On Casual Reading
Mr. Barrel took me gently to task last week for referring to 'a chance re-reading of Paradise Lost.' My remark was only too accurate. There is So much to do, so much to read that there is little time for sunken contemplative reading. By the time I have finished reading Hansard, White Papers, Blue Books, scores of newspapers, jour- nals, pamphlets and reviews, all the letters from my constituents and the Spectator's readers (these last multiplied fourfold during my time as editor), articles and an occasional book, usually because I am going to review it, there is literally no time left for literature.
For me the dust gathers upon Trollope. And Very occasionally when I have a few precious moments I try to read, or rather re-read. The hand that reaches up to my bookshelves may re- turn clutching a James Bond story. Or a book on Chess.or Paradise Lost.
Rirthday
Congratulations to the C'huta Quarterly for their bumper 200-page fifth anniversary number. in twenty-one issues since 1960 this magazine, With its long articles, its reviews, its quarterly Chronicle, and its special numbers on such sub- jects as Vietnam and Taiwan, has become neces- sary reading not only for professional students of ' the Far East, but for all interested in the problems raised by the emergence of the 'New China.' But the China Quarterly is also important for another, Parallel, reason. One of the causes of the present di:tense with Moscow is the fact that in the last ten years a great amount of hard academic analy- Sta of Soviet motives and behaviour has been ac- Fomplished, which, as we know, has considerably Influenced for the better the policies of the Kennedy-Johnson administrations. And it's pre- cisely in encouraging this unemotional approach to the problems of the Sino-Soviet split and Chinese .relations with the West that the China Quarterly is most valuable.
ELCA Some time ago, from its first meeting in the East of London, came the Bow Group. Now once Two Journeys I very rarely watch soccer, but I try to follow Enfield in their important matches, especially in the Amateur Cup. This meant last Saturday that I had to go to Sunderland to watch them in the semi-final. I got up at 6.30 and caught the foot- ball special from Enfield. Dear reader, have you ever travelled in a football special? There are no classes and no compartments. The whole thing is one endless tea-room. One sits knee-to- knee through the mournful hours. I assume that these conveyances are offered to the public by British Railways in the hope that they will be so inconvenient that they will not be used. Perhaps also the football special is made so unattractive By HILARY
SIx million people are said to go dancing in ...,Britain each week, a third of them regularly, rather less than a third compulsively, almost nightly. These are the gay butterflies you may see on television, people whose sole passion in life is consummated on the ballroom floor. 'Lovely people,' said Mr. Eric Morley, of Mecca Dancing Ltd., which runs the largest chain of dance halls in the country. The television Come Dancing series, started in 1949, was in part an attempt to dispel the rather unsavoury reputa- tion of public dance halls. 'After the war,' said Mr. Morley, 'Mecca spent millions on decor and facilities---our ladies' and gents' toilet suites are far ahead of the Savoy and the Dorchester: I would challenge any hotel to produce fittings equal to ours. What television did for us was to persuade Mum and Dad there was nothing wrong with the dance hall; when they saw the show, they said, "What lovely people—what boudoirs- -what a lovely place." And, of course, we have done a lot to improve their standards. , In our beautiful surroundings they like to look their best, and we encourage a semi-cocktail standard of dress. We don't like jeans—don't want anything sexy, or long hair for men -it's not hygienic. They can hire a tie at the door for two and six.' Tough Legs in Lime Green and Spangles
that even vandals would hesitate to exercise their vandalism upon it. It was only because I went with friends and neighbours that the journey was at all tolerable. Incidentally, on the way back, having reached Peterborough, we were then diverted via March, Cambridge, and all sorts of minor halts before—after midnight—we got back to Enfield. And the result? We lost.
On Monday I went to the Abertillery con- stituency. It was the loveliest day of the year. The train was so hot one could hardly sit in it, but the Western Valley, when one got there, was at its best. I find something immensely endearing about going to what is called a hopeless seat— although I refuse ever to use the term. Even though the Socialist majority in Abertillery has not, I think, dropped below 20,000 these last twenty years, one finds Tories convinced this time that the great change is going to happen. One finds people with Tory faith burning brightly even in what to them is political darkness. I sup- pose a Socialist must get something of the same impression at Worthing. We had a wonderful meeting and an exhilarating evening. And the result? We lost.
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