Scotland's Simon Cowell?

I've been portrayed as some kind of godawful combination of Elizabeth Bathory, Simon Cowell and Bird

Those of you who read this blog with any kind of regularity will know that I’m currently locked in a potentially unsafe spiral of typing and more typing with food, sanity, sleep and all of that other being alive stuff removed to a safe distance so that it can’t interfere – which isn’t really a spiral, now I think of it, more like being trapped in a lift in an abandoned building with - well, with me, in fact. How dreadful.

The disadvantages of this heady and artistic lifestyle have recently involved my developing an exhaustion- and anxiety-induced ear infection and going all wobbly for a few days before the antibiotics kicked in.

And this was the perfect preparation for a week spent talking to creative writing students at Warwick University. It meant I could sit in a borrowed office, facing a succession of bright-eyed and hopeful typists, waving manuscript pages (that seemed to have been both savaged by a dog and copulated-upon by some sort of red-ink-secreting insect) and simultaneously yelling, “LOOK AT THIS ! SOME OF THESE HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED ! WHAT WAS I THINKING ! ? WE NONE OF US KNOW WHAT WE’RE UP TO, YOU KNOW ! SCARED ? OF COURSE YOU’RE SCARED. I WAKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF NIGHT, BLOODY TERRIFIED – BEEN LIKE THAT FOR DECADES. THE PURSUIT OF PERFECTION - IT LEAVES YOU MAD-EYED AND WAVERING ! NO. I MEAN, IT WRECKS YOUR HEALTH AND RENDERS YOU FRIENDLESS ! NO. I MEANT TO SAY – IT’S A VERY GOOD THING. MADE ME WHAT I AM TODAY !”

Actually, we have another dandy crop of students this year and very few of them are scared of me. Given that all the other lecturers have spent weeks portraying A.L.Kennedy as some kind of Godawful combination of Elizabeth Bathory, Simon Cowell and Bird Flu, I have turned out to be a terrible anti-climax.

Puppies have been mentioned, there have been gifts of baking… my ability to appear even remotely evil seems to have been sapped by rewriting all night and tutoring all day. Appearing unhinged is, obviously, much easier under these (and any other) circumstances – so I’ve aimed for that. Plus, a number of undergraduates seem to have encountered me first as a stand up, so I am settling into my usual role as Temporary Village Idiot.

I did take an evening off to watch the first episode of “The Devil’s Whore” and see a variety of folk in big hair galloping about South Africa. I kept expecting a scene where someone asked Cromwell, “Isn’t that an impala ?”

“No. That’s a typically English sheep.”

“It looks like an impala to me.”

“It’s a sheep. An Edgehill, long-horned sheep.”

“I thought this bit was in Newbury.”

“Well, anyway, that’s not an impala and the thing chasing it isn’t a leopard. It’s a peasant – in a special hat.”

“God, the Civil War’s complicated.”

“Not to worry, that Andrea Riseborough will show you her knees again in a minute and then John Simm will take his shirt off – fun for all the family. And remember the old verse - When Adam delved and Eve span – we had parliamentarians who were willing to die for democracy. You wouldn’t even joke about that now, would you ? ”

There’s nothing like a bit of historical drama. That’s why I loved “Eistein and Paddington” so much – very well-crafted piece about the forbidden love of a remarkable physicist for a small Peruvian bear. This, of course, led to the discovery that God has a moustache. I was moved.

And meanwhile I’m recovering from a big double dunt of Shakespeare and that lovely feeling he leaves you with which runs along the lines of – you’re a hack, you’re a dreadful, weasely hack, you shouldn’t be allowed to touch a pencil, why do you even bother with your unmelodious and stringy bits of syllables and nonsense, you ought to be ashamed and then a bit more ashamed than that and then you might want to nail your tongue to an upper window frame, wrap it round your neck and fling yourself out into the morning - or whatever time of day would be relevant, but I’d suggest morning, that would get it over with.

Of course, low self-esteem and brooding are a narcissistic waste of energy and imagination when you’re engaged in professional typing, but I have to say that a healthy bit of awe and a good, attractive mountain top to aim at are often very useful. And I can report, to the four or five of you who are in any way interested, that I am perilously close to having finished the next book. Huzzah ! Watch this space – by the next blog I should be on to the next whateveritis I said I’d do.

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When Theresa May speaks, why don’t we listen?

Not many Prime Ministers have to repeat themselves three times. 

Theresa May is the candidate of Brexit and market panic. She ascended to the highest office because, in the fraught weeks after Britain’s vote to leave the European Union, she represented a safe haven for nervous Conservative MPs, the dependable family mutual that remained open while all along the Conservative high street, her rivals were shutting up shop.

Her popularity, as revealed in high poll ratings outside Westminster, too, owes itself to the perception that she is a serious politician in serious times, happily installed atop the ship of state to guide it through the rocky waters of Brexit negotiations.

May’s premiership has been defined by market panics of a different kind, however. The first is in the currency markets, where sterling takes a tumble whenever she pronounces on Britain’s future relationship with the European Union, falling both after her conference speech on 2 October and after her start-of-the-year interview with Sophy Ridge on 8 January. The second is in the opinion pages, where May’s stock oscillates wildly from bullish to bearish.

In the first months of May’s government, she was hailed as an Anglo-Saxon counterpart to Angela Merkel: a solid centre-right Christian democrat who would usher in a decade of conservative hegemony. More recently, she has been compared to Gordon Brown because of her perceived indecisiveness and repeatedly accused of failing to spell out what, exactly, her government’s Brexit objectives are.

In a symbol of the splits on the right between the Brexiteers and Remainers, the Economist, that bible of free-market globalisation and usually a reliable tastemaker as far as Westminster groupthink is concerned, began 2017 by dubbing the Prime Minister “Theresa Maybe”. Though May’s Downing Street is less concerned with the minutiae of what goes on in the public press than David Cameron’s, the contention that she is indecisive was a source of frustration.

There is an element of truth in the claim that May still views the world through a “Home Office lens”. One senior minister complains that Downing Street considers the Ministry of Justice as a “rogue outpost” of May’s old stomping ground, rather than a fully fledged department with its own interests and perspectives.

Yet even the most authoritarian of home secretaries would struggle to secure a conviction against May on the charge of opacity as far as her Brexit approach is concerned. She has hit the same grace notes with the reliability of a professional musician: Brexit means freedom from the jurisdiction of the European Court of Justice and control over Britain’s borders, two objectives that can only be achieved as a result of Britain’s exit not only from the EU but also the single market. This was confirmed on 17 January in the Prime Minister’s Lancaster House speech in London.

David Cameron used to say that he would never have “a people”. Certainly, there is no Cameroon tendency in the country at large to match the generation of council house residents that became homeowners and lifelong Conservatives because of Margaret Thatcher and Right to Buy. However, there is, unquestionably, a Cameroon people or faction to be found at almost every rung of London’s financial services sector or at editorial meetings of the Economist, though it as at the Times and the Sun where the treatment of May is at its most noticably rougher than in the Cameron era. 

Michael Gove, her old rival, is not only employed as a columnist by the Times; he enjoys the confidence and admiration of Rupert Murdoch. That the Times secured the first British interview with Donald Trump was a coup for Murdoch, an old associate of the president-elect, and for Gove, who conducted it. It left May in the unlovely position of making history as the first prime minister to be scooped to a first meeting with a new American president by a sitting MP in modern times. It also attested to a source of frustration among May’s allies that she is, for all her undoubted popularity, still ignored or doubted by much of the right-wing establishment.

That condescension partly explains why her words are often listened to briefly, acted on hastily and swiftly forgotten, hence the pound’s cycle of falling when she makes an intervention on Brexit and rising shortly thereafter. The Lancaster House speech was designed to break this pattern. Downing Street briefed the most potent paragraphs at the weekend so that the markets could absorb what she would say before she said it.

As a result, the pound rallied as May delivered her speech, which contained a commitment to a transitional deal that would come into effect after Britain has left the EU. Some financiers believe this arrangement could become permanent, which once again demonstrates how much they underestimate May’s ability to enforce her will.

Being underestimated by Cameron’s people, in Westminster and the City, has the unintended effect of shoring up Theresa May’s position. A prolonged and sustained bout of panic would increase the pressure for a soft landing, but its absence makes it harder for Labour to oppose her effectively, although it has largely acquiesced to the Tory plan for Brexit, at least as far as membership of the single market is concerned. 

Yet for all the plaudits that the Prime Minister’s Lancaster House speech attracted, for all her undoubted popularity in the country, she is in the anomalous position of being a Conservative Prime Minister who has priorities on the European stage other than the preservation of the City of London and to whom Rupert Murdoch is not a natural ally.

As such, she may find that her deadlier enemies come from the right.

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. His daily briefing, Morning Call, provides a quick and essential guide to British politics.