Jon Stewart mocks the Jubilee pomp

Would a British comedian have been allowed to do this?

Regular readers will know that my love of Jon Stewart knows no bounds, but it just increased a little more this morning with his take on the Jubilee pageant, and particularly CNN's Piers Morgan working himself into a lather of deference about it. (Never has a man been more impressed with the sight of a boat turning round.)

But what struck me immediately after watching the clip that is currently doing the rounds on twitter is how this sort of gentle fun-poking has been conspiciously absent from our television screens over the last few days. A strange feeling washed over me when Stewart joked about the Queen spending 60 years "on the throne": you can't say that! I swear I heard the delicate tinkle of a taboo being broken, and I didn't think we had any of those left. Had a British comedian tried the same gag over the weekend, on one of the many interminable live broadcasts over the Bank Holiday, I'm sure that huge sections of the press would have descended on them like vultures. Perhaps that's why none of them were booked to chat on the sofa with Eamonn Holmes and Sophie Raworth and the rest.  

Most of the British comedians who could sell out an arena were in attendance at the Queen's Jubilee concert last night, and there was a real sense that anything edgy would have gone down with a lead balloon. Perhaps that's a measure of changing public taste: Britain overwhelming supports the monarchy, and we love Her Majesty in particular (what a change from the times when you couldn't move for tasteless Princess Diana jokes). 

Still, there clearly was an appetite for some relief from Forelockapalooza. Frankie Boyle's typically scabrous musings on Twitter had the shit retweeted out of them, while other comics live-tweeting the pageant and concert -- mostly in a gently non-deferential way -- got a lot of attention, too. 

Personally, I don't bedruge royalists a bit of pomp and circumstance. But I do find it odd that in an age where we regularly talk about the idea of nothing being off-limits to comedy, not a whisper of cheek made it on to our TV screens this weekend. 

Jon Stewart mocks the Jubilee pageant. And here he is, mocking American political rallies, too. Photo: Getty Images

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times