, in some cases, for clients I cannot name, we make custom-built versions of those marques. I have learnt two things. The first is that there is massive over- capacity in the market, and the second is that cars, like the fortified wines favoured by tramps, are 'the produce of more than one country'. Since they are all made from com- ponents sourced from across the globe, the difference between one car and the next is mainly a matter of its badge, and marketing — rather like breakfast cereals. That is why we don't feel that Rover is really 'ours', and partly why global capital is so fickle in decid- ing where to locate. That is why, I suggest, the car-workers' union at Rover should invest £100 million from their pension fund in the new venture: to show their loyalty.
My firm also paints taxis, and we find that many of the drivers now demand the hideous livery of Yellow Pages and other concerns. If Ken Livingstone passes an edict that all taxis should be black again, he will be on the road to redemption.
Ihad a bit of a bust-up the other day at lunch with a senior Treasury fella whom I cannot name. I pointed out to him that there are now 34 different levels of capital-gains tax, and that tax is at its highest level for 18 years, with Britons paying £105 billion in income tax, and the top 10 per cent of tax- payers accounting for 50 per cent of this sum. He responded with a four-letter word beginning with c and ending with p. (The word was crap, in case you don't get me.) I thought him a slightly rude young man, but had a sort of revenge. I slipped away during i one course to watch one of my horses run in a race and returned to announce that it had won. I did not notice him clapping.
Idid not attend the launch of Tate Mod- ern, but watched the Queen dedicate the new Millennium Bridge that crosses the Thames between St Paul's and the fl eV" gallery. There was a very moving service, with many London choirs and a gospel sung by schoolchildren who had written it special" ly for the occasion. The Queen stood on the flag-bedecked bridge, and there was a fire" works display. This did seem to me to be a terrible waste of money, since it was broad daylight, and the fireworks were wholly invisible. Still, I am sure that the bridge will be a great addition for those of us who live and work in London. Many interesting arte- facts were found on the riverbank, and 111 the foundations on either side, some °,1 which cannot be identified. The Museum 0' London is offering a prize to anyone wh° can tell them what these objects are.
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