N ow, I have nothing against the Ministry of Defence, without
whose historical efforts my plashy fen would undoubtedly by now be a weisseriger Sumpf. And, indeed, there are some within its ancient corridors whom I count as dear friends. But has ever our ancient language been so affronted as by the purgatorial balderdash which riddles the concluding paragraphs of the new Defence White Paper? Under the title 'The Defence Vision', we learn that the Defence Vision is threefold: 'Defending the United Kingdom and its interests' (No! Tell me another!), 'Strengthening international peace and security' (Surely not! Blow me down!), and 'A force for good in the world.' Another U-turn, then. Presently we'll return to how this vision breaks down in detail.
Reviewing the Booker winner. Vernon God Little, in the London Review of Books, James Wood said he thought the prize had abandoned seriousness when the Man Group took over sponsorship: 'the prize's new sponsors let it be known that it was time for a shiny new populism, and so far the judges have concurred'. Detonations followed, 'Serious, defamatory and false,' wrote the chairman of the judges, Professor John Carey (whom Mr Wood additionally slighted as 'a serious man except when he is writing literary journalism'). Mr Wood was 'happy to retract the imputation' but wondered archly: 'Next year a rebarbative Maori epic as winner? We shall see.' Mr Wood is one of the most acute critics of fiction we have, but prone to pomposity. He once wrote to a magazine, after noticing one of their reviewers was called 'James Wood', suggesting their man insert an initial into his byline: 'It might fairly be said that your James Wood has more to benefit from my existence than I do from his.'
president Bush's remark that Saddam will 'face the justice he denied to millions' was a curious way of putting it, wasn't it? On the surface, it looks the wrong way round. Much more likely Saddam will get a watery imitation of just what he gave his countrymen, and gave them with a generosity prodigal even by the standards of his political ancestors. That is, he'll be subjected to some highly forceful interrogation, probably involving his tenderest parts. Then he will be subjected to a trial whose outcome will not
be in the slightest doubt. Then he will be strung up.
It may be the likely way forward, meanwhile, but is it the morally right one? Who better to consult on the subject than Samwise Gamgee, the sea-green incorruptible of Lord of the Rings? A bemused Sean Astin, the actor who plays Mr Gamgee, was collared on the red carpet at the premiere of Return of the King and asked whether Saddam should swing. 'I don't know where I stand on that,' the morally conflicted hobbit told reporters. `I'm very ambivalent about it.'
A'yes, defence of the realm. 'We achieve this aim by working together on our core task to produce battle-winning forces.' Battle-winning forces, eh? Why did the military never think of this before? Nor are they resting on their laurels there: those forces need to be 'fit for the challenge of today. . . ready for the tasks of tomorrow. . capable of building for the future'. More detail presently.
Soho House — the London drinking club where Sadie Frost's tot is alleged to have found an ecstasy tablet on the floor and eaten it — is in the soup again. Its latest venture, a branch in Manhattan, has caused embarrassment to a columnist for the Financial Times. One John Gapper, meeting friends on the club's roof terrace, set out to join them at their table across what he took to be a luminous green underlit dance floor. It was a swimming pool.
Imentioned the other day that the spirited literary agent Deborah Rogers had given her colleagues the afternoon off to march against George W. Bush when he was in London. In the hopes that this gesture had established a precedent, they
subsequently asked whether they could bunk off to watch the England rugby team's triumphal procession through the capital. 'Certainly not!' she said.
Pity cash-strapped Cheltenham Ladies' College, raising money in this, the year of its 150th anniversary celebrations, to buy a nice new pipe organ to replace its old knackered one. Proof of the urgency of the need was given plangent
demonstration during the annual carol service. Halfway through, the old organ emitted a high-pitched whine likened by one present to 'a hearing aid caught in a feedback loop', before expiring altogether. The remainder of the service — tugging the hearts and, hopefully, purse-strings of the doting parents in attendance — was accompanied on the piano. And it was on a piano that the closing organ voluntary — Bach's Fantasia in G Major — was played.
Hem hem. Sorry. White Paper, Defence Vision. Here we are: 'We will base our future direction on providing strategy that matches new threats and instabilities.' To clarify, We face new challenges and unpredictable new conditions.... Our strategy must evolve to reflect these new realities.' But what does it mean for the future? `For the future, this means ... evolving strategy and military doctrine that is flexible and geared to changing conditions.' And so on. But the spirit fails. Come, friendly bombs. Swarm over, death.
Thus Saddam Hussein's Boswell, Con Coughlin, on news of his capture: `Even now he will be desperately hoping that he can cut some form of deal with the coalition that will save him from the indignity of the firing squad.' I dare say so, but even as only an amateur Saddamwatcher, this Vole feels confident that 'indignity' is the least of his worries.
As Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy opens in dramatic form at the National, a nerdy Pullman curio. Each of his characters, as devotees of his brilliant books know, is linked to his own 'daemon', a sort of magical familiar in animal form. Children's daemons change shape, he writes, but take a fixed form in adulthood. So why, a percipient fan asked Pullman the other day, does the kindly boatwoman Ma Costa's daemon appear first as a hawk, and later as a wolf? 'A mistake', Pullman confessed.
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