Notebook
T went to Rome for the New Year in the 1 hope of being cheered up, but both the Pope and the President of Italy did their best to dampen the spirits. 'The threat of nuclear catastrophe and the plague of hunger appear chillingly on the horizon like fateful horses of the Apocalypse,' said the Pope in his New Year message. The ancient socialist President, Alessandro Pertini, ad- dressed the nation on rather the same lines, though his speech was more surprising, coming as it did from the supposedly non- political head of state of a Nato country. 'Peace has feet of clay,' he said. 'The two colossi stare surlily at each other and are unable to reach an understanding.' This an- noyed some Italian politicians who felt that Mr Pertini was apportioning blame too equally to the two superpowers, but they were even more disconcerted by his un- equivocal support for the anti-nuclear pro- testers. 'I am with those who demonstrate for peace,' he said. 'It is too easy to say that these demonstrations are being exploited. Those who go into the streets and want to defend peace are young people who want, therefore, to defend their own future.' And in what appeared to be a further effort to stir up as much political controversy as possible, the President went on to question the presence of Italian troops in Lebanon and to condemn Israel for its role in the Sabra and Chatila massacre. 'The man responsible for that massacre is still in the government in Israel and is almost cocky. He is someone who should be drummed out of society.' Israel protested, but the Pope telephoned Mr Pertini to say that it was the best speech he had made since becoming President. It was certainly more entertain- ing than Mrs Thatcher's New Year message to the British people which contained nothing about the impending Apocalypse but predicted that 1984 would be 'a year of hope and a year of liberty' merely because the British economy is picking up a bit. What makes the contrast between the two messages odder is that whereas in Britain there is a vigorous and expanding anti- nuclear movement, the Italians appear relatively indifferent to the nuclear threat. Even the Italian Communist Party, the largest in Western Europe, made remarkably little fuss about the deployment of Cruise missiles in Sicily. The Romans are to all appearances calm and cheerful. There was dancing in the streets on New Year's Eve, and among the thousands of people taking part I did not see a single one who was drunk. elm of the more irritating character-
istics of the old is their frightful sop- piness about the young. President Pertini is one who suffers severely from this problem. On New Year's Day I found myself seated at lunch next to a very old Italian grand- mother who bore a striking resemblance to the grandmother in Giles's cartoons. For about half an hour she extolled the virtues of the young, maintaining that they were better than older people in every possible respect. Then the champagne was opened and a New Year toast was drunk. 'To the young!' she cried, as she raised her glass. This was too much. 'Why?' I asked. 'Because they have their future before them,' she replied. 'All the more reason,' I said, 'why we should toast ourselves, for we who are older are in greater need of good fortune.' This heresy was greeted amiably by the other guests as an example of English 'humour'. It has to be admitted that, for all their many virtues, Italians can be somewhat wearing to talk to.
Much the greatest New Year excitement in Italy, however, was the announce- ment that the Prince and Princess of Wales are to pay a two-week official visit there in October. The Apocalypse will certainly have to be postponed until after that. Not only is the Princess the idol of most Italian men, but she is the most important source of income for the Italian paparazzi
who, to the Queen's annoyance, are at this moment lurking around Sandringham disguised as pheasants or rabbits waiting to catch a picture of her. I am told by Fleet Street experts in these matters that a decent photograph of the Princess can fetch anything from between £1,000 and 15,000; it is something worth spending an icy night in a hedgerow for. These experts believe that the announcement of the Royal couple's visit to Italy was made nearly ten months in advance in order to deflect atten- tion from the question of whether the Princess is or is not expecting a baby. One is, however, left none the wiser. There re- main two possibilities: either she is expec- ting a baby or she is not. The Queen was quite right publicly to express her anger over the intrusions of journalists and photographers at Sandringham. People like her better when she doesn't bottle up her feelings. But we must all sadly recognise that it is, through no fault of her own, the Princess who is responsible for all the trouble. Her offence is her beauty. The British Royal Family fascinates the public enough even when, as is normally the case, its members are plain. A beautiful Princess of Wales is more than the people of the world can bear. There will never be privacy at Sandringham again. Prince Charles should perhaps have thought of this before proposing to her.
am pleased to report that the Spectator
anthology Night Thoughts (Chatto and Windus, £4.95) has been selling rather well. At least that is what the publishers tell us. My only fear is that there may be some con- fusion. A friend asked for the book before Christmas in a London bookshop, but when he unwrapped it at home, found that it was a different book with the same title. He had purchased Night Thoughts by Avodah K. Offit (Panther, £1.95), which is subtitled Reflections of a Sex Therapist. 'Perfect sex is what it's all about,' says the blurb, 'and sex therapist Dr Of fit helps her patients attain that goal. This uninhibited and lively book collects her writings — pro- duced at the still heart of the night — on an astonishingly wide range of topics, from female orgasm to fellatio, from nym- phomania to masturbation, from sex as recreation to the delicate matter of smell. And when the night is gone, she turns her thoughts to morning sex.' Phew! I don't know how our poor collection of Spectator essays can compete with a book like that. It is perhaps a pity that by accident we chose the same title as Dr Offit; but then, on the other hand, who knows how many people may have bought the Spectator anthology, mistaking the book for hers? To alleviate, if only a little, their disappointment, the Spec- tator book does at least contain a section on 'Sex'.
Alexander Chancellor
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