Rudinblog

Old school tie(s)

Last week-end I had another really lovely reunion in Sutton Coldfield (near Birmingham, England!) with my old school friends, including some whom I'd not seen for a good 35 years. We had nine out of my form alone – not far short of a third of the class - which isn't bad for an informal, fairly ad hoc kinda thing like this. I'm very happy also to be in the conduit for putting some of them in touch with each other after all these years.

I was in a somewhat anxious state at first because the reunion had been arranged, as it were, to my timescale -- a weekend which I could come down and see my mum first and then go over to Sutton Coldfield - and because in at least one or two cases I know that there had been some wariness about the whole idea. Well, they and I needn't have worried: the whole evening went superbly and everyone seemed to really enjoy it and now we have a joint desire to do more of this even for the class of '73.

Up to now this has mostly been a lads' thing and I was really happy to see three 'new' girls from my form, one of whom I was friendly with (but only, unfortunately, as a friend!) and, as I mentioned in the last posting with whom I've had some entertaining e-mail exchanges. She persuaded another girl in our form, who she'd also been friendly for some years after school, to come along. Another girl - who certainly had no time or interest in me when we were at school, for which, I can't blame her (as I said to her, in as much as I can get my mind into the head of a teenage girl at that time I could see that I probably wasn't boyfriend material, especially as she would have the pick of any of us!) but is a lovely woman and we had a good chat, with me in my most confessional mode. One of the things about these reunions is this openness and frankness. I guess that when you have known people at that age you don't feel the need to put on some site sort of act and when you have been through those years together you can't really reinvent yourself as much as you might like to!

In truth, I was a bit nervous about meeting these girls again and hoped, I suppose, that they would think that I turned out all right!

This was the first (and probably last!) of our little get-togethers in which I was accompanied by my wife - who, understandably, was not especially looking forward to the idea and thought she would be completely out of it as she knew nobody else and we would be talking about our school days and events and people about which/whom she knew nothing. She was of course quite right about that and it was very good of her to come with me. Along with several of the others, we'd booked into the Travelodge next door to the pub venue, as these events always turn into a pretty good session and it meant we could have a 'brunch' with some of them the next day before heading back to the north-west. It was quite interesting to see girls who hadn't been in contact with me since our mid teens talking to my wife, who has only known me since adulthood (I was 23 when we met). She was somewhat bemused at my hugging of the guys; which, effusive and affectionate as I am, is not something I normally do, at least is not to people outside the family; so, mateys, you are especially blessed to have this tactile approach! I really love seeing them though. We get on well despite -- perhaps because -- we are very different characters and have a different occupations we get on well and in fact none of us have really changed that much. We did not have the disadvantage of a university education, at least in the normal way and in the normal time, though all of them were easily bright enough to get into university and would now probably emerge with a first-class honours in whatever. None of us had any doubts I think that we would really have to work hard and prove ourselves in whatever we did. I'm really happy when they are successful in whatever terms they regard "success". The girls had even less encouragement and expectation of a 'career' of course. Some things, at least, have improved.

One of the lads produced a list of our entire year with 'O'-level results next to it, which had evidently been published that summer (I left school before the end of the term, immediately after my exams, to go and see my aunt in Newfoundland). The school wasn't happy about this at all but there was nothing they could do about it as I just turned 16 and quite honestly I felt I owed them nothing. I was away when the 'O'-level results came out and just had the postcard to say that I'd got enough to go on to College, which is all I cared about. I should say, before I go any further with my reminiscences, that this enthusiasm for seeing my old school friends is not linked to overall joyful memories of my time there; they certainly weren't the happiest days of my life. Jeez, I'd have had a miserable life if that was the case!

Anyway, it was quite poignant to see the names down there and in the order that we sat in the exams, not least because two of the pupils in my form did not make it to middle age. The class forms were mainly divided according to the alphabetical order of pupils' surnames but there were one or two exceptions to this and this list cleared up something about an incident that had been puzzling me as I now realise why someone who was at the front end of the alphabet would be sitting behind me , even though, with my name, I should have been many desks away. It was because he, as it were, was in the wrong form alphabetically. He was regarded as the toughest boy in our year, or possibly in the school. We didn't have much to do with each other, me being a 'drama type' and all. This incident took place at the start of the 'O'-level English Language exam and, of course, before the actual exam begins you have to fill out the details of your name, the examination, the date, etc, on the front of the answer booklet. This lad was seated right behind me and noticed that I had misspelt 'Ordinary' (as in 'O' level), as 'Ordinairy' on the front of the paper, which is quite funny when you think it was for an English Language exam. If it had been left as it was it would not have lost me any marks as such but on the other hand it would be unlikely to give a positive initial impression to the exam marker as to my spelling -- which I have to say would normally be pretty good. Anyway, he tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear that I had misspelt the level of the examination. Of course, I corrected it, turned round to him and he gave me a big grin and thumbs up from his large, maw-like hands! So I guess even he must have thought I was okay by the end of our time at school. A small incident, but I remember these kindnesses, especially when they are from an unexpected source.

I think in fact I was very lucky at that school that even though I was not exactly what you would call a "regular kid", being involved in doing drama stuff and having this obsession with radio (I was always the one who brought the "trannie" into school so that we could listen to lunchtime shows on Radio One, including the all-important top 30 countdown on Tuesday lunchtimes), I was never bullied or even teased particularly. I did become something of a class clown; as I've mentioned before, on at least one occasion I was caught out by the teacher whom I was impersonating! He declared that I had a "very limited talent". I think my contemporaries were remarkably tolerant and accepting of kids who were bit different, whereas now everybody, even at university level, seems terrified of being seen as different or unusual in any way. Certainly, although I had common interests with other lads talking about music and that kind of thing, even if I couldn't join in the conversation or the obsession with football, notably "the Villa".

Back to last Saturday though and there were some cracking stories and confirmation of certain tales, some which were quite funny. There's one I hadn't heard before; some of the lads had been sent out of music class to the Headmaster (which would normally have meant a caning) because they were singing (in a music lesson?!!). Apparently, the Head was rather bemused by the fact that someone was being sent to be punished for an activity which would seem to be an integral part of that particular study area. In fact, of course, they had been singing filthy lyrics and this is what had enraged the music master. However, evidently this had not been conveyed to the Head and so he spared them.

Although there were many bad sides of school -- not least the fact that I don't think we were encouraged or supported in our particular areas of talent and ability -- one thing that I do appreciate was that, compared with Primary School, you were at least given a chance to speak up to yourself. In many ways the junior school, in particular, was very good for me and to me, but I have bad memories of kids who were perhaps not very bright and certainly had no support at home getting into some sort of trouble, and being beaten, sometimes in front of the class, or being caned in the Headmaster's study after Assembly, and otherwise humiliated. This really churned me up at the time and I still sometimes think about it and get quite angry. Whereas, at the Grammar School, we were always given the chance to plead our case.

There is one boy who I have a story about which illustrates this. Although I don't even use initials, let alone names, in these ramblings, he is clearly remembered so fondly that I will give his initials 'JBT' in the hope he might see this somehow and be prompted to get in touch!

He was always good-humoured and could play the piano well, which he did during a few rainy lunchtimes when we were semi-officially allowed stay in the classrooms -- was set to be punished by the form teacher after he had attempted to strangle me! He was sitting behind me one lesson and suddenly I realised that he had put his hand on my collar and moved the knot of my tie round to his side and then pushed it up to my neck, so it became tighter and tighter. At first I found it quite funny and then I worried that we were both get into trouble for "messing around", so I didn't say anything. By the time I realised that I had to say something I realised that I couldn't! I must have made some sort of strangulated noises and the teacher suddenly became aware that I was in some severe discomfort. We were sent off to the toilets and we managed to ease the tie and I quickly stopped looking quite so blue in the face. A per usual in this sort of incident, afterwards we were sent to the form teacher who was renowned for being quite enthusiastic with his "slippering" and clearly the school had to be seen to do something about this as, even in the 1970s, strangulation of a fellow pupil was somewhat frowned on (!) and possibly they were worried that I would complain to my parents or something. Anyway, we had the usual Spanish Inquisition about what had happened. The form teacher was of a mind to beat JBT and I think the 'Sutton Strangler' had already been told to touch his toes but I managed to persuade the master that it was just a silly bit of mischief that got out of hand (this lad did not have an ounce of malice in him). Somewhat reluctantly he agreed to commute the sentence to writing lines or some other relatively minor punishment. I hadn't been particularly friendly with JBT until then but naturally he was grateful for this intervention and we became quite pally. Like me, he was quite outgoing and would always engage my parents in conversation when he came to our house. My dad liked my friends who "had something about them" and would always deliberately provoke some sort of argument, often by making scathing comments on the various artistes as we watched Top of the Pops -- a hugely important part of the week. If they didn't respond and wouldn't defend Marc Bolan, Rod Stewart, or whoever he just ignored them and then went back to his 'paper. JBT, though, got involved in a quite heated discussion on one occasion and later remarked "your dad doesn't half like an argument!".

 

Naturally, I invited him and most of my class and others in our year to my 16th birthday party, which everyone seems to remember -- it's quite nice to be famous something! My mum and dad have agreed to go out to the evening and leave us to it and the news of this party spread -- don't forget, this is before the days of any e-mails, social networking sites and even, as I have mentioned previously, many of my friends weren't even on the phone; however, we did have one or two calls from anxious parents of girls who, quite understandably, wanted to know if there would be a responsible adult around. Anyway, it all started well enough with a game of Twister (remember??) but then things got a bit out of control. Evidently, news of the party had spread to other lads who I didn't know and they gate-crashed the party and in fact took over the door and appointed themselves bouncers! Fighting started on the doorstep, with skirmishes spilling over onto the front lawn, turning quite nasty; and someone called the police. I then phoned my parents and suggested they might want to come home! They returned to a pretty bad scene; furniture in the hallway had been smashed, there was the usual debris from such a party and, worst of all, there were two condoms (fortunately unused) in their bed, which is a pretty serious violation of marital privacy by any standards. My dad was amazingly calm and accepting about it and the next day two of the lads came round to see if they could help clear up - one of them being JBT - which I thought very brave and loyal of them, especially given my dad's reputation for being quite argumentative.

 

So, those are just a few of the memories triggered by this reunion; now we start planning for the next one. I think this thing will just grow and grow!

Strangers by a train – short trousers/filthy stories - Cold War memories

Another interesting week about to be put to bed (which is where I feel I should be right now).

Last Friday I was in London for a marking feedback session, for tutors who assess media law papers. The weather was not promising either here, nor, particularly in the southeast, and it was another one of those "don't travel unless you have to" kind of days: advice which I find especially unhelpful. Generally, I don't tend to travel unless I have to, but what gradations of "have to" are we talking about? If they were to say: "you are risking life and limb and you'll be lucky to be rescued if you ignore this advice", of course it would make you think again. But otherwise, if you need to be somewhere, as I was, at a meeting - in this case something that the public purse has paid for you to attend - then I really think that if you can possibly get there, you should.

As it happens, the train was only a few minutes late leaving my local station in the North West and things went pretty well until we got about 50 miles north of London, where a train ahead of us broke down, which of course had to be cleared before we could progress, and then there was a speed restriction on the line. This meant it was about an hour late getting into Euston but I'd phoned ahead saying I would be late and in fact the session proper has only really got under way by about 10 or 15 minutes by the time I arrived.

Anyway, we had a vigorous debate about some issues (!) and the session finished relatively early, to allow those driving to get back before the weather closed in again. Usually, on these occasions, a group of us lecturers and administrators go for a drink for an hour or so, but because some were driving and anxious to get home before the weather closed in again and the traffic worsened, I was left all my "Sweeney". I quite like that, actually -- sometimes it's good to have time on your own and I always enjoy exploring areas that I don't know well; in this case Islington. I found what looked like a really good pub on one of the back streets there and I wasn't disappointed. There was a roaring log fire, a couple of tables occupied by business types who all seem to be friends, plus a 'mature' woman on her own - all clearly regulars - and a genial, Irish barman. Naturally, I fell into conversation with him and in 10 minutes or so I'd learned a lot about his childhood in southern Tipperary, his family life, and how he got into the pub trade. (This chatting to strangers is something that I always seem to do and people tell me the most amazing, personal things: my mum and dad are/were the same and I suppose you learn this kind of behaviour, and obviously it is useful as a journalist to be up to strike up a conversation with strangers and get information out of them. But in fact this often did cause me problems in my professional life, as people had a tendency to tell me quite confidential things which they really shouldn't have told me, and sometimes these were germane to a story I was following up, or provided leads to what could be an interesting story. This obviously poses ethical dimensions and I'm quite relieved not to feel I have to do always be "on duty").

I told him that my dad had been in the brewing trade and he told me an interesting story about Shakespeare's father, who had also been in the business and had a particular job, with a name which he said was little known but he had looked it up in the dictionary. People really are amazing -- anyway it was an enjoyable way to spend an hour or so and then I headed back to Euston to see what the situation was with return trains. The concourse was pretty packed, but I've seen worse -- like when all the trends have been cancelled! I found the only seats in the place, which, as a traveller's tip - are just by the Boots' store, opposite WH Smith's, to the right of the main entrance as you come into the concourse.

Two men to my right were in animated conversation and it took me a few seconds to realise what "language" they were speaking….drunken Glaswegian! So I put on my Rab C. Nesbitt filter and I offer the following rough but, I think, accurate translation:©BBC

 

Man A: I am so looking forward to getting home tonight to see my wife, after being away all week and so having had no chance of having marital relations.

 

Man B: Oh, I quite understand. I, too, have missed marital relations; it is a long time from Sunday to Friday isn't it?

 

Man A: Yes, indeed, but last week I was so anticipating marital relations that when I got back - very late-- I burst into the bedroom and had my trousers and underpants off in a trice.

 

Man B: Well, that's quite understandable. You don't want to have to delay the enjoyment of the occasion any longer than necessary, do you?

 

Man A: You have assessed my mood exactly. Anyway, my wife was lying back on the pillow looking quite delightful and I decided to dispense with foreplay and get on with the main event without further delay.

 

Man B: I see. Well, no one could blame you for that in the circumstances, and I'm sure your wife understood the situation, having been married to you for many years and understanding your needs.

 

Man A: Yes, but as I gently manipulated the necessary area in order to ensure that full congress was achieved without doubt, I'm afraid that I ejaculated all over the bed covers and was completely spent in an instant.

 

Man B: Oh no! What a disappointment it must have been for you - and your wife. Was she disappointed?

 

Man A: She was, rather, but she was also rather tired herself, so in a way she was quite relieved.

 

Man B: As indeed were you! Ha ha! Do you remember that, when we were much younger, one would perform self-stimulation before going out for an evening, in case one was able to attract a mate for the night and so one would be able to survive a little longer without this situation happening?

 

Man A: Ah yes, I always did that. But it is rather difficult when sharing a hostel with several other men. One has little privacy and if one were to perform the action you suggest in front of them it could be misconstrued by some of those with homosexual tendencies.

 

Man B: Oh yes, one does have to be careful giving the wrong impression to those sorts of fellows: it can cause embarrassment.

 

Man A: It can also cause a hard punch to the testicles!

 

(BOTH LAUGH)

 

How dear, dear Harold Pinter would have loved that. As you can imagine, by this time I was in guffaws and trying to prevent the shaking of my shoulders being seen, by covering the top part of my body with the Evening Standard.

 

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Things are gearing up nicely for another school reunion next week. It looks like will have a least 10 or 12, plus partners. At the last one a few weeks ago (which was quite a night but I think the details better be kept, like Cabinet minutes, for at least 30 years!) one of the girls, who was in my form and whom I hadn't seen since around 1974, said that her memory of me was wearing short trousers, which I think I did do until the end of what used to be called the second year; i.e. when I was 13, by which time most of the lads had moved into long trousers. I've indicated before that I was a chronically, if not comically, late developer. And I've had a number of really interesting, lovely e-mail messages with another girl from those days whom I liked and who I used to often walk home with from the bus stop. Her parents were really great and they built a sort of den in the attic space for the kids – my friend was the youngest. This was a brilliant place, where we could play music, chat, whatever. Anyway, he says the thing she remembers me most for is telling her filthy stories. So, there I have my school career neatly summed up -- short trousers to filthy stories.

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The girl, or the woman, I mentioned asked me: "why did so many of us lose touch over all these years?" The answer is mainly a practical one, of course in the 1970s many of our peers didn't even have phones at home, let alone mobiles, e-mails or social networking sites, so of course as some of us went away and others moved out from their parents, it was very hard to re-establish contact, until this glorious period of, first, Friends Reunited, e-mails, and now Facebook. It is to the latter I have to thank for the most amazing contact I've just had from a woman who used to listen to me and, of course, the other presenters, on British forces broadcasting, on the other side of the Berlin Wall. She risked goodness knows what from the Stasi by both listening to us and, indeed, recording programmes on cassette, which apparently she hoarded in a garden shed. Now a frequent visitor to Britain, with a grandson at Aberdeen University -- which my son almost went to – and is in touch with many of the voices that she hung on to in all those dark years of the Cold War. The past keeps catching up with me and in so many unexpected and beautiful ways.

 

 

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Photo finish?

I did a lecture today on the Freedom of Information Act. I was giving this government some credit for at least introducing some limited rights to information and challenging the culture of secrecy in the UK. However, we haven't gone anywhere like as far as in the USA, where Obama signed a Presidential Memorandum leaving the foundations of a new era of FoI in his first 24 hours. The attitude in Britain is still that everything should be secret, unless there is a requirement to reveal it. The opposite is the case in the USA.

 

Then I read this article on New Labour's latest attack on our freedoms and liberties. The government spokesman says it won't be sued to stop the photographing of demo's and the like. 'course it won't.

 

The scrolling text at the top of the page asks: "Looking for a new job?"

 

Looking for a new country, more like.

 

 

Tribute to Phil Easton

To say I was shocked and saddened by the death of radio legend Phil Easton would be an understatement. Phil died at is home yesterday – apparently from a brain haemorrhage - at the age of just 59 and only hours after co-presenting his City Talk breakfast show. As well as his status in the radio business, he was a genuine friend of many in the rock and wider entertainment worlds (last year he did an exclusive interview with Paul McCartney on Macca's return to the city for the Liverpool Sound concert and it was clear they knew each other pretty well) and, because of his long-term role as match-day announcer at Anfield, to thousands of Liverpool FC supporters – tributes today have included ones from Liverpool's manager, as well as many from fans.

Phil became known to untold thousands through The Great Easton Express – Radio City's evening rock show - which ran for about 12 years from the station's inception in 1974. This, as the station's chairman, Terry Smith said today, became "one of the classics of commercial radio". Along with Nicky Horne's Your Mother Wouldn't Like It on London's Capital Radio, Robin Valk's Rock Show on Birmingham's BRMB - which came on air when I was 16 and became must-listen for me in the Midlands - and Dr Dick's Midnight Surgery with Richard Park (yes, THAT Richard Park) on Glasgow's Radio Clyde, Phil's show catered for young rock fans of an evening. The daytime output of Radio City, like most of the early Independent Local Radio (ILR) stations may have been aimed – indeed, was obliged by law, regulators and the demands of advertisers and shareholders - at a mass audience, during the evenings things got a bit wilder. One fan of the show said today: "I failed all my exams because of that show, and I am glad I did!"

Although Radio City was out of earshot from my Midlands' home, meaning that I heard very little of him for the first four years or so of the station's existence, when I moved to the Shropshire/Welsh border in 1978 I discovered to my great joy that the station came bouncing in over the hills and I often tuned into the show. Phil later went south to run a series of commercial stations but he used to come back up to Liverpool – a horrendous, indeed heroic round trip – to present the Saturday sports show on City FM. This was when I first knew him - during my time as Programme Controller for City's then AM service - although as this was a Saturday and I sometimes allowed myself a day off at the week ends, I didn't see as much of him as I would have liked.

One thing is for sure though, the sorts of platitudes and clichés that are often trotted out when someone dies (especially when it is before their time), such as them being kind, great company, loyal, considerate and generally well liked – are true in abundance with Phil. Although radio people may be more generous than those in some other parts of the media, it is rare indeed to find someone so universally liked and respected. I can hand on heart say that not once have I ever heard people talk about Phil in anything less than a positive and warm manner.

His kindnesses and consideration to people both in and outside radio are legion. One presenter on City Talk said this afternoon that when he first arrived in the city with his family, Phil insisted on taking him and his young son to Anfield; he not only got them tickets for the match but took them into the players' tunnel and even the changing-room. As you might imagine, the young lad was almost beside himself with joy. I know he did a great deal of unsung work of charities (again, something of a cliché but true in his case) and overall he was just one of those great life-enhancers. All his colleagues, including those who have accompanied him on trips at home and abroad to cover Liverpool FC, and in many other kinds of broadcasts, including elections and many other 'specials', all vouch for his unfailing good temper (never any 'star temperament'), enthusiasm and overall brilliant company.

Phil came back full-time to the City organisation, first to present the breakfast show on the AM station, by then converted to the Magic brand. As this was my old station – I was there when it was a fully fledged service, not just originating a few hours a day of local, music-dominated programmes – I was a little critical of the output. But I greatly enjoyed his show and on at least one occasion e-mailed him to congratulate him; his return message clearly indicated that he was pleased "to have the vote on his back". I am really glad I did that now. Later, he came to the university to talk though the plans for the new City Talk station, on which he was the first voice when it launched just over a year ago.

Just a few weeks ago the station had a great coup when Gordon Brown not only gave it an exclusive interview (during his visit to the city for the first Cabinet meeting to be held there) but went up the station's 350 foot tower in order to do it live in the studio during the breakfast show. Phil welcomed him live on air and then he and co host Kim Hughes did a really excellent interview, including questions from the audience. Gordon Brown today added his tribute to Phil – quite a rare accolade; it is somewhat unusual for a Prime Minister to comment on a local radio presenter. I sent the station's Programme and News Directors a congratulatory message after the interview and they promised to mention it when the whole team next met – I hope they did so but, of course, I am sorry now to not have sent a note directly to Phil.

As I have indicated, I certainly cannot say I was a "great mate" of his; we met on a couple of other occasions in the last few years at industry awards' dinners and the like. I am just one of many hundreds with whom he came into contact in his professional life and who so liked and admired him.

He was a devoted family man – wife and three children - and his early death robbed him of his chance to retire, after such a punishing work schedule, to the villa he and Fran built in Spain.

Phil Easton was one of the people who made radio such a brilliant medium both to 'consume' and work in. As a person he would have been loved in any walk of life. Truly, he will be greatly missed and remembered with great affection and gratitude by all those who knew him, and by the thousands who felt they knew him from his radio shows.

Slum Dog Millionaire, slam dreadful (former) Minister

I am just back from the 'pictures' to see Slumdog Millionaire. A terrific movie and one where you don't mind your emotions being manipulated by what, at one level, is a somewhat clichéd love story. It has not been universally praised - especially by some who know India well - but you can't please 'em all. And, anyway, isn't the pleasure of any piece of fiction, in any medium, the willing surrender of one's emotions and rational mind for manipulation? It gets a Rudin five star rating.

 

The choice of movie for this family outing was something of a compromise – the current Mrs R touting for Australia, which sounded too much like a 'chick flick' for my taste, and I most wanted to see Frost/Nixon and still do!

 

I was agitating though to get out of the house and do something to take my mind off my fury at that sanctimonious, toadying, deceitful and, by his own admission, prone to "mistakes" of a financial nature, posturing politico Peter Hain, who was huffing and puffing on The World This Weekend about EU law, and waffling about how it must be challenged.

 

Oh yeah? this disastrous former Europe Minister is more responsible than most for the trashing of our constitution - by giving more powers to those whom we do not elect and cannot remove and loftily dismissing the temerity of ordinary citizens who campaigned to have a vote on the former and present EU Constitution that the Irish had the temerity to vote against, and now, of course, in classic EU style are being made to vote again until they get it 'right.' "You're wasting your time", he said when the UK government was refusing to allow a vote on the original attempt at the Constitution, scuppered by French and Dutch voters (or so we might reasonably have thought). "You're not going to get a vote." And then, voila, when the Labour government was forced into promising a referendum, he opined that it was a good thing to have one because the Constitution needed democratic legitimacy. The man is totally shameless. Listen, buddy: There is nothing you can do about the situation with Total. You know it, so stop pretending.

 

You, Peter Hain, Alan Johnson, Gordon Brown and the rest know that a promise of "British Jobs for British Workers" is a lie and that there is nothing you can do to support strategic parts of the economy such as the automotive industry on which hundreds of thousands of jobs depend…and now, because you're panicking about the possible developments of the latest protest, you pretend that you're outraged and will do something about it! You've long sold the pass on any control over the right to live and work in the UK by the EU's 500 million citizens. You've allowed foreign courts to demand the arrest of British citizens for 'crimes' which aren't even offences in this country. It's amazing how even those ardent Europhiles, the Liberal Democrats, seem outraged and surprised when such instruments are actually used to prosecute people for merely voicing what are, to me, obnoxious and ludicrous opinions (but I will defend to the death your right to voice them, etc.).

 

You, Peter Hain, once possessed admiral radicalism and were a courageous anti-apartheid campaigner (earning the close attention of the South African security service, BOSS, who tried to frame you) but you've fully framed yourself and become a full part of this over-compensated, self-justifying, self-perpetuating political class; a class which has brought us close to ruin and in doing so earned the justified opprobrium of everyone who has been paying attention to what has really been going on over the last 15 years or so (under both Tory and Labour governments).

 

Mind you, if we had followed your enthusiasm for 'the European project' we would have been in the Euro years ago and lost even that fragment of control over our economy and quite probably now would be experiencing French and Greek civil disturbances, because if you can't control interest rates and increase them to keep inflation down, you have to control – i.e. cut - public spending. Alternatively, you are unable to cut the rate when you desperately need to boost credit. But then, virtually the whole of the British political class – including the CBI and the TUC - were in favour of the Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM) and it was only when we were forced out of it that we started our 15 year run of economic growth, which Labour have only just now managed to ruin.

 

Rudin's Rule No. 1: When the political class is united in its support for a policy, that policy is almost certainly wrong.

 

You (you in this case being the UK political elite) long ago sacrificed the bulk of the UK's fishing fleet – one of the prices worth paying, apparently, for EEC membership; a tiny bit of a disadvantage to the UK, given that 80% of fishing waters in the EU lie in UK territory. You've continued to back the Common Fisheries Policy, resulting in absurd bureaucratic quotas for certain types of fish which, frustratingly for the bureaucrats sitting in their Brussels palace, refuse to swim in carefully allocated parts of the ocean and the consequent chucking over the side of literally billions of fish, dead – the most obscenely wasteful scheme ever devised. You've been content to watch our taxes be thrown at millionaire farmers and landowners such as The Queen, Duke of Westminster and Prince Charles (through the Duchy of Cornwall) and them raking in an extra £1 billion due to the decline in exchange rate, and seen millions of tons of 'excess' food - produced under the utterly mad and corrupt Common Agricultural Policy - dumped into developing world countries, thus undercutting their producers and directly causing the starvation and deaths of untold millions.

 

Furthermore (oh yes, there's more) as the excellent They Work For You shows, you, Peter Hain, have (quote) voted "very strongly" for introducing ID cards, strongly for student top-up fees, strongly for Labours anti-terrorism laws, and very strongly for Iraq war.

Any one of these would be sufficient for condemnation…

So, please, sincerely, *censored* off, or, as a truly great Labour leader commented about one of his ministers: "a period of silence from you would be greatly welcomed".

 

Praise, though, for our quality press for two great exposes: first, the Sunday Times with the classic sting that exposed the 'cash for amendments' (annoying lack of alliteration there!) in the House of Lords. Yes, after nearly 12 years of Labour government (and credit, where credit's due, the culling of a couple of hundred hereditary peers) we are still in a position where our laws - which, don't forget, include the criminal laws and can result in us being incarcerated - can be blocked, amended and even introduced by a completely unelected, unaccountable bunch of political toadies, failed politicians…and Bishops. See, I don't mind if they want to give people titles and if they then want to ponce around in ermine. But I do – really strongly – object to the laws of this country being partly determined by yet more unelected people. Worse still, many of these are non-domiciled, non-UK taxpayers. Representation in the Upper House AND without taxation! Fantastic! Admittedly what we don't want is a chamber stuffed full of second-rate, failed politicians (as with most of our MEPs) and Rudin has a cunning plan to ensure we have democratic representation through a revising, non-party chamber, consisting of representatives outside the political class, who can bring in their knowledge and judgement on science, the arts, industry and more. This plan received the approval of the saintly Tony Benn (no less) when I appeared on a BBC 5 Live phone-in a few years ago. More on that story soon…

 

And then we have The Guardian's series, starting tomorrow (February 2^nd), previewed in La Toynbee's Saturday column), on the third of the UK FTSE 100 companies that paid NO tax in the last financial year available. Yet, of course, these companies rely on UK taxpayers to finance the roads, the health service, and the 'top up' benefits that allow these companies to rake in huge profits. But don't expect any action from this government – New Labour has been so far up the arses of big business they must have a great view of its lower intestines.

 

But at least these revelations give me hope: we have not yet seen the death of serious, investigative, campaigning journalism, which means we still have a chance to put things right.

 

OK, I am now at nearly 1,500 words and I haven't even touched yet on my joy on the first 12 days of the Obama Presidency, my part in the the Winter of Discontent, my later attempts - in a one-to-one interview - to prise out of the then Prime Minister, 'Big Jim' Callaghan, how the Cabinet had secretly approved the upgrading of Polaris, and…. But I am always telling my students that 'less means more'...

 

So that and more will have to wait…!