Rod Liddle

Terribly saddened to hear of the death of Simon Hoggart, a lovely writer and to my mind the finest and funniest purveyor of the House of Commons sketch that we have seen. I saw Simon, surprisingly, in concert in Canterbury, around about this time last year, delighting the audience with anecdotes from his many years watching politicians talk rubbish. We went for a curry afterwards and he seemed on good form, if frail from the punishing bouts of chemotherapy. He was a hugely gifted writer; certainly, the only writer in the English language who could tempt me to read anything about wine, other than the words ‘half price £4.99’.

At last, it has been scientifically proved that Jesus Christ is better than Muhammad. We’d always known that our lad with the beard and the holes in his hands was far superior to that arriviste Arabian chap who hung around in caves. But tell that to a Muslim and they become unaccountably frosty and defensive. Now, though, a couple of scientists have used algorithms and quantitative analysis to prove that Jesus Christ was the most significant and important human being ever to have lived, while poor old Muhammad managed to slink in at number four: Champions League spot, sure, but no cigar.

It’s right, isn’t it, that the storm we’ve just had was far, far, worse than the Worst Storm In A Million Years © we had a month back and which was trailed in advance by the Met Office and all the news programmes? And as others have pointed out, while there was far more damage done to the country and more people were left without electricity this time around, public transport – and especially the trains – were nowhere near so badly affected. We are back, slightly, in Mandela territory; blanket coverage and predictions of an apocalypse on the news programmes seems to have affected the train companies more deeply than did the actual storms. When the country isn’t whipped up into a fury in advance, the companies seem to struggle by.

I’d just like to take this opportunity to say a big thank you to our heir to the throne, Prince Charles, for, as he put it, spending ‘twenty years’ trying to ‘build bridges between Islam and Christianity and (to) dispel ignorance and misunderstanding.’ Sadly, he has concluded that this noble endeavour was in vain and that Christians are being persecuted right, left and centre (or indeed wherever they are unfortunate enough to live in Muslim countries). Still, how kind of him to have tried. The thought of Prince Charles dispelling ignorance on any topic, let alone this one, is a captivating one.

I think this following quote, from the Romanian ambassador Ion Jinga, may go down as my favourite of the year: ‘In their overwhelming majority, Romanians in the UK are well integrated and, as Prime Minister David Cameron has acknowledged, ‘work hard, pay taxes and are valued by their employers.’ New figures just out from the police reveal that Romanians in London are seven times more likely to be arrested than other Londoners, and 800 of them were arrested in November alone. I assume that’s because we have a criminal justice system which is institutionally racist and determined to stop upright, law-abiding Romanians from working hard and paying their taxes…….expect that article to appear in The Grauniad some time soon, if it hasn’t already.

It may come as a grave surprise to you that, when it was offered as a prize in a charity auction, the opportunity to attend a dinner lecture by the former prime minister Gordon Brown failed to reach anywhere near the sum the organisers had expected. Particularly so as the prize promised, as a special treat, the chance to join Gordon for dessert. You would imagine there would be literally millions of people who’d jump at the chance to sit next to Mr Brown as he glowered over his ice cream, to which he had applied copious amounts of salt, totally silent except for the occasional sotto voce murmuring of ‘bigot!

Good luck to Trenton Oldfield, his wife Deepa Naik and their newborn baby today: it’s Oldfield’s day of judgement. He will find out if he is to be kicked out of the country, as Theresa May apparently wants. The tribunal hearing is at 1400. Oldfield, if you remember, disrupted the Oxford-Cambridge boat race a couple of years back and served a bizarrely lengthy prison sentence as a consequence. I did not – and still don’t – agree with his protest. But it hurt nobody, endangered nobody apart from himself and the boat race was concluded. It seems to me to have been a rather grandly eccentric protest in a great British tradition. What is not part of the Great British tradition is the spite and vindictiveness on the part of our state which followed.

Look; I’m sorry Nelson Mandela is dead. It happens quite often to people in their 90s who have been very ill, even famous people, but I’m sure that doesn’t lessen the sadness for many of us. I never met the man but, on balance, I came to the conclusion that he was a force for good rather than ill. I think I came to that rather banal and broad brush conclusion twenty years ago, or maybe fifteen. So, I’m sorry he’s dead, I wish it were otherwise. But for Christ’s sake BBC, give it a bloody break for five minutes, will you? It’s as if the poor bugger now has to bear your entire self-flagellating white post-colonial bien pensant guilt; look! Famous nice black man dies! Let’s re-run the entire history of South Africa.

Absolutely fascinating double page spread in The Observer yesterday which suggests that the UK is ‘sleepwalking’ towards an exit from the European Union. My only quibble with the piece is that the source of this narcolepsy was not explained: is it drug induced, or have we perhaps become zombified? Either way, we don’t know what we are doing, according to The Observer. This is the usual recourse of the left when the rest of the country makes the grotesque mistake of thinking differently to what the bien pensants want. The feature was based upon a poll which suggested that only 14 per cent of Brits consider themselves ‘European’, which is a rather higher figure than I’d have thought, unless it’s simply pedantic geographical determinists.

I see that Russell Brand has morphed into Mehdi Hassan. Mehdi, if you remember, excoriated The Daily Mail and then the paper published the cringe-worthy paean of praise Hassan had written to the paper’s editor in chief, Paul Dacre, when he was after a job. Brand, meanwhile, has bravely stuck it to The Sun newspaper and of course the most evil man in the entire history of mankind, Rupert Murdoch. The paper apparently ran a story that Brand had cheated on his girlfriend. Yes, yes, I know – big story. Anyway, in his usual tortured prose Brand kicked the hell out of The Sun.

My memory gets addled sometimes, so maybe I’m wrong about this. But didn’t it used to be the case that when politicians were caught out lying, they made some sort of shame-faced apology to the nation and begged for our forgiveness? I’m sure that was it, you know. So if I’m right, to judge by the case of our Attorney General, Dominic Grieve, things have turned precisely 180 degrees. Mr Grieve has just offered a full and unqualified apology for having told the truth. I thought that politicians were meant to do that — tell the truth? And what an apology. In an interview with the Daily Telegraph, Mr Grieve said the following: ‘We have minority communities in this country which come from backgrounds where corruption is endemic.

The head-teacher of a primary school in East Sussex has written to parents asking them not to swear in front of their children, although reading between the lines I think swearing at them might be ok. Maybe if your kid is at this particular school you could ring up and clarify the matter. Anyway, according to research children hear their parents use six naughty words over the course of a week. I hope it means six different naughty words over the course of a week, rather than just six occasions in which the parents swore, because otherwise I’m seriously buggered. It’s just lucky that our daughter goes to bed before Channel Four News is on, otherwise she’d hear from me six different naughty words in as many seconds.

Unfortunate timing. In the Sunday Telegraph today is an article by Gyles Brandreth eulogising the crossword; we are approaching its 100th anniversary. Yes, all well and good. But travel to The Telegraph crossword site and this is what you will see: Sorry we're experiencing some technical problems and we're working to try and fix them. Please try back again soon. That message has been up since Friday. I pay forty quid a year for the pleasure of doing Telegraph crosswords online. I realise that this isn’t a tragedy on the scale of Darfur, or that cyclone which hit the Philippines. It’s just annoying. I can’t start a day without doing two cryptic crosswords.

I am still trying to get some sort of closure. For almost three weeks now I have been tormented by memories of Newsnight’s Kirsty Wark dancing to the song ‘Thriller’ at the close of her programme, something presumably intended as a light-hearted Halloween treat for the eight or nine remaining viewers. It was not a light-hearted treat for me. I have always harboured the suspicion that Ms Wark is indeed a zombie, an innocent cadaver disinterred by shadowy persons within the left-wing Scottish establishment — the Baron McSamedis — and subjected to some awful supernatural process before being released into the world to do their vile bidding. Watching Kirsty lumber along with a troupe of dancers dressed as pretend zombies served merely to confirm this fact for me.

The ghost people, the letter people. The ones we hear about in court but never call by their real name; instead, Baby P and Girl A. And now Marine A. They remain hidden from us for reasons which are, one supposes, rational and sensible, but somehow this non-naming magnifies our shame or abhorrence at whatever has befallen them, or what they have done. It must be bad if we’re to strip them of their identities, no? Eventually they shuffle off the stage, after some sort of justice has been dispensed, still in some cases anonymous, shrouded. Shuffle off, indeed.