Hannah Swithinbank

From the THES…

“American academics attend conferences in best bib and tucker, they are on time, they ask intelligent questions, they are polite, they have beautiful teeth and they are disappointingly sober. Now, all this could be construed as professionalism – particularly when compared with the drunken, late-night antics of the flip-flop-wearing, unshaven and almost always sunburnt Limeys whose most pressing questions are “where’s the bar?” and “does anyone remember my room number?” – but, I assure you, it is arrogance. Make no mistake: their reverence for the subject, thoroughgoing knowledge of its intricacies, prolific capacities to produce research of the highest standard … what unspeakable arrogance!”

(“Arrogance” by Peter J. Smith)

It is particularly true of the postgraduates… Though in their case it is probably more out of fear than out of arrogance. What that says about the character of their professors…

Telegraphed Nonsense

On Saturdays, I get the Telegraph delivered. Don’t judge me, I just like the supplements. Will Greenwood on rugby alone makes up for the raving Tory-dom. Plus the General Knowledge crossword makes me feel smart.

Normally I ignore most of the ‘Comment’ page (that would, I believe, be the Op-Ed section, if you’re an American), especially if it’s a day when Boris Johnson indulges his wholehearted interest in the Classics and generally gets stuff wrong. However, today I took a look at the section because it had Charles Moore, former editor, autobiographer-in-progress of Margaret Thatcher writing about the George Osborne Situation, and I’ve spent most of the last week referring to Little Georgie as a “complete ninny”. I maintain that it is so far beyond dim to go to a party on Corfu and then gossip snarkily about another attendee – one, moreover, who has the nickname ‘Prince of Darkness’ – when you also spoke to the nice Russian man, without expecting there to be repercussions that it is actually impossible to do more than shake one’s head sadly and call the man a ninny, a nincompoop, or a twit.

This is Moore: “The Tory dogs did not rush out barking to defend their man… Why?… The first [reason] is that lots of Tories do not like Mr Osborne very much. This is a pity, since he is the most able political tactician they have. They should recognise that master tacticians sometimes need to have unrepeatable conversations with unspeakable people, and be understanding when they are caught out doing so. Instead of which, a shadow cabinet minister was quoted – unattributably of course – as calling him a ‘twerp’.”

The reason for the italics (mine) will become clear.

Turn the page and you find Simon Heffer, who I normally avoid because he writes things I consider unncessarily bitchy and patronising about Barack Obama (This week’s effort: “Tiot police are standing by across the country in case the electorate does not do what the media are telling it and elect Barack Obama.”)
However, today he also has a photo of Little Georgie Osborne in his Bullingdon club garb and the headline “Can you trust this man with your money?”
This is what he has to say. “Can a dolt – indeed, a born dolt rather than one who has had doltishness thrust upon him – aspire to hold a great office of state? For little George… could be walking out of 11 Downing Street with Mr Gladstone’s dispatch box within months. How much doest that make you want to vote Conservative? Articles by George’s friends and toadies have suggested he is a brilliant political strategist. I struggle to see the brilliance entailed in associating with a Russian plutocrat, and indeed with his political opponent Lord Rumba of Rio. Less brilliant still was the leaking of little George’s boatsting to journalists… about how Lord Rumba – then just plain Peter Mandelson – had “dripped poison” about Gordon Brown.”

I would like to congratulate the Telegraph on having one columnist effectively calling another a toadie on successive pages. When I’m not feeling alarmed to discover that I have sympathised with one of Simon Heffer’s opinions (you can read the whole thing here), I am distinctly amused by this, and by the sight of Heffer turning his ire on what is supposed to be his own side. Though of course, he is a man who makes Boris Johnson look like a fluffy lefty.