Matthew Parris

Matthew Parris

Matthew Parris is a columnist for The Spectator and The Times.

Of course diplomats are frank in private – but not, I fear, for much longer

From our UK edition

It can be a diplomat’s duty to be undiplomatic. It can be a diplomat’s duty to be undiplomatic. When asked for a candid assessment by senior colleagues or by his political masters, the murmured ambiguity and the Ferrero Rocher are for the birds. Diplomacy is for dealing publicly with the other side, not privately with your own. Within weeks of joining the Foreign Office as a young man, I learned that senior diplomats are routinely breathtakingly candid with each other in their confidential assessments of people, nations and situations. We should expect no less of them. Senior diplomats — American no less than British — express themselves undiplomatically when they don’t expect their reports to be published. This too we should expect.

America’s satnav monopoly must be broken – even if it takes the EU to do it

From our UK edition

Debates between columnists can be tiresome, but Douglas Murray writes so well that when he is wrong he is dangerous. I think he may be wrong about the European Union’s ‘Galileo’ project (‘Costs in space’, 13 November), and though bereft of his certainties, I should not let the other side to this argument go by default. Galileo is the EU’s answer to the Americans’ Global Positioning System (GPS). It aims to do the same thing: to enable any receiver to pinpoint its position in the world very precisely. It is fair to say (as Mr Murray does) that Galileo is behind schedule and over budget. It’s also fair to say (as Mr Murray does) that when it comes to delays and overruns, the EU has a poor record.

Take it from a former MP – popular outrage is wrecking parliament

From our UK edition

Paradoxical I know, but I must first explain that there’s little point in my writing this, and somebody else should. Paradoxical I know, but I must first explain that there’s little point in my writing this, and somebody else should. The column it’s futile for me to write sounds a warning about the mess we’re making of MPs’ pay and allowances; and the danger not only that we discourage capable men and women from considering a political career, but that we relegate the status of politics and its practitioners in a way that may reverberate through generations to come. The Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority (IPSA), paralysed by the hysteria over MPs’ expenses that gave birth to it, is behaving with bone-headed insensitivity.

Toddlers know what ‘fair’ means. Do politicians?

From our UK edition

Two words have been everywhere touted during this political season: ‘fairness’ and ‘equality’. Two words have been everywhere touted during this political season: ‘fairness’ and ‘equality’. By the time you read this, after Wednesday’s comprehensive spending review, occurrences of the first will have reached epidemic proportions. Let us examine both. Among Western nations an understanding has dawned that our long-established global economic preponderance is floundering; so we can afford less of the luxury of concern for the weakest in society, a drag on economic competitiveness. From the French revolution’s trio of goals, égalité is being quietly dropped.

This week’s journalistic lesson: never let a cow get in the way of a good rant

From our UK edition

Let me first say that I would have written exactly the column about the dead cow that my friend and Times colleague Alice Thomson wrote, if she hadn’t pipped me to the post. En route to Labour’s conference in Manchester, Alice had been stuck on a railway paralysed by a dead cow on the line. I had heard about the cow from dozens of people at the conference, and planned a rant at safety-first attitudes — until I learned that Alice was already penning such a rant. So, making a virtue of necessity, I decided on a more in-depth investigation of how and why these idiocies come about. And the more I learned, the less idiotic they seemed. There now follows the tale that ran around the media hothouse that is a 21st-century political conference.

It may be time for a collective mea culpa from the media

From our UK edition

Matthew Parris offers Another Voice It so happened that last Friday, before my partner and I set off from Derbyshire for the Lib Dem conference in Liverpool, he drove over to Cannock, to report a meeting called to discuss the consequences for South Staffordshire of looming spending cuts. He (his name is Julian Glover) writes for the Guardian and wanted to describe the meeting for his column that Monday. This, inter alia, was what he wrote: ‘Education spending in Staffordshire this year is £805 million, or £4,078 per pupil — 63 per cent up on the level of 2003 to 2004. In just three years, South Staffordshire Primary Care Trust’s resources limit has risen from £663 million to £888 million: up 44 per cent.’ Great Scot.

Let’s hear it for contempt

From our UK edition

The Blairite ‘Respect agenda’ is bunkum. We must all be free to insult each other or else only bullies will prevail Stealthily, an idea which was born under New Labour has wormed itself into the imagination of post-millennial Britain. It is the concept of Respect, not least as applied to how we talk or write about each other. The implications of the ‘Respect agenda’ for free speech are perilous, and subterranean — the more insidious for imposing self-censorship by means of a model of supposed 21st-century good manners backed by laws which ‘send a message’ and chill the climate in which ‘hate-speech’ might otherwise occur.

The unexpected pleasure of gathering cowpats on the pastures of the High Andes

From our UK edition

When I was a toddler in Newsham in Yorkshire we had friends at Hilltop Farm, and Mrs Todd used to send me to look for eggs in the boxes by the chicken run. The excitement and pleasure of lifting the lid and finding an egg — or two — in the straw is still sharp in my mind. Likewise the glee of spotting a mushroom in the woods when, later in life, I went on a mushroom hunt. The joy of finding half a crown half-buried in the sand on a beach in Cyprus, when I was six, is still fresh, and I’ve had an eye out for lost coins ever since.

The purpose of art is not to impress, but to speak to the heart

From our UK edition

Joining friends grouped around a piano one evening last week, I sat down to hear another friend play. A man of extraordinary talent, he both composes and performs; and this time he had three new compositions to perform for us. The piano can be a spectacular instrument. An hour sped, for my friend is touched by genius. His style is extravagant, his energy enviable, his mastery of the keyboard stunning. The boom and tinkle, the crashing chords, cascading arpeggios and breathtaking runs impressed me more than I can say. And because my friend refuses to take himself completely seriously it was done in a manner so lavish as to be almost self-mocking — like a thoughtfully playful artist taking the mickey out of Liberace.

I have finally seen how the Big Society might work

From our UK edition

Like many members of the Tory tribe, I’ve struggled with the Big Society doctrine. As with the doctrine of the Holy Trinity there have been moments when I thought I’d grasped it, but upon being asked to explain it to somebody else, found that it had given me the slip again. After an impassioned Cameron interview I’ve been enthused — but then, challenged to justify my enthusiasm to a sceptic, faltered. Unlike the doctrine of the Trinity, the Big Society philosophy is not arcane. It’s a homely pudding made of voluntarism, local knowledge, local democracy, self-help, civicmindedness, community spirit — and a dash of strawberry jam (homemade) thrown in.

Crisp and brave

From our UK edition

Among my guests last weekend as I read Lord Mandelson’s book was Ben, aged two and a half. Among my guests last weekend as I read Lord Mandelson’s book was Ben, aged two and a half. Ben’s language skills are precocious, but he is passing through a stage, as some infants do, of preferring to speak in the third rather than the first person. Thus ‘Ben wants an ice cream’; or ‘Ben was a bit disappointed’. Once, even, he declared: ‘Ben’s quite tired’ (thoughtful pause), ‘he said.’ If the unexamined life is indeed not worth living, this child has taken the lesson to heart. Peter Mandelson, who has called his memoir The Third Man, might have benefited from following Ben’s lead.

The spy game catches everyone who plays it

From our UK edition

It’s been a good month for spy commentators. Experts on espionage have been popping up everywhere in the news media, offering views, news and background information on secret intelligence. The exposure of a Russian spy-ring operating in the United States, followed by a spy-swap in which America retrieved four of theirs in return for Russia retrieving ten of theirs (but ‘we got back really good ones’, explained the US Vice President, Joe Biden) has brought the whole business of Great Power intelligence-gathering to the forefront of media attention. Almost everybody loves a good spy story, as spy novelists will attest.

How far do you truly believe? Perhaps it’s a waste of time even to ask the question

From our UK edition

Readers familiar with Idomeneo might have shared my pleasure (and bemusement) at a performance of Mozart’s early opera at the Coliseum in London last week. The English National Opera production, which staged most of the action in what appeared to be a top-quality modern hotel, was ludicrous (I found the waiters distracting, but then I often do), but no more ludicrous than any other imaginable 21st-century staging of an 18th-century account of an ancient Greek tale. No, what perplexed me was the part played in the narrative by the gods.

When several things go wrong at once, we rarely consider that it may be a coincidence

From our UK edition

I turned to this week’s press coverage of the latest pre-Budget economic forecasts only after a punishing battle with my motorcar. A morning’s home car mechanics left me bruised, cut, frustrated and covered in diesel, but — as it turned out — philosophically refreshed for the debate about Britain’s economic future. I drive a grey 1999 Vauxhall Brava pick-up truck: a useful if charmless workhorse, and until recently a trusty companion. But on leaving the truck near the railway station I accidentally locked the steering column lock, then found myself unable to unjam it, despite ten minutes’ violent wiggling with the ignition key and the wheel. On returning to the parked vehicle I tried another key and finally, with a bang and jolt, disengaged the lock.

Did David Laws have to jump, or did we push him?

From our UK edition

In the world of political commentary, to quote Enoch Powell’s dictum that for politicians to complain about the press is like ships’ captains complaining about the sea has become almost tedious. But the brisk finality of that remark is too useful to dispense with. Is it, though, correct? Observing the awful story of David Laws’s resignation unfolding over last weekend has caused me to question whether Powell’s really is the last word on the subject. On one thing Powell was right: it is not for politicians to complain. That Mr Laws has not complained (and, I think, genuinely doesn’t complain) has made him the more admirable, and admired.

The Will of the People does not exist. It is the abominable snowman of politics

From our UK edition

I shall now attempt something in which I fully expect to fail. My pessimism is not unfounded. I’ve been trying to put across this case for 30 years, without ever seeing in my hearers’ eyes that glint of recognition that signals the successful communication of an idea. Failure to convey an argument that I’m sure is important and right has been frustrating. But this is the fate of advocates of theories that challenge the very terms of a debate. The same difficulty is encountered by advocates for atheism; may well be encountered if the Hadron Collider in Geneva fails to verify the existence of the Higgs-Boson sub-atomic particle; and was among the reasons the miasma theory of the transmission of diseases lingered so stubbornly in the face of counterfactual evidence.

Why has the war in Afghanistan barely been mentioned during this election?

From our UK edition

During this election campaign a figure of speech passed from novelty to cliché: ‘the elephant in the room’. Various elephants — spending cuts, the national debt, the reform of the NHS — were nominated for the role. But one poor beast never even got into the room. The Afghan war has been distant from our thoughts. Dismal trumpeting sounds have been barely audible from savannahs far away. This was the subject from which, after a polite cough, everybody moved away. The only party prepared publicly to question the wisdom (as opposed to the conduct) of this war has been the British National Party. We should be ashamed. We’re embroiled in a murderous conflict from which we feel unable to discuss escape.

Listening to Schumann’s Romance in F Sharp Major and musing on piano wheels

From our UK edition

In the unlikeliest situations the mind can tear off enthusiastically in unaccountable directions. In the bath, or in the watches of the night, or when almost too exhausted to stand, ideas can suddenly start coming at us, fast and furious. It can happen listening to music, too, as I found out last week. We were at the Wigmore Hall in London, listening to the Swedish pianist Bengt Forsberg play Bach, Schumann and Fauré with artistry and intelligence, when I found myself staring at the wheels of the big black grand piano. And slowly I realised how ball-bearings work. It took me the whole of Schumann’s Romance in F sharp major Op. 28 No. 2, but the engineering discovery was a revelation — and a reproach, too, for never having thought about it before.

Tired of the bigots, tired of the anti-bigots, my moral certitude faltered

From our UK edition

Over the Easter weekend I experienced something rare among columnists: asked for an opinion, I couldn’t think of one. I didn’t know what to think. Ghastly hiatus. Let’s hope this doesn’t happen again soon. Sky News telephoned. There were reports that the Conservative home affairs spokesman, Chris Grayling, had been ‘recorded’ (their word) expressing the opinion that Christian proprietors of bed & breakfast establishments might be permitted to refuse admittance to gay couples who wanted to share a bed. What did I think? Assuming it was true, how should I respond? Sky wanted to send a broadcasting van to our house in Derbyshire to record an interview.

The Spectator Debate

From our UK edition

The Roman Catholic Church is a constant source of controversy, as the ongoing outrage over clerical sexual abuse shows. But the Church also inspires great devotion and loyalty. The Spectator recently hosted a debate under the title ‘England Should be a Catholic Country Again’. Here, we reprise two passionate arguments for and against the motion. Yes, says Piers Paul Read. A Catholic England would counter the barren hedonism of our culture ‘A weak priest inspires contempt,’ wrote François Renée de Chateaubriand in the early 19th century, ‘a vicious one excites abhorrence; but a good priest, meek, pious, without superstition, charitable, tolerant, is entitled to our love and respect.’ As it was then, so it is now.