Spectator Life

In times past, any self-respecting man of a certain class would have been dripping in jewellery. Henry VIII is said to have owned no fewer than 700 rings – almost as many rings as wives. Ruby rings, gold necklaces, diamond earrings, you name it: jewellery was not just reserved for noblewomen and Queens of England, it was fair play in Tudor England for both sexes. Fast forward to the 21st century and, as a rule, you won’t find the English upper-class males sporting emerald knuckle dusters. But that’s not to say their jewels are lying rusty in a stately home attic. Take a look at any recent red carpet and you’ll see ‘bling’ is finding a new audience among modern alpha males.

In his novel Coming up for Air (1939), George Orwell has his benighted protagonist, George Bowling, bite into a sausage, only to discover that it tastes of something else altogether: ‘...pop! The thing burst in my mouth like a rotten pear. A sort of horrible soft stuff was oozing all over my tongue. But the taste! For a moment I just couldn’t believe it. Then I rolled my tongue round it again and had another try. It was fish!’  I thought of George Bowling as my disgruntled family sat outside Felbrigg Hall in North Norfolk last week, eyeing me balefully — and I envied him. At least his sausage tasted of something. For I had just spent £43.

When most readers think of the late novelist David Lodge, it is his peerlessly funny and incisive campus novels, such as Changing Places and Small World, that immediately come to mind. While his satires on progressive academia are indeed some of his finest achievements, this is down to Lodge’s Catholicism, which was not merely a religious faith but a central guiding principle of his writing – if you were being pretentious, you might say ‘a calling’ – and his life. He may have called himself ‘an agnostic Catholic’, and from a religious perspective, this may have been true, but it remained a vital part of his literary career.

It’s a funny thing, being a feminist surrounded by women on weight-loss drugs. As someone who recognises the health risks of being clinically obese, I’ve never been a fat liberationist – but pretty much all of us used to be against prescribed beauty standards. In practice this meant we would critique the harmful impacts of the ‘size zero’ or ‘heroin chic’ trends rather than obsess over having gained a few pounds over Christmas. Yet, with the rise of weight-loss jabs, skinniness has become a norm rather than a feminist discussion. And twee ideas about ‘being good’ or ‘cheating’ have been replaced by – well – feeling too nauseous to cheat at all.  Which is why Easter is a fascinating holiday in this era of weight-loss jabs.

Ever since MONBEG GENIUS finished a close third in the Ultima Handicap Chase at the Cheltenham Festival three years ago, it looked only a matter of time before he landed a big handicap. The form of that race could hardly have worked out better. The winner Corach Rambler, running off a rating of just 146 that day, went on to land the Randox Grand National a month later and was eventually rated at 162. The second horse from the Ultima in March 2023, Fastorslow, then running off a rating of 150, won the Ladbrokes Punchestown Gold Cup a month later, beating none other than Galopin Des Champs off level weights. Fastorslow was eventually rated 171. Yet Monbeg Genius, trained by Jonjo O’Neill and his son A.J.

Bentley’s Continental GT has a name to suit it: four voluptuous syllables then two emergency stops. This is the first car I reviewed, and it is still my favourite. I think this is because I grew up in Esher, and this is the car of the functional aspirant upper-middle class. It is important to remember that the state limousines – the pair of sinuous maroon sharks that transport the monarch from one demonstration of public magic to the next - are Bentleys, based on the long-gone Arnage, elongated for majesty. The Bentley is for people who work hard: the still responsible. Just enough flash. Not too much. If Aston Martin is British romance and Rolls Royce British violence in lambswool, Bentley is British functionality and taste.

The first time I took a ride in a Waymo was in 2024. It was summer in San Francisco, and my wife and I had spent several weeks watching these curious, sensor-laden Jaguar I-Paces gliding– driverless – up and down the city’s famous slopes. Intrigued, we downloaded the app, summoned one and climbed in.  It was the stuff of sci-fi. The car knew my name and displayed our route on a screen as we traced through traffic. Uncannily, the wheel still turned; phantom hands steering us into every corner. My wife was slightly perturbed; I loved every self-driving second.  But what struck me most wasn’t the technology, but how little fuss these all-electric cars were causing.

When we describe something – or someone – as an ‘acquired taste’, it is rarely a compliment. If we say it of Sharon, for example, it means that she is a bit of a pain in the neck. It's the same with food: olives, anchovies and oysters are some of the finest foodstuffs on God's earth but sometimes, in order to truly enjoy them, you have to first quiet your inner doubts by tuning out all the reasons why other people don’t like them.  Those of us who like to devote time to thinking about matching food and booze get called snobs – but we all do it all the time. You would probably choose to have a mug of tea rather than a cup of coffee with fish and chips – and fair play to you if you do.

In PR terms, it’s a such a well-worn trajectory, it has its own name. ‘Doing a Burberry’ is the term for when something once exclusive and favoured by those in-the-know is appropriated by the hoi polloi and its standing slips inexorably downwards. The Ivy — now a chain of naff provincial cafés — is a notable victim. Marbella, now ‘Marbs’ thanks to the cast of TOWIE is another. So is the name Samantha, once terribly Sloaney, now associated only with a former page 3 girl and some really filthy double entendres on I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue on Radio 4.

The past few years have seen a slew of devastating style assaults on the English language known as ‘LinkedIn speak’. You know the type of word salad: ‘synergise’ instead of ‘combine’, ‘ideated’ instead of ‘thought of’, ‘holistic’ instead of – well – looking at something as a whole. Alarmingly, there is now an app, Kagi Translate, that allows you to type any sentence and it will deliver it for you in this wretched patois. For instance, write ‘I went to the zoo,’ and Kagi gives you: ‘I had an incredible opportunity to observe high-performing teams in a diverse ecosystem and reflect on the importance of adaptability and strategic positioning.’ Go on, try it.

The arrival of a new flat season is exciting but, for betting purposes, I prefer to stick to the jumps. On the flat in late March and April, it is so hard to know which trainers have their horses fit enough to do themselves justice and which do not. Since most handlers are still in the dark on their horses’ racecourse fitness, what chance do punters have? This weekend’s National Hunt fare is, in all honesty, modest so instead I will try to identify some value over the two big meetings that are on the horizon linked to the two Grand Nationals at Aintree and Fairyhouse. First up is a long shot for the Randox Topham Handicap Case on Friday, 10 April, a race run over the Grand National brush fences the day before the big race itself.