Wifi
Waspe
In a recent letter to the Times the Minister for the Arts, Hugh Jenkins, MP, promoted his Marxist ideology by enthusiastically recommending the imposition of a wealth tax on works of art by our living artists.
He also invited some of them to visit his headquarters in Belgrave Square in the hope of brainwashing them with his dangerous drivel. Before accepting this invitation, I hope the artists will remember the Minister's broken promises in connection with value added tax on their work. They might also care to recall his double talk about the introduction of a public lending right for authors.
Betting man
I am intrigued that all is not sweetness and light between the directors of Christie's and Sotheby's over their joint agreement to charge buyers at their auctions a 10 per cent premium for their so-called expertise.
Christie's are understandably upset since Sotheby's are not chargingany premium in New York and Sotheby's are enraged that Christie's have responded by abandoning any idea of this outrageous imposition at their branch in South Kensington. Wily museum curators have told me of their wish for bookmakers to lay odds as to the eventual winner of this confrontation. My bet, and I would be prepared to wager a substantial sum, would be on Sotheby's. But perhaps it really is unfair to bet on a certainty.
Raised eyebrows
Eyebrows were raised in the art world by the decision of the Royal Society of Arts to award Lord Eccles its 1975 hi-centenary medal. The egregious Viscount's sole claim to artistic notoriety rests in his absurd policy to charge for admission to our national museums and galleries when Minister for the Arts. Indeed only in the revoking of this mean-minded measure has the present Minister and part-time mini-Marxist, Mr Marxist, Mr Hugh Jenkins, earned any vestige of respect himself.
Scottish frolics
Every Edinburgh • Festival has its row. This year's, news of which has just reached me, was triggered off by Leonard Bernstein, who decided it would be nice to have a choir from Vienna rather than rehearse the contracted Edinburgh Festival Chorus in his Chichester Psalms. Without reference to Peter Diamond, who only runs the festival, he twisted the Austrian Government's arm into footing the bill for flying them in, and was prepared to dig into his own capacious purse for their accommodation. Diamond and the Chorus very wisely preserved a dignified silence, leaving the local press to have a field day, which they did, scathingly referring to the great conductor as the composer of West Side Story! and printing any number of letters from Disgusted, Morningside, the general tenor of which was that the Festival could very well do without Bernstein, but not without their fiercely treasured local pride and joy. Bernstein got the message, and backed down. Order was restored with a tactful press release, and a photograph Of Lennie enfolding the unfortunate Diamond in a bear-like hug. The hand holding the dagger was not visible.
Gold and silver
Visitors to the English National Opera at the Coliseum this season may have been surprised to see in the foyer a moderately tasteful board with gold and blue lettering inviting operagoers to join the newly-formed Rita Hunter Fan Club. It is there over the lightly-twitching body of that fine upholder of the ensemble principle, Charles Mackerras, who very properly had qualms about what members of that mercifully star-free ensemble might think about it all. The best answer on their part might be a maroon and silver board on the other side of the foyer announcing a raffle to guess the lady's weight — no, no, that's unkind, I'm not going to print it.
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