Ethical Foreign Policy, anyone?
This is shameful. See here for an idea of how far we have allowed a noble notion to slip.
This is shameful. See here for an idea of how far we have allowed a noble notion to slip.
This dilemma was recently faced by me and ‘er indoors. Our solution appears as a comment way down the page. This marks a huge advance for us, as about ten years ago when we decided we were really really going to get rid of some books, we managed about three nominees between us in about five hours. Mine was Sweet’s Anglo-Saxon Reader, last consulted circa 1975. What’s more, I’ve still got it…
I thought this was a spoof at first – but, incredibly, it isn’t. Can we just nuke Macdonald’s, please? Maybe the Earl of Sandwich can press the button…
Before I get to Bob, and I don’t actually loathe him per se, let me put my cards on the table. The Private Eye headline when John Peel died – “Man who played records on the wireless dies: a nation mourns” did strike a chord with me. I liked Peel, but couldn’t see why he had such a godlike status among the public. It seems to me that being a radio DJ, or reading the news, or commmentating on football are easy and undemanding jobs for anyone with a modicum of articulacy and common sense. I’m certainly not persuaded by those who claim, as I seem to recall Huw Edwards doing, that reading an autocue is a really pressurised job – they should try working down a pit.
So it seems to me that Bob has an enviably cushy job – he plays records he likes, gets free tickets to gigs, goes off to festivals at the public expense, and is paid a lot more than you and me for his trouble. What I find really objectionable is his inability to complete a sentence without uttering the two most frequently used words in his vocabulary: “Bob” and “Harris”. Typically, you tune in and you hear: “That was some fantastically obscure American woman, who I met when on a BBC jaunt to Austin Texas here on the Bob Harris show with me, Bob Harris. Coming up later on the Bob Harris show, some ancient T-Rex track and some more obscure Americana. Check the playlist on bbc dot co dot uk slash bob harris and don’t forget to tune into Bob Harris Country next week when I’ll be meeting some grizzled country veteran shortly before his imminent death. I’m Bob Harris. George from Nether Stowey writes “Dear Bob…”
– and so it goes on. Quite often, I note that the letters he reads out are obviously new to him: people say “Bob, could you play some Counting Crows at about 12.30 as I’ll be driving home from Milton Keynes after the Southern Region Arm-Wrestling championships?” and Bob will say- “Oh sorry, it’s 1.30 now, a bit late with that one, and we haven’t any Counting Crows tonight, so here’s Natalie Merchant on the Bob Harris show…” I mean, how difficult is it to prepare? And why does he have to read out the entire request, including the bit with his name? Do you think he really thinks he’s important?
This is an easy target, I know, but I just can’t resist: Health and Safety. At my place of work, we recently had installed, at great expense, and over a long period of time, special fire safety doors to stop the spread of the fires which, of course, regularly break out… These doors are situated a few steps from the existing 1930s doors, which, I would imagine, being very heavy and solid would take a while to burn. Anyway, a colleague asked if she could have a coat hook on her office door. The answer, following a risk assessment, was no: a hook might injure her if, in a fire, the door were to collapse on her. I would have thought the hook might be the least of her worries in such a circumstance, but that was the reason. Of course, the rest of us have hooks on our doors, and have had since the place was built. There is no recorded instance of death by coathook…
Michael Bywater is always worth reading, and this piece is brilliant at exposing the way people are increasingly infantilised in today’s society.
New Statesman – The last Mughal and a clash of civilisations
This is fascinating, and demonstrates once more that we seem incapable of learning from history. By a melancholy coincidence, I was reading the excellent Philip Hensher novel The Mulberry Empire while the Afghan death toll was rising, and couldn’t help noticing the parallels there too.
My eagle-eyed reader will have noticed a change in the Topsyturvydom profile. We are now in Manchester, home city for both of us, and we feel we’ve come home.Doubtless blogging will be intermittent while we settle in.
Fear of flying | Welcome aboard | Economist.com
Recently back from Norway, which involved six flights, so this rang a bell…
The Dumb Britain column in Private Eye is always good for a laugh – recent sample:
Anne Robinson: Which is the only letter in the alphabet with three syllables?
Contestant: Z.
They haven’t picked up this great exchange, though, which I saw on the BBC sport page:
Question on BBC1’s Test the Nation: “Who was Winston Churchill – A rapper, US President, The PM or King?”
Teddy Sheringham’s girlfriend, Danielle Lloyd: “Wasn’t he the first black president of America? There’s a statue of him near me – that’s black.”
You couldn’t make it up…