All about U

It has been a turbulent few days with major swings in market confidence, falls in the value of the pound and shares, and increases in interest rates, combined with intense pressure on the government to appear to look at least vaguely competent. Readers may be confused about the latest proposals for managing the British economy, and the rapid changes taking place at the top, and the least we can do is to offer a simple guide.

The latest government U-turn overturns the planned reduction in the increase in tax, which was scheduled to be cut to no less than a phased-in increase, itself deferred a year and phased out under the U-turn which raised the rate it could be increased to the lower of the amount projected before the budgeted increase that was held over from the targeted reduction, itself reduced on a sliding scale proposed in the policy reversed by the U-turn that increased the maximum reduction to an increase of what had been previously reduced, and the maximum of the reduced increases of the forecast change based on a rolling forecast of turnouts from turn-ups for the book.

 A government spokesman said the government now intends to go away and lie down in a darkened room, although the amount of darkness may be reduced by the incremental increase in daylight consequent upon a phasing out of the twilight allowance, as projected previously but now tapered off and subject to any U-turns that may be ahead. Or have already happened.

 The ex-chancellor, who found himself summoned back to London from Washington so swiftly he would barely have a chance to stock up on duty-frees, turned into Downing Street, was turned out of office and turned back to a career on the back benches. The prime minister, who announced staunchly only yesterday that there would be no U-turn, reaffirmed today that all her previous statements were inoperative and now onwards, NOW ONWARDS, there would be no more U-turns, unless forced on her by the “markets” or by the raw fear gripping vulnerable Tory MPs, or if there was a jolly good reason to, and not just because of rash decisions taken on the back of ludicrous promises to gullible members of her party who were voting for her as leader, that is right out and not going to happen, we have her solemn and binding promise, read her lips, no U-turns. Unless….

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 Meanwhile a dilemma for lovers of poetry. Lines on the departure of Mr Kwarteng or welcoming the arrival of the man whose surname is so easy to match with suitable rhymes? I had made the obvious start this morning:

And so farewell to Kwazi
His job gone down the khazi

And that is as far as I got. I didn't really want to put something in about "arrested by the Stasi".  Anyway Jeremy H. is back and let us see how big a Hunt he can be this time.

Crisis, What Crisis?

 Bettany Hughes, OBE is a distinguished historian and teacher. She has published many books on classical history and made many television programmes bringing that history to life. One might have thought that all this erudition would have caused second thoughts at the commissioning of her latest TV series, which came to my attention tonight.

Source: Freeview website

We are still dealing with the after-effects of the covid pandemic. The war in Ukraine is creating massive international tensions and the soaring costs of fuel have led to unprecedented spending plans from the incoming Truss government which in turn have unsettled financial markets and caused the pound to fall to a seriously low level. For most people surviving this winter, without succumbing to infection or hypothermia, is the top priority. 

Does this crisis bother Ms Hughes? Not a bit. Far from embarking on another scholarly examination of, say, funeral practices in ancient Egypt or the cultural impact of Roman expansionism in the Middle East, she is gaily gallivanting across France and Italy, all expenses paid, to find out if travelling to some of the most agreeable destinations in the world and stuffing oneself daily at the finest restaurants can enrich one's life.

Let us pause a while, practice deep breathing and stare at something soothing. The basis of this show is that someone needs to discover if living well, living exceptionally well it may appear, is better than living the normal lifestyle to which all of us who are not TV presenters are accustomed. The subtext is this is some sort of unanswered question, something so basic and yet so baffling, that a top academic and a full TV crew must undergo the suffering that only those torn between the 7 course and the 8 course tasting menus, at a 3 Michelin star restaurant perched high above the glistening Mediterranean, will ever know. As to the agony of having to choose the most exotic aperitifs, the choicest of wines and, finally, how many petit fours to complete the feast, I shudder to think.

For this show to work there needs to be a counter-argument. I am no Hegelian but if the idea is that travel, arts, culture, boozing, fine dining and their ilk enrich, then there must be a contrasting viewpoint that these things detract and should be shunned.Otherwise it is merely a statement of the bleedin' obvious and can be settled within the first five minutes. So I really hope that in the first few episodes we see Hughes fasting, living in a barrel, drinking nothing more than water, reading nothing but sacred texts and otherwise staring at a brick wall, whilst perhaps indulging in a little light flagellation now and then  (it is on Channel 5, after all). Then, when she throws off the shackles, gleefully picks up the corkscrew, jumps into the Ferrari and roars off to Tuscany, she can truly claim to have discovered that living well is better than living with privations.

Once the enrichment begins, how will we know just how jolly well enriched Hughes has become? What this show needs is some sort of enrichment monitor, like the swingometer that gave us so much joy during general elections in the days before computer graphics, to measure the levels of enrichment each tantalising view and sumptuous dish provides. I visualise Hughes closing her eyes in ecstasy as she handles another Leonardo notebook or swallows another lobster, and then a man in a brown coat deftly nudges the pointer round another notch. "Yes, that's the 60% barrier broken" gushes the voice-over "And now I think she's going for the full-on 'My word, that's incredible' moment as she quaffs champagne on the sun-deck of a 200' luxury yacht cruising to Monte. This is very exciting, we haven't seen such a level of enrichment since Rob Brydon had his second free cruise in exchange for 20 seconds of footage of him smiling about it".

I don't need to see the last programme in the series. I have no doubt it will feature a somewhat plumper Hughes opening the windows of the Imperial Suite at her five star hotel in Rome, looking out on the sun-dappled forum and musing thoughtfully "This is so much more enriching than Mrs Irons' BnB in Lowestoft, I'm so glad now that I turned that down".  In fact, I don't need to see any of the programmes. I discovered many years ago that arts, culture, travel (this is the Ruislip Commuter blog after all) and a bloody good nosh-up were way better than their alternatives (whatever they may be) and I really don't need a TV presenter to confirm it.

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TV commissioning editors: If you feel there is room in the schedules for another "Let's go somewhere nice and then make a programme about how nice it is" show, and are looking for an acerbic, wryly amusing yet always sympathetic and really camera-friendly sort of guy to front it, I happen to have a window in my otherwise busy schedule. Actually quite a big window. More a sort of Versailles Hall of Mirrors size window, if you catch my drift. So anytime that suits you, really. Do call. Mrs C has been demanding more enrichment in her life for a while and the market for witticisms about commuting has been a flat lately, to tell you the truth.

The Santiago Connection

 I think this must be the most far-flung piece of spam I have ever received. All the way from sunny Chile (or possibly, very wet and cold Chile, depending on where they are based), I have been sent this pleasant message offering a plethora of motoring services

I did use to own a Hyundai car. I sold it four years ago. I do not, and have never, lived in Chile. In fact, I have never visited any part of South America. So, being told by the biggest service company in that country (if my rusty Spanish is any good), that they are eagerly seeking my business in looking after a vehicle I do not own, does seem rather bizarre.

I'm not sure if data protection rules have been broken.They have written to an email address that I never used when corresponding with the dealer from whom I bought the car. So it is probably not a case of them getting the details from some sort of worldwide database of ex-owners.  I did however, once, mention the word Hyundai on this very blog. Maybe a rather stupid bot tried to put two and two together. Or maybe they bought an email list from a rather dodgy vendor.

Anyway, it's good to know that there are some trusty amigos some 7,200 miles away and I shall file their details just in case, oh, I don't know, Hyundai make me their ambassador to Chile (I'm still waiting for Johnny Walker to get back to me), fly me over there, hand over a brand new 4x4 and say "Ahí tienes, amigo, ve a donde quieras, todo está en nosotros", and then as I burn my way down the B451 in search of a tea-room, there is a nasty rattle from the engine, and I pull over and think "What now? Oh, I know!!!"

The Queen

 My most recent piece mentioned the Queen, in the context of her appointing the 15th prime minister of a long reign. That seems now to refer to a different epoch. 

The pictures of that meeting showed the Queen looking distinctly smaller and frailer than before, with a livid black bruise at the back of one hand. Yet she was on her feet and fully lucid as she invited Liz Truss to form a government.

Two days later, without warning, the BBC interrupted their normal lunchtime coverage to commence a rolling news broadcast in which they had but two slim facts to report on: - The Queen was "under medical supervision and was comfortable", and that her family was gathering at Balmoral. No further medical reports were issued during the afternoon, and the media incessantly interviewed anyone at all who either knew the Queen, or knew something about her, or who had once been to Scotland on holiday and very nearly got to Balmoral, only the coach broke down, but if it hadn't they would definitely have seen, with their own eyes, a policeman on duty outside.

Nonetheless Mrs C and I watched because it was clear that this was not a minor illness, and at the age of 96, pretty well anything is serious. There was also a story about notes being passed to senior Ministers and Opposition members of the House of Commons in the middle of  a debate. We saw footage of aircraft arriving at Aberdeen bearing members of the royal family and there were endless shots of vehicles going in and out of the, now heavily guarded, entrance to Balmoral.

Soon after 6:30pm the media was cleared to bring us the announcement that we dreaded and the nation plunged at once into mourning. 

I am not a monarchist. Reliance on the hereditary principle has at times brought this country into a perilous state - the most recent being the near-fatal influence upon the weak Edward VIII by the Nazis. But the Queen, and her father before her, have undeniably served the best interests of the country and her passing is a source of deep sorrow. Charles, so often seeming a little gawky and out of place, has neatly slipped into his new role. His heir seems to be a thoroughly good egg. If we are to continue with the monarchy then we can do so with a fair amount of confidence.

I am pretty confident that many of the overseas "realms", such as Canada, Australia, Jamaica, Belize, Papua New Guinea and New Zealand, will move towards becoming republics, free to do so in the knowledge that they are not distressing the Queen. This will not diminish Charles; it will correct a huge historical anomaly. 

The many tributes the world over have been touching and trigger unexpected emotions. I think the funeral of the Queen will be similarly cathartic. Afterwards I look forward to a "slimmed down" monarchy and, perhaps, a debate about the nature of the British state.

 

Liz, meet Liz

 It seems a long time ago that I commented on the inevitable collapse of the shapeless government led by one B. Johnson, classical scholar, bon viveur and part-time MP for my constituency of Uxbridge and South Ruislip. After an interminable summer of electioneering, the results of the vote for his successor were revealed yesterday. The ex-Foreign Secretary, of whom I know very little, Liz Truss, is the one going up to Balmoral today to have a cup of tea with HM and then move into No. 10, to face a daunting in-tray of problems. 

Whatever may befall, the simple pleasure of having a leader with a surname that rhymes harmoniously with many other words cannot be denied. Almost without having to pause for a refreshing cup of tea, I managed to jot down the following:

 A voice from the back of the bus
Enquired the cause of the fuss
"It's goodbye to Boris
That expert on Horace"
"Replaced by?" "A lady called Truss"

I am sure other and better ideas will flow in the weeks to come.