SIR, — The readers of the Spectator know that Editor, Spectator, ought
to be Prime Minister; Taper, Chief Whip; and Bernard Levin, Lord Chief Justice. The tragedy is, of course, that not enough people know this. Cannot, then, this formidable trinity be per- suaded to potter out of their warm offices and on to a wider stage? Mr. Levin, of course, might have to acquire certain technical qualifications, but with his talents and his colleagues' coaching surely this could soon be managed?
Why, 1 wopder, do they stay so modestly behind the scenes, tapping away at typewriters in green eye- shades and Brigade braces, threatening, warning, advising artists, writers, musicians, politicians, judges and even taximcn? Is it not unfair to their stricken countrymen that they should be allowed to rest safely behind soundproof, bulletproof editorial walls, hoping at very best to provoke a letter- in reply? And when the letter arrives, there comes that devastating, but dishonest, opportunity to cap the clumsy correspondent with a well-drafted riposte . . . 'Editor, •Spectator. I apprehend that our corre- spondent has not applied his mind . . .'; or 'Bernard Levin writes . . . "I wish I were unborn" '; or 'Save me, save me, from the candid friend. Taper.'
Snug critics. No boos; no hisses; no eggs. No need for bells or loud hailers, just letters from goaded fools to be made more foolish by Editor, Spectator, Bernard Levin writes, or Taper.
But let them not forget Strix, as Randolph Churchill forgot Goschen. For perhaps, among them all, Strix is the man. And the Strixites are influential. They lunch well at intimate restaurants, where the car-parking facilities are abominable. Strix, then, for Prime Minister. And when Strix comes to Cabinet-making, perhaps Editor, Spectator, may find himself only Chairman of the Press Council; Bernard Levin only a Charity Commissioner; and Taper—but no, even Prime Minister Strix might hesitate to tamper with Taper. But if he did, he had better dine Taper at that intimate restaurant on oysters and champagne, and over-ripe pheasant and port, and send him off, red-eyed like Lord Lundy, to govern New South Wales.—Yours faithfully,
House of Commons, SW1
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