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Armatrading for Mayor

Antonia Quirke salutes whoever persuaded Joan to do radio

On Radio 4, the 681st Lord Mayor of the City of London, Ian Luder, invited Joan Armatrading to "come through the magic curtain" and spend a week hanging out. "Come and meet the Worshipful Company of Gardeners," he said, at some florid, sit-down event in the City. "Look," sighed Ian, "I wish I could produce such cauliflowers." Joan was completely made up. "The meal's a trio of salmon, haunch of lamb and a raspberry cheesecake," she pointed out, tapping the menu card with a satisfied ­finger, before working the tables, totally getting into the role of mayor's consort.

I'd like to salute whoever it was who persuaded Joan into an occasional second career as a radio presenter. She is the definition of cool, her voice rich with a great reserve of patience, and she's never remotely weird, unlike some of her colleagues, who, one feels certain, hoard old sachets of Lipton and pick-and-mix Su­chard among their underwear.

A little later, Joan was imagining the Lord Mayor's kitchenette at the Mansion House, laid with silver for breakfast, and the family cat, Big Ben - like Dick Whit­ting­ton's cat, a favourite companion, a detail that Joan found utterly charming. "D'you know, you've got handlebar eyebrows, has anyone ever told you that?" she said suddenly - not flirting, I might add, just telling it like it is. "Don't ever cut them, I say."

Ian laughed a little nervously. Maybe sadly, even. His year as mayor was almost up and real life beckoned: Marks & Spencer suppers and the Northern Line; a brief glimpse of Helen Mirren stepping into a car in the Evening Standard; "Drop the Pilot" only ever listened to on a CD.

Meanwhile, on Book of the Week, Keith Floyd tried to divine why he'd turned out such a mess. No excuse, really, he said, being a breastfed baby from the kind of family that go blackberrying and make substantial things with their hands. "I could wind copper wire around a reel to make a generator. I could solder things. Now I feel as if I know nothing . . ."

Keith said the first meals he conjured were runner beans with cheese, Shredded Wheat with a scraping of margarine, pigs trotters boiled in vinegar, and watercress ripped fresh from a stream. At his first restaurant in Bristol, he served potted shrimp, chocolate mousse, and exploited the "intrinsic beauty of a piece of haddock on a plate". Before long, he had three bistros in the city. "In a small way, I was huge." The snag was his tiny head for business. "A man I shall call Trevor" stitched him up and he was left with only a "portable radio, a knife and some Marmite".

The whole series was peppered with those particularly promising phrases "my own relationship was deteriorating" and "meanwhile the marriage was in trouble" and, to be fair, Keith did attempt to open his heart about his many tribulations ("I was utterly stuffed": Floyd's critical epistemology in a nutshell). But the main problem here was the reader, an actor whose overly fruity delivery smudged and spoiled the narrative, reducing it to a wall daubed with aerosol slogans. Burlesquing wildly, he failed to project the real Floyd. Just occasionally one spotted him, very faintly, and sweetly - a troubled figure, seen through milkscum on a highball.


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Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 23 November 2009 issue of the New Statesman, Green Heroes and Villains

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How will future videogame makers design a grand strategy game about the 21st century?

With the diminishing power of nation states, and the lack of conventional warfare, what would a 21st-century grand strategy game look like?

In the world of historical strategy games, it always seems clear how to win. Paint the map your colour. Raise your flag over the capitals of your rivals. Pave the streets of your cities with gold. Games based around statecraft in olden times will tend to have diverse objectives, they usually focus on the greatness of a nation in the traditional senses of the word: military might, technological advancement, religious and cultural hegemony. These same priorities hold up from the times of the Roman Republic to the Cold War.

Yet if games designers in the future were to look at the world of today, how would they interpret the actions of modern governments? Do the same goals as before apply or have we moved on? Are the objectives of contemporary societies different, and if so, just what would a player in a game of 21st-century grand strategy be trying to achieve?

One thing is for sure, the conventional measures of success in historical grand strategy games don’t stack up so easily in a modern setting.

War, for instance, has always been a staple part of historical games and it remains a preoccupation of contemporary society too. In the 15 years of the 21st century, Britain has invaded two countries, conducted armed interventions in three more and is even now lining up the procurement of new fighter jets, new aircraft carriers and new nuclear weapons at incredible expense. So we can safely say we do not live in a peaceful age.

But despite having all this firepower and the political will to bring it to bear at the drop of a dossier, war doesn’t seem to serve Her Majesty’s Government in the way it does in either the history books or the strategy games. There is no territory to be won and no rival great powers being thwarted – only air strikes, occupations and teetering puppet governments.

Indeed the only country whose military adventures bear any resemblance to the old-timey way of doing things is Russia, with Putin perhaps the last of the breed of world leaders who still thinks swapping out the flags on municipal buildings constitutes a legitimate redrawing of national boundaries. Given his famous distrust for technology it seems quite likely he didn’t get the tersely worded Tweet from Obama about how that kind of thing isn’t supposed to work anymore.

On the economic side of things the approaches opted for by governments today don’t fit with the historical mind set either. Nations are no longer trying to get rich for their own sake. Privatisation relinquishes the assets of the state in return for a temporary financial gain and long term loss of revenue. Deregulation and poor tax enforcement bleeds capital overseas. It is here we see perhaps the key difference between games where you play as The State itself and real countries, countries run by people who have bank balances of their own and competing party financiers to appease.

The idea of running a country for the purpose of making that country wealthier and then reinvesting that wealth back into the country by developing assets and infrastructure has gone out of the window. Simultaneously both the leftwing model of a state run for the benefit of its citizens and the rightwing ideal of a country mastering its economy to become a more powerful force on the world stage have been quietly phased out. Outsourcing and tax havens suggest that there is no longer room for patriotism in economic policy – unless you’re China, of course, but it wouldn’t be much of a game with only one nation playing it.

On a technological front there was the space race, and there have even been games built around it. But in the 21st century, the urgency and the sense of competition has been lost. Rovers on Mars, probes on comets and space stations tend to be viewed in a spirit of collective human achievement, partly because of the collaborative nature of modern space exploration, and also, I suspect, because lots of people in those fields are Star Trek fans.

The idea of going to Mars so you can stand on the surface of another planet and tell the Communists to stuff it no longer appeals as much as that whole "pushing back the scientific boundaries for the benefit of all life of Earth" deal. It is laudable, but not ideal for games built around competing with other countries.

In the 21st century grand strategy game, we wouldn’t be looking to conquer the world, we wouldn’t be looking to buy it and we wouldn’t be looking to leave it in our technological wake either. So what does that leave? What would 21st-century grand strategy look like?

It could be argued that we’ve moved beyond the era of nation states as the bodies driving world affairs, and such a game might reflect that. Maybe something more akin to a Crusader Kings game would be the way to go, with the player taking the role of an individual – a connected political blueblood, perhaps, like an oligarch, a CEO, an activist turned politician, a drugs baron or a terrorist leader. Or maybe we would play not as an individual, but as an organisation, for example the CIA, ExxonMobil, Isis, Amnesty International or the Solntsevskaya Bratva.

It may be that we never see the present day immortalised in a strategy game, at least outside of that passing phase in Civilization where everything is either settled down or exploding in nuclear fire. Perhaps we’re destined to nestle into a historically obscure crack between the tumult of the 20th century and something spectacular or horrible yet to come. It is nice to think, however, that the times we live in are at least interesting and that maybe we’ll get to see it all laid out in a game one day, if only to find out what winning the 21st century would look like.

Phil Hartup is a freelance journalist with an interest in video gaming and culture