Graeme Archer's Diary: David "David" Cameron and other things

Graeme Archer's Platform archive can be read here.  He begins his column today.

Verona
For Janet Daley and I to agree about anything, something pretty tectonic-plate-shifting on the centre-right must be happening. After all, I’m an authentic card-carrying, leaflet-delivering, vote-garnering grassroot Tory activist of twenty-plus years experience, while Ms Daley is a (formerly) Marxist journalist at the Daily Telegraph. Just joking! I speak of course of our support for marriage. Ms Daley this week wrote beautifully of how a marriage is an act of union between families, and is not solely a machine for providing the best upbringing for children yet found (though it is this too, of course). At Mr Keith’s and my Civil Partnership ceremony last March I told our guests (including our families, sat together for the first time – you’ve not experienced stress until you’ve introduced one set of inlaws to another, have you?) how I had struggled to find a non-confrontational form of words to describe the event, before I gave up and used those which seemed the best fit: “Today we got married. Welcome to our wedding”. Anyway. As you read this, the newspaper columns will be filling up with 500 word articles, saying that tax-system support for marriage is either nothing but common sense, or an unfair attack on single mums. I think this line of Labour’s – that we are intending to subsidise feckless men at the expense of struggling mothers – will not gain traction, not least because David “David” Cameron is so visibly at ease with the good things about modern Britain. You can’t be a happy supporter of legal and cultural equality for gay people and be easily painted as some sort of finger-wagging right-wing authoritarian nutter. Some of “David”’s critics at the Telegraph might like to reflect on this.

*
I woke this morning to a Sherlock Holmes moment: the mystery of the clanging bells (the mystery being that there were none). Italian church bells are more cow-herd than Canterbury (think “Heidi”), and their noise, for the 5 years I lived here, was my first intimation of consciousness of a morning. But no more. Italians are increasingly unwilling to have their sleep disrupted in this way, and have required the church to put a sock in it, at least before 7am. I’m not sure how this creeping modernity makes me feel, though I was once driven close to a psychotic state by the relentless, multiple-churched, quarter-hourly clanging which was perhaps the only interesting feature of the frazione of Laveno in which I dwelt. E. M. Forster understood something of the gap between the Englishman’s dream of Italy and the reality: Where Angels Fear To Tread.

*
Of course I’m not an Englishman; I’m from Hackney. Here in Verona it’s opera season at the Arena, and the city is suddenly full of Brits, all circling round the Roman amphitheatre in the Piazza Bra’ like satellites knocked from their usual orbit (Hertfordshire), sucked irresistibly towards the operatic black hole at the city’s centre. I sat in the piazza for an hour last night, listening to a British bloke behind me, who wore very short shorts and very long socks, shouting “See, See, Seenyory, Grahtzeeay” at the Indian waiter who brought him his multiple beers. Unfortunately, I doubt the incomprehension was mutual. Graeme’s handy tip for Italian opera: Don’t come to Verona for opera (though do come, it’s beautiful). Three-to-four hours sat on a concrete step is not conducive to an appreciation of Puccini. Read the short story by David Leavitt instead, and get tickets for the Scala in Milano. If you ignore me and come to the Arena anyway, it is impressive to be ushered to your seat by a sword-wielding carabiniere, who remain figures of authority to me in a way that our own, admittedly friendlier, Community Support Officers do not. Just remember to bring a cushion.

*
Candidate Selection! Two words guaranteed to strike terror into my … well. Assuming I have one. Anyway. Mr Keith recently accompanied me to his first candidate selection meeting for A Constituency Somewhere In The UK. Despite having been a member of the party for even longer than Tony Lit (though not, to be honest, when he stood, somewhat paperly, in Hackney’s Victoria Park ward last year), it was Mr Keith’s first exposure both to the machinery of a voluntary constituency association, and to the calibre of the candidates who apply for selection. Your columnist asked him for his views. “What struck me most,” he mused, “was the fact that I wasn’t permitted to use the bathroom for 4 hours, and that a party agent appeared to have been employed solely for the purpose of rushing to the back of the extremely cold meeting room in order to prevent anyone from doing so. I mean, I’m a 47 year old adult, and -” – Oh - I cut in - you found that odd? “Yes, and the fact that someone we’ve entertained in our house for years – to whose election campaign we generously contributed – acted like a complete freak when I was chatting to Matthew and Andrew, hooting away about keeping our distance from a pile of cheap photocopied papers, as though we were going to attempt fraud, or as though we couldn’t have done so anyway by bringing our own pile of cheap photocopied papers”. Oh well, I said, what about the quality of the candidates? “Well,” he said, [deleted for space reasons – Ed]

*
Gordon Brown – proof that power is not the ultimate aphrodisiac. No, I’m not about to admit to sweaty, sleepless nights a-dreaming and a-scheming about his Heathcliffian locks a-tumbling and a-fumbling [that’s enough Glenda Slagg – Ed] OK, there was never a time when I found him anything other than physically repulsive. But he did at least look like a Chancellor of the Exchequer. When he regenerated into Prime Minister, and stood there squawking away on the doorstep of no. 10 (it was a new Dawn, was it not? No? Same old Primarolo?) he suddenly looked malfunctional. His head was too big for his body, and his hair was too big for his head. David “David” Cameron may or may not be the Heir to Blair, but poor old Gordon is more Clinton’s Hair. Un-luck.

Comments

[Tory T]

Love it Graeme! Light relief on a Sunday morning. Lucky you to be in Verona. It's pouring down here.

[Joseph]

Biggest load of old cobblers I have read in years "Innit Mate"

"Light relief" I would rather take a laxative for that Tory T, it produces the same effect

[Tony Makara]

I support the backing for marriage, however I'm a little concerned about the compulsion for single mothers to find work. Its not that I'm against the mothers working, rather, what worries me is the thought of young children at home having to fend for themselves while mum is working.

Imagine a scenario where a mum works locally in a pub or as a cleaner and she doesn't finish until very late and the kids are left roaming the streets and banding up with older children and are getting into mischeif at all hours. This only contributes to social breakdown. I've seen this scenaro played out in the area where I live so I know it happens. If we are to eradicate social breakdown and anti-social behaviour then the mother really ought to be at home with her children, to offer a safe base for them, and to monitor their behaviour.

[Jennifer Wells]

Very enjoyable Sunday morning read. Thanks Graeme.

[Hackney man]

Thanks Graeme, a nice mixture for a sunday.

A short note for Joseph - I'm sure that a quick search on the internet will help you find the type of "Light relief" club you are looking for...

[Joseph]

Well Hackney man, I certainly will not find them around the "Working Men's Clubs up in "Sarf Yorkshire" which is the normal watering hole for ex-miiners like myself, but if you do care to pay a visit to any of them, I would suggest taking a cushion would be a very good and practical idea indeed.

[malcolm]

Well done Graeme,I thought you'd be good and you were. If you're still in Verona,do try to get hold of a bottle of Amerone.Absolute heaven!

[Ben Locker]

Fine column, Graeme. Pleasant, witty and deft. I think the Telegraph could do with more stuff like yours...

[Joseph]

Ben Locker.
I know the Telegraph is not exactly the best friend of Mr Cameron or the rank and file Conservatives at the moment, but would you really want the Newspaper to go into oblivion as surely it would if that lot of trash was printed on a regular basis.
After all it has attracted ALL of 8!!! replies and two of them were to me, and one was from a wine connoisseur, he has good taste I must admit though.
Wow just think 8 readers, I am sure that would pay the wages and overheads of the Telegraph and keep them solvent and their shareholders in the manner they feel they deserve.