Monday, 30 November 2020


I keep on hearing people talking about their ‘mental health’ as though it were a badly behaved pet puppy or, perhaps, a  bit like the daemons in Philip Pullman’s novels. To be sure we have probably all found the lockdown and the past year rather stressful but a bit of stiff upper lip and pulling ourselves together might not go amiss, as the Edwardians would have said. 

But there is another way. 


Emma Byrne has written a book called “Swearing is Good for You – The Amazing Science of Bad Language”. The book says not only that some form of swearing has existed since the earliest humans got irritated, but it states that swearing can reduce pain, help stroke victims learn how to speak again, and, even, encourage teamwork. 

The book cites historical case studies and claims to have conducted cutting-edge research. Emma writes about chimpanzees creating their own swearwords; about a man who lost half his brain in a mining accident experiencing a new-found compulsion to swear (well I’m not surprised at that). In short Dr Emma Byrne describes the fascinating science behind swearing and how it affects us physically and emotionally. More importantly she asserts that it’s beneficial to our mental health. 

What a load of old bollocks I thought.

But in my own experience swearing can indeed be a way of emphasising a fact or an intensity of feeling. An old friend who is a magically passionate presenter uses the f*** word liberally. It’s his own eccentric form of punctuation. You become immune to it after a while so when he stops using it your ears prick up and you double your concentration.

Another person I know seldom swears very seldom but when she does the effect is nuclear.

One of our grandsons when he was about 3 showed some precocious talent at invective when his mother was irritated by someone’s driving shouting “dirty nappy-man!” at the offender. 

But the vocabulary for swearing is generally rather limited and there’s a need to create some more exotic terms with which to sprinkle our vocabulary. I enjoyed a few Michael Spicer’s used. He called Donald Trump ‘a massive fart’ and a ‘puffin’ (not bad), Priti Patel a ‘brainless wasp’ and as a simple expletive ‘Jeremy H. F***ing Hunt’.

Here were a few new ones I quite liked:

- Gnashgab – someone who constantly complains

- Klazomaniac – someone who speaks very and irritatingly loudly

- Muck-Spout – what this blog is all about – someone who constantly swears

- Windf***er – archaic term of abuse but which describes someone vague and useless

But we can be more inventive and the impact can be explosive – calling someone ‘a useless smear of slime’ can be as disorientating as calling them a ‘useless turd’ (as opposed to a useful turd??)

In the Times recently the results of a three-month study into the frequency of use of swearing in different professions appeared.

The league table surprised me:

1. Banking – ‘f***’ - 960 times a week observed in their offices – extraordinary. 

2. Law – ‘bullshit’ – well that’s self-awareness at least

3. Hospitality (thanks to Gordon Ramsay I imagine) 

4. Sales – naturally

5. Media – ‘bollocks’ – which, of course, it is

What disappointed me deeply was my previous profession, “advertising,” came a miserable 9th. How times have changed. In my day we were the kings of abuse. We were so politically incorrect it makes me cringe to remember. The air around us was not blue it was technicolour with vivid, excoriating abuse.

So if you feel the need to swear just let rip. You’ll feel a lot better. It’s official.

Monday, 23 November 2020


New technology hasn’t fundamentally changed golf, cricket or football. Although in football, VAR (video-assistant-referees) has been so contentious we may go back to old on-the-field referees’ judgement. 

But there are very few who’d agree with me on this luddite thinking. 

On Friday I was working in my office whilst my wife was taking exercise – I avoided it as I usually do. I waved affectionately at her as she walked round our large communal garden and opened the window to bellow good natured encouragement. And then it happened. I leant forward and my mobile phone spun out of my grasp, out of the window and landed with a loud thwunk on a roof below.

Getting to it was going to be complex and a crawling-over roofs job. At my age, un-exercised, it was going to be lunacy. No Spiderman me. So I started to think.

I wondered if this accident had been divine intervention. Freedom from those countless, irritating phone-calls. Release from e-mails and texts when I was out of the house and freedom from that behaviour trait of imitating those around you and studying your screen as though it holds the secrets of the universe. First one person does it then we all do – like yawning. 

I realised that I yearn for pen and ink. I yearn for the absence of intrusion. I yearn for never again seeing a text saying “Halifax is holding a payment of several thousand pounds – send your bank details so they can  pay it into your account.”  No, you defrauding Nigerian, Russian, Ukrainian or whoever. No. No. No. 

I yearn for a world devoid of Apps and social media. Not being anchored to your phone is being on holiday.

But then I thought about contacting people. All the phone numbers are on my phone. Not having my mobile was going to be like the onset of a kind of dementia. Basically, just out of it.

Take away my PC and I can still write but with a degree of greater difficulty especially as my seldom-used handwriting now resembles that of drunken doctor - unintelligible. But without my phone I’m inaudible, invisible and forgotten.

Perhaps it’s time we should reject the “paperless society”. Perhaps assuming everyone is online is rash, ageist and classist. I shudder for the prospects of poor children living in a household without a laptop whose ability to share online learning and homework is non-existent. 

We all need to learn how to use useful, basic technology and make sure it’s available to everyone as a utility not a luxury good and that we’re trained to use it well. The overly sophisticated stuff is a waste of time as is much social media. The good side of social media is closed community groups and business tools like LinkedIn but much of the rest is, as I see it, time consuming and navel gazing. 

And as for Siri or Alexa.

They’re rather silly toys for petulant teenagers. To be ignored.

The good stuff is that the days of deliveries being left on the doorstep are over and being able to track deliveries and have accurate delivery times is usual. 

So I’ve made three resolutions:

i)   To create an up-to-date paper address book in pencil (so I can rub out changes.) 

ii)  To become proficient at using the few digital tools that are helpful and time saving.

iii) To stop leaning out of windows with anything in my hand – good heavens – it could have been a glass of wine on Friday. Imagine that.

Monday, 16 November 2020


Ricardo is a name I’m often called by friends and the name I use in Venice (Venetians find Richard Hall – ‘Risher Hore’ – an unpalatable  mouthful). 

Ricardo is a good name. I like it. So does Ricardo Semler – founder of Semco the Brazilian conglomerate – who was on TED Talks recently  and was once again a source of great inspiration. He’s 61 now and has been “running” the company since he was 21. He took over from his father when Semco was mainly a failing shipbuilding business. Ricardo who constantly rowed with his autocratic father prior to taking over was given the reins and his father retired to avoid having Ricardo storm out. His father’s move, as it transpires, was very shrewd.

Unlike his father Ricardo wanted to diversify and break the company into self- governing satellites. He also wanted to liberalise the management style. But first the executioner. In his first week he fired 60 % of the top management. This is what others have called the “permafrost” in an atrophied business. 

He then worked like crazy nearly killing himself. His moment of epiphany, his “why do we exist?” moment came as he lay on a hospital bed. This led him to create an organization culture which exhibits a unique form of participative management. There are no set timings of work, employees decide their productivity targets, they decide on who their boss will be, they decide on what they should be paid, holidays can be taken at will and so on. By any MBA standards utterly crazy. 

Today the company spans environmental consultancy, facilities management, real estate brokerage and inventory support. It’s products include rocket fuel, cooling towers and a world famous teak sealer. It’s very diverse. By any MBA standards utterly crazy.

Ricardo’s come-to-Jesus-moment was as he lay on that hospital bed 36 years ago but his feelings about taking a new look at life and work is intensifying. A small example was him saying: 

“Working through a weekend to get a task completed is one thing but the real sign of growing up is going to the cinema on Monday afternoon.”

The people you should want to hire and work with need all the classic characteristics – energy, enthusiasm and expertise – but they also need to be cool, thoughtful and balanced. But most of all they need to be a little crazy sometimes. If we believe creativity matters and makes a difference we shan’t find that in people who are bored and boring, people who relish crisis above taking a break to replenish the mind. 

Our biggest problem today is the pace at which everything happens, is reported and which, apparently, requires action to be taken. This leads to bad decisions being taken without enough data or thought. 

The most striking thing about Ricardo is his sheer joy in life and his relaxed  view of life. His management style and view of leadership as he himself concedes in his 1988 book “Maverick”  is out of the ordinary and somewhat eccentric. His 2003 book “The Seven Day Weekend” goes further. But his philosophy is intensely human and as such intensely appealing.

As I listened to him I recognised in his words a burning sense of a strategist. Whilst most people in business are focused on the next quarters earnings or today's crisis (and if there isn’t one looming creating one) he’s taking a long view of what will be a short career – most of us only have jobs for only 40 or so years.

So why do we exist? We exist to enjoy life, to help others enjoy it, to make the world a better place (often in just in a small way) and to celebrate the magic and majesty of existence.

Crazy stuff existence. Make the most of it.

Monday, 9 November 2020

"I'M OUT!"

Dragon’s Den and The Bidding Room are TV programmes where these words are heard.  People who displease their peers are “ghosted” or “cancelled”. Rejection is sadly part of our culture now.

Still, it was a surprise when a friend who’s always been engaged in events and current thinking sent an e-mail saying he’d had enough … so no more USA, land of lost souls and close to Civil War (again) – no more Guardian (the paper which just tells you what’s wrong with the world) - no more FT (the paper that always knows best) – no more Boris and “the schoolboys round him” – no more Twitter, WhatsApp, Facebook – no more Nigel Farage (oh no, not him again surely?). In short, he’s “out”. Like Leslie Bricusse’s and Anthony Newley’s musical he’s declared “Stop the world – I want to get off.”

I sympathise even empathise but I won’t accept that things are so awful that they cannot be lived with any more. 

The biggest threat to the UK economy is this retirement malaise leading to a collective sense of unproductive despair. The continued furlough makes things worse because many people can afford (just) to carry on not working. After a year of being in semi-retirement getting the car out of the garage and expecting it to start first time (let alone start at all) may be rather harder than the government hopes for. 

My suspicion has always been (and this has intensified) that the opportunities now are enormous. Opportunities to restructure radically, to relaunch, to be enterprising and free from the shackles of a treadmill clinging on to withering businesses, to break away from terrible management practices (private equity, hang your heads in shame), look for growth potential  and, finally, put your foot on the optimism accelerator and floor it.

I’m in. Otherwise I might as well be dead.

But not yet. Not yet. 

We need to give our politicians a kicking – all of them – because their lack of resolution and constant looking over their shoulder at what the Mail, Express or Guardian is going to write the next day or what trends on social media leads to sloppy thinking and bad decisions or no decisions at all.

We need to start planning for a new future not a back-to-normal. It’s winter and gardeners throughout the world are pruning, removing old plants, replenishing the soil and planning for the future. They are thinking, researching and are full of hope. Let’s think like gardeners not like MBAs.

And we need to think of new strategies. The Financial Times asked the right question of what a post Brexit Britain might look like. Professor Ian Angell wrote in his prophetic book, ‘The New Barbarian Manifesto’, 20 years ago, about a new kind of Britain which broke free of the Union and became a Singapore solely within the M25, in GDP per capita, a world beating entity. The Financial Times considered this concept more recently.  Venice even after they lost their unique benefit of being the only gateway to Asia when the Portuguese discovered a sea-route there, continued with a population of under 200, 000 creating wealth and success for two centuries until they became addicts of hedonism and went potty. 

We need to keep our brightest and best on side playing their best game. At worst our politicians and governments last only a few years. We, who believe in ourselves and our potential last much longer than they do.

Be in. And if I hear anymore of this “out” nonsense I’ll get cross.

Monday, 2 November 2020


I’ve been hearing a Beatles refrain in my head – slightly revised:-

Here comes the lockdown, woo ah woo ah
Here comes some gloom, and I say
It's all right
Little lockdown, it's been a long cold lonely autumn
Little lockdown, it feels like years since you’ve been here …

No surprise of course. A bit like being in denial about an unpleasant prospect which suddenly becomes a reality. “But what about Christmas?” people wail. The most important day of the year seems about to hit the dust. The child in us is sobbing quietly and muttering “it just isn’t fair.”

I remember when I was very young Christmas was special for me. When the Eagle Annual was my best present. When seeing my family happy and slightly boisterous and singing

“I’ll sing you one oh, green grow the rushes-oh, one is one and all alone and ever more shall be so”

But it was only one day full of out-of-character exuberance.

We’ve had the Rule of Six. Now it’s going to be the Rule of One. Stay in bed, avoid human contact, do not smile because it increases the risk of infection, avoid tasty food and definitely avoid alcohol. The Rule of One; and ever more shall be so.

I spent last week in vigorous Skype and Zoom debate on the subject of leadership. The first week of November will put leadership, management and execution of plans into sharp focus. The Presidential election. The succession of troubles and discord within Europe and in disunited Britain the ideological contest between those espousing free choice and protection of the economy and the defenders of the NHS and the apostles of control.

Leadership depends on three things – the ability to inspire, a firm sense of purpose and a determination to win. Viscount Halifax, the Foreign Secretary, who stood for appeasement (or in today’s terms, lockdown) allegedly said after Churchill won over a sceptical House of Commons with some splendid uplifting oratory, telling them to hang on in there and carry on fighting: “He has mobilised the English language and sent it to war.”

We don’t use and delight in words anymore. We do emojis and tweets. For someone who aspired to be a Churchill Johnson’s oratory has been lacklustre and shamelessly bombastic. No mind changing leadership there then.

Nor elsewhere in the cabinet. Nor on the opposition benches either. What a grim disappointing bunch they all are.  Neither leaders nor managers nor deliverers of results.

I teased a friend in Scotland about Scotland having more tiers than us in England and suggesting that we might have “tier envy”. His response was sharp “Just don’t get me started.” He’s frustrated that Nicola Sturgeon’s strategy (is that the right word? More aptly, perhaps, her stumble forwards) ignores the harsh, economic realities of life.

The late poet Derek Mahon’s words are fitting:

“There will be dying, there will be dying,
but there is no need to go into that.” 

This is war and whatever is done there’ll be dying. Best to hold things together, protect the vulnerable as best we can and lead us through and out of this mess. We, all of us in the West, seem as Matthew Parris put it, to be playing darts in the dark.

The most cheering story of the past week was the performance of a few focused specialists from the Special Boat Service defusing a potential crisis on board the oil tanker Nave Andromeda in the Solent and in a classic manoeuvre disabling seven hostile stowaways in nine minutes. How we needed that. How we need some action and some certainty. How we need heroes. How we need a bit of Diehard.

Leaders do stuff. Leaders inspire. And those who’re inspired execute plans. A reluctant, tardy and uninspiring lockdown may be needed but it be a two-edged sword. They always cause as many problems as they seek to solve.

Darts anyone?

Monday, 26 October 2020


Last week I spotted a piece in the Washington Post, a worldwide poll which indicated a growing disenchantment with democracy as an effective form of government. The negative response was more pronounced amongst millennials than any other age cohort.  There was also a rising  preference for strong leadership instead of elections. It was slight in the UK, pronounced in Germany and strong in Spain, South Africa and Russia.

This is surprising given a conversation I’d been having a few days earlier about how in my youth in the 1960s  there’d been a global rebellion against the establishment. From the music revolution in the UK to the Paris riots to Woodstock to the Washington anti- Vietnam War protests in Washington to the more extreme Baader-Meinhof terrorists in Germany. Millennials were seemingly all into free love, flower power and revolution.

The words of Joni Mitchell’s “Woodstock” linger in my mind recalling that  world which was finding its voice and swinging leftwards:

“We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden” 

We believed we were golden as the old order crumbled. 

(All shades of red above and getting redder as authoritarianism strengthens.)

Like it or not we’ve recently been swinging towards totalitarianism

Trump is not an aberration. He’s a sign of the times and of things to come. There are reactions of course like BLM and environmental activists like Greta Thunberg but they are ultimately being drowned out. People are frightened and when that happens they veer right. They’re frightened that things seem out of control. 

The second conversation was with someone who’s lived and worked in China for 20 years. He described a country where Covid is now over (no more face masks) and where the economy is booming.  The rules to contain the pandemic were and are still rigorous. Anyone – Chinese or foreign -  entering the country or returning to the country is quarantined for two weeks, isolated in a hotel room near the airport…quite a nice hotel but, nonetheless, a prison. In China no one breaks out of their bio-secure bubble; everyone obeys the guidelines and the law. One shudders to imagine how the Chinese authorities would have treated those rugby players, the  Barbarians’ twelve, who evaded their security guards to have dinner together at an Italian Restaurant on Thursday night breaking the Covid code of conduct to which they’d agreed. 

It’s behaviour like that that inspires so many people to say they want a more strict enforcement of rules and a more widespread lockdown.

China is a country without compromise when it comes to law enforcement and although the liberal in me shrinks it’s seemed to work. Interestingly within China there seems to be a widespread acknowledgement that they’d “been eating the US lunch for years” and that the election of Donald Trump was of a US President that China deserved.

But look at China today and you see the second biggest global economy emerging relatively unscathed from the pandemic that’s wrecked the rest of the global economy.

(Jan. 2019 – Aug. 2020)

China unlike most other nations has a long term strategy to achieve stability and growth. They seem intent on avoiding unnecessary trouble. When I asked about Hong Kong my friend looked puzzled – “well that’s all over now. China is in charge. Stability is the winner once again.”

How curious to regard China as a role model. We don’t want to know about what happens to those who step out of line. So much has happened that we want to ignore like Tiananmen Square massacre in the past, like the repression of the Uighurs now. But  the fact that China has 61 self-made women billionaires  (2/3 of all those in the world) and that they have a new generation of aspiring, linguistically adept and smart young people is rather impressive.

Many are wondering if “benevolent” dictatorship works. “Benevolent”? Just let me think about that.


Monday, 19 October 2020


I’ve often been asked this as though my cheerfulness masks some fatal illness or means I’m in denial. It’s clearly absurd to be anything other than doleful, depressed and despairing in a world ruled by a tiny virus that’s killed over 1 million people so far . How can I be fine? How can I be content? 

The world apart from that, I hear, is in a dreadful state. The list is long: climate change, Trump, Boris, Brexit, Trump, Syria, unemployment, Trump.  There is no hope.

But this makes no difference. I still refuse to be morose.

My good humour was reinforced by reading Humankind – A Hopeful History by Rutger Bregman. He has form as an optimist having also written Utopia for Realists - And How We Can Get There. He examines the world from the two opposing perspectives of the  pessimist Hobbes and optimist Rousseau. 

I loved his observation that we’ve become addicted to a very dangerous drug that’s ruining our morale and our health. That drug is news. There’s too much of it. And Trump is right…too much is fake. Bregman says human beings are attuned to two biases. The first is the ‘negativity bias’ whereby we are conditioned to fear the worst. Back in the early days of humanity that fear helped us survive. Better to run like hell than say “nice pussy” when a Sabre Toothed Tiger appears. 

The second is the ‘availability bias’. If something is readily remembered because of its horror, violence or sheer drama we are led to feel it’s more commonplace than it is. Take air disasters. Remembering, as we shall, the relatively recent Boeing 737 Max crashes we may be circumspect in our judgement of flight safety, yet flying has never statistically been safer.

Thus our tendency, like Victor Meldrew, to say “typical” when something bad happens. Yet it probably isn’t typical at all.

But amidst all this  Bregman believes that deep down nearly all human beings are decent and kind people. That when something bad happens like the Blitz or Covid they stick together and are good and helpful neighbours. Only a few have their eye on the main chance. Only a few are selfish and predatory.

The most significant failure in the handling of the Covid situation is the reluctance of Government to believe that most people will self-police and help encourage others to be sensible. The incidence of the virus in Folkestone is the lowest in the country currently and this residents believe is because they look out for and look after their neighbours. “Mask” they cry if someone isn’t wearing one.

But ironically it’s the neighbourliness that in some places has been positively discouraged. The ‘U’ in ‘EU’ has been conspicuously absent. Each country ploughs its own furrow and has its own data, strategy and attitude. Bizarre that the two ‘European’ countries in closest accord on Covid have been England and France. Macron and Johnson apparently (Brexit aside) get on tremendously well especially on their tactics to mitigate the pandemic. 

We need to talk more and foster togetherness. That’s what real human beings do and always have done. Recently I was asked to join a “working party”. I blanched at the prospect. Yes I was cheerful but I was becoming a hermit and that’s no good. We shall not easily change guidelines or laws right now but our future will depend on creating a much greater collegiate spirit. There is no place today for a long term strategy and plan; things are too uncertain. There is just the need to share (good humouredly) the will to keep this rocky old show on the road. Together.

And yes. I really am all right.

Monday, 12 October 2020


Quite a few people I know say if only we could be like Scotland where strict Nicola is playing a blinder and seems to know exactly where she’s going. But does she really?

Bossy Nicola’s figures are getting worse and she’s now about to close the pubs. I got delight from Quentin Lett’s observation that Nicola was the sort of person who’d sweep your pint glass from your hand when there were two good sized gulps left, saying:

“You have quite enough of that.”

We need delights. We need that purple ‘Roses’ Hazel-in-Caramel-cased-in-milk-chocolate’ joy. We need “aha” moments.

I watched Ruth Davidson debating in the Scottish Parliament with Sturgeon. Ruth is shortly going to House of Lords (what a waste). She was one of the Tories who had “bottom” (if she’ll forgive the expression). Which means depth, roots and grounding. She’s also fun and eloquent. In short, she delights me.

Donald is not delightful just frightful Nor is Joe Biden (leader of the Free World? Surely not) or Mike Pence whose expression seems to suggest something bad is going to happen soon . But I saw the promise of a ray of sunshine last week in Kamala Harris in her debate with Pence. He rebuked her saying that she was entitled to have her own opinions but not her own facts. Kamala chuckled and said “nice line”. She could be a special one I thought.

Eating out…remember that? Closing restaurants at 10pm is for restaurateurs a bit like telling an ‘A’ Level student the 3 hour exam has been reduced to 2 hours but they must still answer the same number of questions. These restaurateurs are despairing and trying new survival strategies. Most of them will fail. Yet the delight of a beautiful meal in a buzzy restaurant is profound and does as much for your morale as for your appetite. 

Thus it was at Wild Flor in Hove , by some distance the best food around here, eminent chef Chris Trundle, ex-Manfred’s Copenhagen, delivering eye-opening dishes. It was our wedding anniversary. It was a celebration. It was wonderful. We used to eat out and gaze at each other a lot. This was just our second time eating-out this year. Who was that very pretty woman opposite me?

Films you’ve forgotten but which delight…Cary Grant in North by North West with memorable action scenes, notably the drunken drive down a mountain road and the crop spraying plane trying to kill Grant in the flat, empty middle of nowhere in mid America. 

Grant playing Roger Thornhill an Advertising Executive in a pre-digital age walks from hotel to cab dictating letters to his secretary whose feet are hurting her. 

They approach a cab which he hijacks from a man about to get in it saying he has to have the cab to rush the ill lady to hospital. His secretary rebukes him for lying as they settle back in the cab and he says:

“In the world of advertising, there's no such thing as a lie. There's only expedient exaggeration.”  

 Yes. What fun advertising was. Once upon a time.

Outside my office the Robinia is still in full, glorious, golden leaf. No wonder they call it the “Sunshine Tree”. Who could be grumpy when that’s cheering me on as I work?

We’ll have more pleasure over the next months if we always try and look – as Monty Python put it – “on the bright side of life”. 

That’s sometimes hard to do but use a bit of expedient exaggeration, tell yourself all is fine  and treat yourself to some delights.

Monday, 5 October 2020


There’s an obsessive fatalism that currently fills the airwaves and pages of the newspapers. We are doomed, as Private Frazer used to say grimly in “Dad’s Army”. But we are clearly not doomed; we are just being forced to change. And change isn’t comfortable. We, who lived through the early days of the Thatcher administration bear the scars. It is then when she and her team dismantled uncompetitive British Industry and let markets decide the fate of lame dogs, many of them not so lame. We know what radical change feels like.  A sharp, unpleasant and unwelcome shock.

Thatcher embarked on her “let markets and individuals decide” revolution with relish. Some sectors like Banking and Advertising did well. They were emboldened by her mantra of emancipation from state control. So, we (I was in advertising then) swept into America taking over businesses and being rather cocky. As Colin Welland proclaimed, when in 1982 the British film, Chariots of Fire won seven Oscars, “The British are coming.”  

Well, like all such revolutionary initiatives it worked well for a while especially for the young, callous and enterprising in service-businesses but not so well if you were a miner or stevedore or manufacturer. Short, sharp shocks work but not forever. 

I remember most of my life back then as being like surfing dangerously but with great exhilaration. It was creative and rule breaking…these were the most un-woke of times. Long lunches, great music, from Bartok to Blur. And yes, that was what it was like through the end of the 20th century and through to the end of the coalition – a bit of a blur. But a blur of excitement and happiness.

But times have changed. Especially recently. We have become increasingly grumpy and dislocated as a nation. Left and right, in and out, young and old, PC and not PC, each group unwilling to hear the other and debate, converse or think.  The idea of ‘cancelling’ someone who says something that distresses you seems alien to my view of free speech.

But we’ve had another sharp shock with Covid but not so short, sadly, I expect. 

Still my grumpiness began to ebb away last week. Was it just me or did motorists behave better? Did I see more smiles? Was there resolution rather than resentment emerging? Perhaps it was because the script writer has been hard at work…unbelievable things have been happening…Trump catching Covid.  Priti Patel thinking (is thinking the right word?) of sending immigrants to Ascension Island 4,400 miles from the UK. To see how batty she can be watch this:

Yes, Michael Spicer and Spitting Image show how satire still works like nothing else. 

But most of all it was these words that gripped me, sadly, because Derek Mahon, the Irish poet, died of cancer this week. He was described as a “Belfast Keats with a Popean sting” He wrote this poem which has become famous as the pandemic has gripped the world. Fatalistic? Grumpy? Doomed? Try a dose of this:

How should I not be glad to contemplate
the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window
and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?
There will be dying, there will be dying,
but there is no need to go into that.
The poems flow from the hand unbidden
and the hidden source is the watchful heart.
The sun rises in spite of everything
and the far cities are beautiful and bright.
I lie here in a riot of sunlight
watching the day break and the clouds flying.
Everything is going to be all right.

Thank you, Derek. I really think it is going to be all right too. In a riot of sunlight. Thank you.

Monday, 28 September 2020


Isn’t the word “down” depressing? You feel down…you are downcast or run down or you have a meltdown. Yet it’s le mot du jour. The government got the lowdown from the scientists and have decided to crack down on the virus by declaring a lockdown which is leading to an economic breakdown. Despite Tory backbenchers pleading that they climb down the government’s resolute and with that majority can’t realistically be brought down. But we are heading for a showdown and  someone will probably have to stand down. It’s all been a terrible let down.

That’s it: I’m done with down.

Most of my working life (I don’t work now, I just have fun thinking, writing and mentoring) was spent on communicating and on creating nuanced pieces of persuasion. Most brands of any worth have been skilfully created and communicated but the government’s communication in contrast recently has been somewhat cack-handed. Nicola Sturgeon, not one of life’s great orators, is as Maggie Smith to Frankie Howard when compared to the Prime Minister. Bad as the Scottish Covid figures are (worse than England’s and getting even worse) she communicates control and certainty and we trust her. It’s a class act.

Persuading people to do “the right thing” is not easy. It requires subtlety, more “please” than “don’t.” Helen Rumbelow, the Times journalist, had this pleasing insight from a teacher at Michaela School in North London which is rated the strictest school in Britain. She said going into a rowdy room and shouting at the ringleader “shut up and sit down!” works less well than “pop yourself down over there now.” The word “pop” has a nice sense of friendly spontaneity “we’re just popping over to see our grandchildren”; “pop the kettle on;” ”something interesting has just popped up.”

These are not easy times for politicians but who taught them that staying on message meant behaving like a parrot who knows very few words and constantly repeats them: “hands, face, space”?  I can’t imagine Ken Clarke, Chris Patten or John Smith behaving so foolishly or irritatingly.

These are not easy times for the BBC either reflecting on their uncertain future. They are constantly being given knowing, sarcastic winks by cabinet ministers rather like a judge back in hanging times fondling the black cap with grim anticipatory relish. But they are sadly authors of their own misfortunes. 

(Quentin Tarantino has had enough of a typical interview)

Like the Today Programme’s aggressive interrupters, Nick, Justin and Martha. Increasingly I find theirs is no way to start a positive day. They’re often just being rude. In contrast the new Times Radio has some cheerful, relaxed, funny positive people like Stig Abell and Aasmah Mir who are happy to let politicians talk without interruption. It’s much less stressful.

However when Richard Madely abruptly terminated an interview with Gavin Williamson it was decisive and appropriate rather than gratingly intrusive. Williamson ignored Madeley’s twice repeated question as to whether Williamson regretted saying “Why don’t the Russians shut up and go away?” as if it hadn’t been asked. So he was turned off. 

Am I down in the dumps? Not at all. We have a “winter of discontent” to come but like Shakespeare’s play we can anticipate thereafter “a glorious summer”. And to help us through the next months here are some insults Shakespeare created. We might need them:

 - Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! ...

- Away, you starvelling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's-tongue, bull's-pizzle, you stock-  fish! ...

- Thou art a boil, a plague sore. ...

- Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon


Monday, 21 September 2020


James Surowiecki  journalist and staff writer on the New Yorker wrote his seminal book in 2004. It was called “The Wisdom of Crowds: Why the Many Are Smarter Than the Few and How Collective Wisdom Shapes Business, Economies, Societies and Nations”. 

In it he argued (Michael Gove would have loved this) that experts are overrated and that taking the average of the guesses of a crowd of diverse people as to the weight of an ox, it will nearly always be better than that of so-called ox experts. He explored the way that crowds co-ordinate. Watch people walking at pace in a crowded street as they nimbly avoid colliding and the way crowds co-operate. Look how football crowds turn a good match into an electric event with their orchestrated noise. Crowds seem a natural phenomenon of civilisation. Look at the vibrant , busy bustle of pre-coronavirus London. Crowds are affirmations of what is popular and human. 

We are witnessing the end of crowds. The rule of six and the guidelines which deter people from mingling describes a world in which, increasingly, we shall avoid each other. The cries of “getting back to normal” which have always seemed to me as foolishly hopeful seem even less credible as the busy, crowded society of 2019 recedes into distant memory.

We are not going to enjoy busy restaurants as we did, nor will theatres reopen with big audiences or football crowds sing those gloriously silly chants.

“His names a department store
You know that he’s going to score”

of Bury striker Lenny John Lewis sung to the tune La Donna e mobile.

If the joy of strolling, mingling, meeting and celebrating are not going to be part of our lives for a while, what’s the cost going to be?

The pleasure of our civilisation is that it is well-ordered, that timetables work, that it’s generally predictable, that economies grow, democracies work and we have lots of friends (most of us). But the greatest joy is in being spontaneous. In surprises. In unexpected meetings. Of animated conversations over lunch. Of visiting new places.

We shall, of course, adjust; we’re good at that. But the ‘World Happiness Report’ (published every year by the United Nations) is going to take a kicking in 2020/21 (this is updated annually so we see how happy all the countries are - we came a creditable 15th in 2019).

What else will take a kicking? Data Protection that’s what. The basis of Track and Trace is inimical to privacy. Meanwhile the news is that Uber seem likely to retain their licence for London because they share all their data with the Metropolitan Police who regard this data as essential in crime detection.

So, what’s there to be cheerful about? Three things.

Ex Cabinet Minister Hugh Swire ‘s wife Sasha has written ’Diary of an MP’s Wife’ which vividly and indiscreetly describes the behind-the-scenes excesses of the Cameron inner circle in the 2010 Coalition Government. From what I’ve read so far it’s entertaining and revealing. It reassured me that Prime Ministers and leaders of Advertising Agencies (as they were in my day) had more in common than I’d thought. I loved the line “David drinks like a camel” and the reference to the constant downing of “lethal negronis” in number 10.

Secondly, this wonderful Indian Summer. I love this time of year. New school. Going to university. Fall is when we start to think of the future and … “of mists and mellow fruitfulness...”

Finally, having heard it for the NHS now can we hear it for Britain’s supermarkets? If only Tesco ran the Testing Programme. The ability of all of the supermarket chains to change the way they operate, transforming their delivery service and seamlessly fixing their supply chain has been remarkable.

But no more crowds for now. Just peace and reflecting.