The Spectator

When I became Editor of the Spec, I mentioned to one interviewer that “Pretty Vacant” by the Sex Pistols was my favourite pop record. This, most entertainingly, was declared by some in the blogosphere to mark, definitively, the death of punk. Last night’s Ten O’Clock News included an item on punk’s 30th anniversary, including an interview with a very cuddly Johnny Rotten looking back on the mayhem he caused in the late Seventies with wry amusement. These days, he’s a prosperous property developer and quite likes the Queen. Fiona Bruce’s indulgent smile at the end of the item said it all: if there was any life left in punk, Fiona finished it off with her trademark arched eyebrow.

  When I heard that they had covered Trafalgar Square in grass my reaction was that it was a ghastly gimmick. But having seen it, I’ve got to admit that it looks fantastic. Even though the weather hasn’t been the best in London these past few days, it has created the best type of summer-time ambience: think university once exams are over. Sadly, they’re getting rid of the turf tomorrow. But they really should keep the new look for the summer. After all, the London Eye was only meant to be a temporary structure and its now a beloved part of the Westminster skyline.

A hot, hot night in a Portobello Road boookshop for a poetry reading (see my earlier post) hosted by the excellent Pass on a Poem and Oxfam, in aid of Darfur and Chad. As I stand up to read "The Day He Died" by Ted Hughes, I notice Saffron Burrows sitting in the back row of the audience. Just another night in Notting Hill, I guess. I manage to get through without fluffing my lines, I think. Then it's over to the real talent. Our own Rachel Johnson reveals that (in addition to all her other talents) she has a beautiful speaking voice, reading Auden's Epitaph on a Tyrant with great poise and power. And speaking of that poet, the great Alex James, Blur bassist and man of letters, reveals that his own haircut  is "centenary Auden", to mark the 100th anniversary of Wystan's birth.

According to the Youth Justice Board, most teenage “gangs” should be referred to less abrasively as “groups”. Which makes me think how very different Martin Scorsese’s movie would have been if it had been called Groups of New York. I doubt Goodfellas would have made such an impact if it had begun with the line: “As far back as I can remember, I've always wanted to be a group member.” And, somehow, “group rap” – or perhaps “group rhyming partnership initiatives” – doesn’t sound quite as snappy as “gangsta rap”. Still, next time you see a bunch of hoodies menacingly huddled on your street corner, you can rest assured: they’re really only a “group”.

What a wonderful afternoon it was! Who can imagine a theatre jammed full of the most famous thespians in London honouring that despised creature, a theatre critic? But they — Miriam Margolyes, Corin Redgrave, Patricia Hodge, Simon Callow and many others — all came. Actors loved the late Sheridan Morley, for they realised that Sherry not only loved but also had huge understanding of the theatre. And they — actors, directors, producers, friends — came in their hundreds to show their affection for him. And as they read from Sherry's reviews, reminisced, sang and recited, they made us laugh and cry.

The issue that ends up rendering asunder the American right will not be Iraq but the other i-word, immigration. George W. Bush and Karl Rove have long believed that the future of the Republican Party depends on appealing to Hispanics, the fastest growing minority group in the US. They argue that with their strong family values, work ethic and small business mind-set this group are just waiting for the Republicans to court them. Indeed, Bush and Rove received some vindication for this theory when a sharp increase in the Hispanic vote helped win Bush a second term.