The Spectator - 29.08.2026.pdf

29 AUGUST 2026 / £6.50

WWW.SPECTATOR.COM / 创立于 1828

《旁观者》的复仇

迈克尔·戈夫表示， 优秀教师正 陷入困境

加拿大 C$12.95. 欧元区 €9.95. 南非 ZAR139.90. 瑞士 CHF10.90.

为什么资产在 200 万英镑-750 万英镑 之间的家庭要支付最高额度的遗产税？

Pensions & Wealth Live 2026, 9月15日（周二），伦敦赫灵汉姆俱乐部

遗产税和新的养老金制度变更，是像您这样成功的家庭目前面临的棘手问题。这就是为什么我们创建了 Pensions & Wealth Live —— 一个全新的半日活动，旨在帮助您确保家族财务的持续成功。

- 特邀演讲嘉宾：前财政大臣杰里米·亨特爵士（议员）以及前自由民主党党魁文斯·凯布尔爵士

- 一场由《旁观者》商业编辑马丁·范德·韦尔主持的思想引领性小组讨论

- 与顶尖金融专家进行非正式交流 —— 他们在整个活动期间随时为您提供服务

- 活动将于上午11点在伦敦最顶级的会员俱乐部之一 —— 赫灵汉姆俱乐部轻松的环境中开始。您将在全天享用轻食午餐和茶点，包括由屡获殊荣的鲍尔福酒庄提供的英国葡萄酒品鉴

因此，无论您是独自前来还是与伴侣同行，我们的目标是让 Pensions & Wealth Live 成为一个既令人愉悦又富有信息量的活动。期待您的光临！

杰里米·亨特爵士

文斯·凯布尔爵士

《旁观者》读者现在可通过 wealthlive.co.uk 预订，并输入代码 Spectator26，享受原价 £75 票价的 50% 折扣。

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《旁观者》

《旁观者》 创立于 1828

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基尔·斯塔默曾承诺将对选民的生活“采取更轻柔的方式”。然而，他领导下的政府提高税收的速度超过了 1970. 年以来的任何时期。自 2024 年大选以来，账单已增加了 746 亿英镑 billion，而本届议会仍有三年任期。

在进入唐宁街时，安迪·伯纳姆承诺将以不同的方式从事政治并“带回希望”。然而，无论多少社交媒体上的宣传都无法消除市场的约束。这位新任首相目前避开了利兹·特拉斯那样引发债券市场恐慌的命运，但议会一直处于休会期间，伯纳姆的计划仍然模糊不清。当国会议员于 9 月 1 日返回时，他将面临审查；而约翰·希利在 10 月 28 日提交的首份预算案的倒计时已经开始。

英国政府可能已经更换，但我们危险的财政状况并未改变。我们的新任首相无法回避这些事实。在走向工党领导地位的过程中，伯纳姆临时做出了巨大的承诺，包括建立国家护理服务、将泰晤士水务国有化以及实施“战后以来规模最大的市政住房建设规划”。目前已有迹象表明他正在削减野心；据报道，对水务行业的公共控制已被推迟。但征税的冲动却显而易见。

希利在辞去国防大臣一职仅几周后就被任命为财政大臣，他辞职的原因是斯塔默和里夫斯未能为我们的军事承诺提供充足资金。因此，国防开支很可能会增加。这种投资是必要的，但资金从哪里来？当工党议员拒绝支持哪怕是削减 50 亿英镑 billion 的福利开支时，斯塔默的权威就崩溃了。经济增长依然疲软，借贷成本日益增加，进一步提高税收的阴影笼罩在眼前。

伯纳姆拒绝排除在斯塔默的纪录级加税基础上进一步加税的可能性。虽然他承诺将采取“谨慎的方法”，但他表示，对于经济的“挑战性”状态，他不会表现得“不切实际”。当被问及他迄今为止做出的承诺——包括将巴士票价上限设定为 £2 以及削减电费增值税——时，伯纳姆暗示这些可以通过从其他地方重新分配资金来筹集。但当重新排列泰坦尼克号上的甲板椅已无法掩盖受损船体时，这种做法就失去了意义。英国经济所遭受的问题，至今还没有任何一届政府愿意从根本上解决。

根据纳税人联盟（TaxPayers' Alliance）的数据，公共债务已超过 3万亿英镑。历届政府都证明无法扭转这一长期趋势。虽然 2010 年代初由保守党领导的政府

无论社交媒体如何操纵，都无法消除市场的约束

在工党重新执政之前，尽管曾暂时削减开支，但新冠疫情和乌克兰战争导致国家规模迅速扩张。

瑞秋·里夫斯在短暂担任财政大臣期间，展现了她所属政党所有最糟糕的本能。由于受限于竞选宣言中排除增加所得税、增值税和国民保险金的承诺，她转而向雇主和企业家开刀。这导致企业信心暴跌，就业市场萎缩，高收入者纷纷外流。最低工资的大幅上涨以及安杰拉·雷纳的《就业权利法案》使情况进一步恶化。

伯纳姆不太可能将这一切视为问题。在接任工党领导职务时，他承诺要扭转“新自由主义”，并将撒切尔主义视为英国所有病灶的根源。此外，有迹象表明他将延续失败的斯塔默政府的路线。伯纳姆任命了曾任里夫斯首席顾问的尼尔·阿明-史密斯担任其经济政策主管。吉姆·奥尼尔——一位曾一度被认为可能接任该职位的前财政部大臣——因首相对财富税的偏好而望而却步。

希利的任命看似令人安心；如果传闻中的埃德·米利班德出任财政大臣，结果只会是对私营部门更多的惩罚。但尽管希利以冷静著称，但他对增加国防开支的渴望将鼓励伯纳姆征收更高的税收。旨在用于国防的税款很容易被转而用于资助伯纳姆那些更具意识形态色彩的项目。

英国确实需要增加国防开支。但进一步加税并非解决方案。伯纳姆和希利反而应该处理福利问题，如今福利每年耗资 3540 亿英镑 billion，自 2010. 年以来实际增长了 16%。与此同时，英国四分之一的劳动年龄人口仍处于失业状态。

工党需要面对迄今为止一直回避的问题：病假和残疾津贴的增长，以及人口老龄化的长期成本。修复福利制度不仅仅是一项削减政府开支的练习。它还将鼓励有能力工作的人重新进入职场，从而扩大税基。从简单的原则来看，自食其力者的生活应当比那些被他们资助的人生活得更好。然而，伯纳姆似乎更有可能从劳动者身上拿走更多，以给予福利领取者更多。

上一任未能遏制开支和税收的财政大臣希利最终在国际货币基金组织（IMF）面前俯首称臣。那场经济灾难导致了现任首相如此鄙视的撒切尔主义革命。首相还可以从历史中吸取其他教训。工党曾经是一个相信劳动尊严的政党；拥有北方工业根基的伯纳姆也应当如此，但几乎没有迹象表明他对这种旧工党价值观感兴趣。让我们希望他能在 10 月预算案之前重新找回这些价值观。

Sticking point, p20

7 日记 我在见到唐娜·塔特和西蒙·塞巴格·蒙蒂菲奥里时几乎晕倒

8 政治 轻装上阵 詹姆斯·希尔

13 道格拉斯·默里 哈里和梅根值得第二次机会

21 莱昂内尔·施赖弗 孤注一掷

23 晴雨表 运行机器人、近亲结婚和欧洲之星人数

25 朱莉·伯奇尔 我夺回了“跛子”这个词的使用权

27 信件 詹姆斯·邦德、英格兰教会和野外游泳

28 其他事务 贝森特应该记住撒切尔：你真的无法对抗市场 马丁·范德·韦尔

查尔斯·摩尔休假。

Royal return, p13

10 学校霸凌 优秀教师正处于围攻之中 迈克尔·戈夫

12 被误记的女士 苏格兰那位“霸凌”副首席部长曾是我的老师 迈克尔·西蒙斯

14 令人不安的发展 爱尔兰正屈服于一股“激进时尚”浪潮 艾丽丝·奥汉隆

15 法律基石 《北爱尔兰动乱法案》仅对爱尔兰共和军有利 Al Carns

16 主持人笔记本 皮尔斯·摩根，我来找你了 Vanessa Feltz

18 我的布拉格觉醒 20世纪70年代的一次访问治好了我的共产主义同情心 Peter Hitchens

20 邮寄订单 降低邮票价格以挽救圣诞卡 Sophia Money-Coutts

22 指环周期 托尔金洞悉了权力的真相 D.J. Taylor

26 “易进易出” 我们的大学对中国留学生产生了依赖 Patrick Drury

地下深处，p38

30 Frances Wilson 《昨夜我梦见》， 作者：Paul de Zulueta

32 Philip Hensher 《新黑暗时代》， 作者：James Marriott Caroline Moorehead 《墨索里尼的幽灵》， 作者：Stephen Gundle

34 Emily Hill 《太洛杉矶》，作者：Eve Babitz Derek Turner 《故事与歌曲的生物》， 作者：Lee Raye

35 Ian Thomson 《我们曾在此》，作者：Stephanie Phillips；《雷鬼革命》，作者：David Katz；《舞厅之火》，作者：Derek A. Bardowell

36 Leyla Sanai 《M的一生》，作者：Rachel Cusk

37 Harry Mount 《教堂之行》， 作者：Rachel Morley

38 Mark Cocker 《脚下的世界》， 作者：Frank Ashwood Leaf Arbuthnot 《寒冷的日落》，作者：William Boyd

政治魔术，p22

艺术 40 Robin Simon 不要将雷诺阿仅仅视为感伤主义

42 电影 《狗星》 Deborah Ross

43 流行音乐 The Cure；Phoebe Bridgers Graeme Thomson 戏剧 《另一半如何恋爱》； 《艾比盖尔的派对》 Lloyd Evans

46 展览 Hilda Quick Hermione Eyre

47 古典音乐 《奔腾之治》； 林肯中心爵士乐团/ Marsalis / Wang Richard Bratby Helen Farish 《麦田小径》：一首诗

48 电视 《无条件》； 《恐怖：银色之魔》 James Delingpole

游戏玩家 《漫威 Tokon：格斗之魂》 Sam Leith

阳光之州，p40

生活 53 无聊生活 Lloyd Evans 狗的生活 Sophia Money-Coutts 54 静物 Catriona Olding 55 快节奏生活 Tanya Gold

最后... 49 关于...Grockles的笔记 Ruari Clark

56 国际象棋 Luke McShane 竞赛 Victoria Lane

57 填字游戏 Doc

58 美食 Angus Colwell 你的问题已解决 Mary Killen

59 葡萄酒俱乐部 Jonathan Ray

60 没有神圣的牛 Toby Young 不列颠之战 Michael Heath

61 Wiki之人 Rory Sutherland 古今对比 Peter Jones

62 见于他处 Jim Grenville 注意你的语言 Dot Wordsworth

做梦吧，p30

遗憾的是我的母亲已经去世了，但她在所有事情上都是正确的：从现在起，我将听从她的建议。 Simon Sebag Montefiore, p7

1968年是我加入一个托洛茨基主义教派的一年。那一年我打了一个人（为了自卫）。Peter Hitchens, p18

这部电影改编自一部小说，背景设定在一次流感流行病几乎抹去人类之后，文明被简化为一系列电影布景。（你知道这种剧本。） Deborah Ross, p42

我曾经有一位非常聪明的美国同事，因为她喜欢夏威夷披萨，在Tinder上被拒绝约会。Rory Sutherland, p61

撰稿人

Eilis O'Hanlon 在第14页探讨了爱尔兰正陷入新一波的“激进时尚”（radical chic）。她为《星期日独立报》（Sunday Independent）撰写每周专栏。

Al Carns 于6月辞去武装部队大臣一职，他在第15页撰文讨论《北爱尔兰动乱法案》。他曾任皇家海军陆战队突击队员。

Frances Wilson 在第30页撰文讲述杜·莫里埃家族，她是多部传记的作者，包括《电火花：缪丽尔·斯帕克的谜团》（Electric Spark: The Enigma of Muriel Spark）。

Emily Hill 是一位记者和作家，其故事集于《糟糕的浪漫》（Bad Romance）和《晚期资本主义之爱》（Love in Late Capitalism）中出版。她在第34页撰文讨论伊芙·巴比茨（Eve Babitz）。

Leaf Arbuthnot 在第38页评述了威廉·博伊德最新的间谍惊险小说，他是《寻找伊莉莎》（Looking for Eliza）的作者。

本周肖像

新曙光！

珍妮找不到新男朋友。于是她买了个机器人。

国内新闻

安迪·伯纳姆作为首相进行了首次出访，目的地是基辅。他说：“尽管俄罗斯对我方发出了令人愤慨的威胁，但我们将继续支持乌克兰。”他表示，将提供关于英法共同研发的“风暴阴影”导弹中英国制造组件的信息，以帮助乌克兰构建自己的版本。乌克兰向英国提供了一批秘密战场情报。据发现，俄罗斯驻英大使安德烈·凯林（Andrey Kelin）已于7月离职且尚未获得继任者。伊朗黑客导致一家英国发电站停电四天。新型10便士硬币投入流通，正面为国王头像，背面为西方松鸡。

在米德尔斯堡附近，一辆载有五名年轻男子的汽车在A66双车道上逆行，并撞上一辆载有两名警察的警车，导致七人死亡。在死去的年轻人中，四人共有37项之前的定罪记录。作为对车祸前事件调查的一部分，已有17人被捕。铁路运营商 CrossCountry 在控制中心发生停电后，取消了几乎一整天的所有服务。司法大臣亚历克斯·诺里斯（Alex Norris）表示，一项将严重性犯罪和暴力犯罪者在出狱后限制在仅数英里宽区域内的计划将于10月启动。莱斯特郡、诺福克郡和萨福克郡警方确认，他们向自认为兼具男性和女性身份的警员发放了不止一张证件卡。在一周之内，有250名移民乘坐三艘船抵达。

从10月1日起，即使在政府削减电费增值税之后，家庭支付的能源价格平均将上涨4%，从 1,663 英镑 增加到每年 1,723 英镑。伯纳姆先生拒绝排除10月预算案中加税的可能性。英格兰的市长将被赋予权力，在规划决策（如涉及150套以上住房的场地）上可以否决地方议会的决定。政府将在十年内每年花费10 亿英镑 billion，每年建设7,000套社会住房或经济适用房。建筑历史学家彼得·豪威尔（Peter Howell）去世，享年85.岁。来自伦敦的英国巴勒斯坦裔 El-Khawas 一家（包括父母和两个女儿）在西萨塞克斯郡肖勒姆海域遭遇困难后不幸遇难。将亚伯里斯特威斯的旧学院（Old College）通过一项£5300 万的翻新工程转变为文化中心和酒店的计划已被暂停，以待审查。萨塞克斯公爵与公爵夫人突然宣布他们将返回英国，并让孩子们在这里上学。一只去年在桑德兰失踪名为 Ginge 的猫在利兹的一个野猫群中被发现。

国际

乌克兰总统弗拉基米尔·泽连斯基表示，在国家处于战争状态时举行选举可能会摧毁这个国家。这一提议是由被解雇的前国防部长米哈伊洛·费多罗夫提出的。在乌克兰克里维里赫的一家购物中心，两架连续发射的俄罗斯无人机发起的双重打击造成 16 人死亡。乌克兰方面表示，其袭击了俄罗斯萨马拉地区的一家炼油厂。乌克兰袭击了俄罗斯第二大在线零售商 Ozon 在克拉斯诺达尔、达吉斯坦、斯塔夫罗波尔和阿迪格亚南部地区的物流设施。美国中央情报局（CIA）局长约翰·拉特克利夫访问莫斯科进行未公开会谈。一名 33 岁的英国男子布拉德利·汤森（Bradley Townsend）被发现于 6 月在为俄罗斯作战期间在乌克兰被杀。

美国宣布对伊朗及其贸易伙伴（包括中国）实施更广泛的经济制裁。美国财政部长斯科特·贝森特称其为针对伊朗的“史上最大规模的单一金融攻势”。美国与加拿大之间的贸易谈判破裂，美国表示将对多种商品征收 50% 的关税，加拿大则采取报复措施。乡村歌手多莉·帕顿（Dolly Parton）去世，享年 80 岁。

已破产的房地产巨头恒大集团的创始人，在与香港接壤的城市深圳被判处终身监禁。在华盛顿特区，被指控制造 1988 年洛克比空难炸弹的阿布·阿吉拉·马苏德·凯尔·阿尔-马里米（Abu Agila Mas'ud Kheir Al-Marimi）的审判因出现新证据而推迟至 1 月。在穆罕默德·本·萨勒曼王储对法国进行国事访问后，官方宣布将通过沙特阿拉伯的投资在巴黎附近建设三个主题公园，其中一个为漫画主题。在尼日利亚尼日尔州的德卡拉（Dekara）、吉丹·扎纳（Gidan Zana）、萨邦·吉达（Sabon Gida）和马萨卡（Masaka）村庄，枪手发动袭击并绑架了约 500 人。在几内亚，科纳克里一个垃圾场的一座垃圾山坍塌在房屋上，造成至少 30 人死亡。CSH

日记 西蒙·塞巴格·蒙蒂菲奥里

我并非建制派的一员，尽管我是在一个可以被描述为其文学机关的刊物上撰写这篇文章。我知道我的声音会被正确地解读为一个特立独行的局外人，正坐在副驾驶位上闯入特权阶层的巢穴。安迪·伯纳姆担任财政大臣（First Lordship of the Treasury）的最初几周，其特点是使用一些具有阶级标识的食物片段——如圆面包（baps）、薯片、啤酒——来暗示尽管他毕业于剑桥并在威斯敏斯特工作了数十年，但他依然是一个反建制主义者。但这没什么新鲜的（除了使用了 TikTok）。

沃尔波尔曾在议会里大口吃诺福克苹果，以装饰他作为乡绅的资历；劳合·乔治曾宣布“出身于乡村小屋的人的时代已经到来”，并推崇他对 bara brith（一种威尔士面包）的喜爱。即使在俄罗斯，波特金亲在叶卡捷琳娜大帝的招待会上，也通过赤裸上身、戴着红色头巾、嚼着萝卜大摇大摆地走动，来展示他的反建制主义。

我们的时代是严肃且禁欲的。我并不是建议新任首相应该像博林布鲁克子爵那样庆祝——他在 1710 年被任命（薪水：1,500 英镑）时，“赤身裸体”地跑过海德公园，而一群欢闹的妓女唱着：“一年 1,500 镑给我们！”来庆祝——但我希望伯纳姆能像迪斯雷利那样，享受攀登到“油腻之杆（权力之巅）”顶端的感觉。

我曾经也犯过反建制主义的错误，当时我告诉一名采访者，我那在 1903 年从俄罗斯逃出来的犹太家庭是头发里带着稻草的农民。消息传出后，我母亲给我打了电话。“我的父亲，”她激动地说，“是十代学者的后裔。”“但他们很穷！”我坚持道，“他们是坐着干草车逃出来的！”“那里……没有……稻草！”她说，“请纠正这一点！”于是我告诉下一位采访者，即使在立陶宛的犹太村（shtetls）里，我们也是建制派。

我的母亲总是担心我那些过于雄心勃勃的项目：“写《耶路撒冷》对你来说压力太大了！你需要营养丰富的食物和充足的睡眠。”“那你建议怎么做？”我问。“把钱还回去！”她说。在她看来，我的体弱多病只适合做一个温室里的病秧子。她绝不会赞同我的新书《大熔炉》（The Cauldron）。《泰晤士报》的评论员确认道：“在这部关于中东的全景历史中，蒙蒂菲奥里正行走在灼热的煤炭之上。”遗憾的是，我母亲已经去世了，但她在所有事情上都是正确的：从现在起，我将听从她的建议。

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我的祖先摩西·蒙蒂菲奥里是一位英国巨头，在维多利亚 era 时代，他与从苏丹到沙皇的所有人都相识。在 19 世纪 20 年代，他与埃及的土耳其-阿尔巴尼亚统治者穆罕默德·阿里结交。当穆罕默德·阿里的儿子赛义德访问伦敦时，他住在摩西家中，并用一件巨大的银质装饰品（现存于 V&A 博物馆）向他表示感谢。赛义德后来修建了苏伊士运河。那是段有趣的时光，伊斯兰统治者可以将儿子送到犹太朋友家中居住。如今，我钦佩摩西应对反犹主义的方式。在参加一次皇家晚宴时，一个偏执狂谴责他道：“我刚访问了日本，我很喜欢那里，因为日本没有犹太人，也没有猪！”“那么你和我应该一起去日本，”蒙蒂菲奥里回答道，“这样他们就各有一个了。”

女王将提高识字率作为她的事业，并创建了成功的“女王阅览室”，这真是太棒了。参加她在克拉伦斯宫派对的作家们，若是为了其他人，他们绝不会出席。上次，我见到了行踪诡秘的唐娜·塔特，几乎晕厥：《金翅雀》是 21 世纪的杰作。去年 10 月，女王亲切地为我协助组织的克利夫登文学节揭幕。之后该如何超越这一点？我们目前最顶级的阵容——请务必光临。

所有的历史书都应该配有原声带。为了我最近写的几本书，我创建了一个 Spotify 历史歌曲播放列表。这些歌曲要么是关于历史的（比如比利·乔尔的《我们没有点火》），要么是出现在历史中的：例如乌姆·库勒苏姆的《瓦拉·扎曼，亚·西拉希》（《久违了，我的武器》）。最伟大的历史歌曲是滚石乐队的《对恶魔的同情》，不过 Boney M 乐队的《拉斯普京》是对罗曼诺夫王朝宫廷宠臣现象的一次如此具有学术水准的舞蹈分析，以至于它应该被列入 GCSE 历史教学大纲。我还加入了 Village People 乐队的《YMCA》，因为那是唐纳德·特朗普的赞歌。当美国总统访问利雅得时，甚至连沙特人都不得不播放《YMCA》——我想这首歌在那里并不经常被播放。

西蒙·塞巴格·蒙蒂菲奥里的《大熔炉：现代中东的形成》（The Cauldron: the Making of the Modern Middle East）现已出版。

政治 / 詹姆斯·希利 (JAMES HEALE)

轻装上阵

如果说安迪·伯纳姆（Andy Burnham）有一个金科玉律，那似乎就是：与基尔·斯塔默（Keir Starmer）反其道而行之。这位新任首相习惯于将自己与前任区分开来。他退回了关于辅助死亡和陪审团制度改革的立场，清洗了斯塔默的忠实追随者，并将那种像屹耳（Eeyore）般的绝望换成了像跳跳虎（Tigger）般的希望。

伯纳姆本周对乌克兰的访问再次提供了例证。斯塔默在就任首相后用了四天时间进行首次海外访问，而伯纳姆则等待了四周。两人都是基辅的坚定支持者，但这位新任工党领导人显然希望以不同的方式处理外交政策。“我更倾向于在有真正理由的情况下进行访问，”他表示，“我这次来是有原因的。”

在“伯纳姆团队”内部，许多人认为斯塔默花费了太多时间在参加各种峰会以积累里程，而不是在国内推动议程。一度有六分之一的时间被斯塔默花在海外，他在短短两年内进行了 49 次访问。“这样做是为了好的目的，”一名工党议员评论道，“但当基尔在旅行时，他在威斯敏斯特失去了对内部成员的掌控。”

伯纳姆的日程表反映出他对国内事务的关注。9 月 29 日的党代会演讲和 10 月 28 日的预算案是他日程表上的两个重要日期。不过，下个月的联合国大会将为他提供与世界领导人会面的机会。

首相对那些称他对外交事务不感兴趣的议论感到不满，但事实确实是，他的政治经济主张——权力下放、公民自豪感和公共控制——并不能自然地转化为国际舞台上的语言。虽然英国与澳大利亚和美国签署的国防协议 AUKUS 符合“伯纳姆主义”战略（因为潜艇将在英格兰北部建造），但中国制造的汽车对于“梅克菲尔德测试”（Makerfield Test）来说则是一个更棘手的话题。选民们今天可能喜欢廉价的电动汽车，但明天可能会对工业区衰落感到愤慨。

目前有两位“重量级人物”在填补外交政策的真空。斯塔默的国家安全顾问乔纳森·鲍威尔（Jonathan Powell）留任原职。与此同时，埃德·米利班德（Ed Miliband）正享受着查尔斯国王街上的“梦想宫殿”，沉浸在担任外交大臣的新身份中。这两个人各自撰写的书籍在一定程度上揭示了他们如何看待外交。鲍威尔的《新马基雅维利》（The New Machiavelli）是对现代世界权力运作方式的冷静描述；而米利班德的《大干一场：如何修复我们的世界》（Go Big: How to Fix Our World）则是对全球进步主义者的一次更为乐观的号召。因此，本届政府外交手段的可能模式是：一半愤世嫉俗，一半浪漫主义。

在与员工的电话会议中，米利班德谈到了他希望支持全球中左翼政府的愿望。他的早期干预集中在气候变化和国际援助上：这类政治主张曾让他的导师戈登·布朗（Gordon Brown）倍感兴奋。外交部正准备宣布对约旦河西岸的以色列定居点实施强有力的制裁。“安迪确实渴望在这方面做得更多，”一名米利班德的盟友表示，“而埃德凭借他的背景，正处于一个非常适合执行此项工作的位置。”米利班德认为我们的价值观服务于我们的利益，并且在排放谈判问题上，他认为自己是一个冷静的现实主义者。他与鲍威尔两人

伯纳姆的政治经济学在国际舞台上难以自然转化

认为英国的未来依赖于多边主义：在脱离欧盟之后，国家必须通过维护基于规则的秩序的机构来开展工作。在一个强权至上的世界里，两人认为自己是在为正义而战。

为此，米利班德在怀特霍尔组建了一支较为优秀的团队。他的部长助理包括伍德勋爵（Lord Wood）——布朗麾下才华横溢的年轻思想家之一；柯斯蒂·麦克尼尔（Kirsty McNeill）——一名曾参与“让贫困成为历史”项目的布朗追随者；以及哈米什·法尔科纳（Hamish Falconer），他讲述的与塔利班谈判的往事给工作人员留下了深刻印象。

他们接手的是一个在削减预算和丑闻双重打击下摇摇欲坠的机构：恢复士气显然是当务之急。下周将进行常任秘书职位的最终面试，以接替奥利·罗宾斯（Olly Robbins）。最后两名候选人是凯伦·皮尔斯女爵士（Dame Karen Pierce）和林迪·卡梅伦（Lindy Cameron），她们分别代表了该部门文化的不同分支。皮尔斯曾是“我们在华盛顿的代表”，一名务实且资深的外交部职业官员；而卡梅伦则拥有安全与发展背景，反映了 2020 年与援助部门合并后的特点。

“如今我的团队随我Wherever go.”

接下来的 12 个月将是对这支团队的一系列考验。伊朗问题最为紧迫。一名助理用“一团糟”（Clusterfuck）来形容霍尔木兹海峡关闭所带来的经济后果。另一位则说：“记得那艘卡在苏伊士运河里的船吗？这次的情况会像那样，但程度要严重得多。”在担心伊朗的控制将助长海盗行为的氛围中，英国将试图扮演国际水道的调停者和捍卫者。新任国防大臣韦斯·斯特里廷（Wes Streeting）在接受外交速成培训，此前他的美国同行皮特·海格塞斯（Pete Hegseth）敦促他加入由美国领导的确保海峡安全的行动。关于两人在桑赫斯特举行峰会的讨论尚未付诸实践。

在其他方面，中国在欧洲战略产业中占据主导地位。官员们尤其担心北京与布鲁塞尔之间即将爆发的贸易战，因为政府正试图与双方都培养关系。国防投资将成为本届议会贯穿始终的主题，伯纳姆渴望看到更多“基于英国”的采购。此外，还有那些令人头疼的峰会事务。英国计划明年在曼彻斯特主办 G20 峰会，后年在伦敦主办 G7 峰会，前者可能会出现普京、习近平及其随从在索尔福德街头行走的一幕。

尽管问题重重，但机遇同样存在。仍有许多新的联盟和贸易协定有待争取。在过去的六年里，英国更换了七位外交大臣和五位国家安全顾问。如果能留住鲍威尔，一段稳定的时期可能会对政府大有裨益。一名助理评论道：“所有外交大臣都必须在自己的前瞻性议题和实时卷宗之间取得平衡。我们正处于一个伊朗和乌克兰问题占据主导地位的时代。”

米利班德的敌人们已经在垂涎交战的机会。保守党将把他的太阳能计划描绘成被中国强迫劳动所污染，并抨击鲍威尔是“真正的外交大臣”，执意要移交查戈斯群岛。与此同时，改革党（Reform）则提出了另一种批评，强调了奈杰尔·法拉奇（Nigel Farage）与右翼领导人的私人关系，包括美国的 J.D. 范斯（J.D. Vance）和法国的乔丹·巴德拉（Jordan Bardella）。

对于工党中的许多人来说，这届政府感觉像是证明社会民主主义可行性的最后机会。这可能也是某种国际主义的最后机会。

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Christopher Ward

Blob 的复仇

优秀教师正遭受围攻

迈克尔·戈夫

乔利昂·莫汉（Jolyon Maugham）的观点有其道理。在杰森·阿尔代（Jason Arday）不幸去世后，确实需要进行一项调查。但这位“良好法律计划”的负责人并非第一次找错目标。

需要被调查并追究责任的并不是新闻界。如果报纸和杂志（包括本刊）出现错误、失职、诽谤或诋毁，法院可以予以制裁，读者可以弃之不顾。

我们能够生存并出版，是基于公众的需求。调查的真正焦点——且应是持续且详尽的调查——应该是剑桥大学，尤其是其教育学院。他们是阿尔代教授的雇主。事实上，不仅如此，他们还是他的拥护者和拉拉队，通过吸引公众关注来吹捧他的任命。

阿尔代的去世令人深感悲痛。其原因目前尚不可知。专业医生以及撒玛利亚会（Samaritans）都警告，不要将自杀归结为单一原因。出于对他以及所有可能在自残念中挣扎的人的尊重，在评判导致他离世的原因之前，应当保持谨慎。

但此次事件中，人们将注意力转向剑桥大学所扮演的角色是完全合理的。阿尔代曾担任教育社会学教授的剑桥大学教育学院，是国内最负盛名的教师培训机构之一，负责为全国各地的公立学校培养数以千计的毕业生。

该学院的存在及其卓越地位是由纳税人支撑并由政府保证的。学费和研究的支持资金来自你们的口袋。从该机构毕业的人员塑造着下一代的思想。我们每个人都关心其资金如何使用，以及它如何塑造我们孩子的学习。

十多年前，我就首次对大学教育学院的行为提出了担忧。我特别质疑了像剑桥这样高等教育机构中负责教师培训的人员的优先级和意识形态倾向。我担心，尽管我们教室中绝大多数教师拥有高尚的理想主义和真诚的奉献精神，但那些为他们准备职业培训的学者却在让他们——以及让我们——失望。我当时提出（或许有些鲁莽），存在一个由大学专业人士组成的“团块”（blob），其价值观和方法与追求卓越教育背道而驰。

我因为敢于质疑他们的资历和权威而遭到嘲笑。在批评最激烈的人之中，就有教育学院院长希拉里·克雷敏（Hilary Cremin）。

克雷敏不仅拒绝纪律、知识和测试的需求，甚至拒绝学校本身这一概念

克雷敏教授正是那个在阿尔代被任命时称赞他是“在研究方面全球最顶尖的人才”的人。无论她给出这种赞美之词的动机为何，一句话不应定义一个职业生涯。但克雷敏教授最近详细撰写了关于她自己的教育哲学和世界观的文章，这对我们所有人来说很有帮助。因此，我们可以根据她自己深思熟虑的想法来评判她。

她的思想范围在她的著作《教育再野化》（Rewilding Education）中有所阐述。查尔斯·摩尔（Charles Moore）上周在本刊中触及了该书的缺陷。如果要详细剖析其中的愚蠢之处，所需的篇幅将超过查尔斯或我被允许的范围，且需要读者具备超出我们预期权利的包容心。

这部作品不仅积极地拒绝学校中对纪律、知识和测试的需求，甚至拒绝学校本身这一概念。学校被谴责为失败的新自由主义现代性观念的体现，而这种观念建立在充满缺陷的启蒙运动原则之上。书中随意且赞许地引用了米歇尔·福柯。公平地说，福柯确实是对启蒙运动严厉且一贯的批评者。他如此一贯，以至于他欢迎阿亚图拉·霍梅尼的伊斯兰革命以及随之而来的神权政治血洗。事实就是这样。

而且，克雷明对启蒙原则的蔑视确实极其彻底——这一点我们可以从她处理证据、证明和逻辑问题的方式中看出。她特别怀疑“经验真理”，认为这“倾向于一种现代的、都市的、自由主义的、西方世界的观点”。克雷明主张，与其采用这种“北方的认识论”，我们或许可以通过“突出南方的认识论，以挑战全球北方以欧洲为中心的思想主导地位”来实现“认知正义”。

这本书展现了现代学术界的所有弱点：唯我论式的个人回忆被视为“田野调查”；通过引用其他同样充斥着晦涩术语的作品来寻求伪权威；在试图证明某个观点时使用统计数据，却完全不承认相关性并不等于因果关系。

克雷明引用了她自己的一些作品作为其主张的“证据”。具体来说，是她的 11 首“诗”。其中包括一首名为《后记》的诗中的如下诗节：

凝视我的双眼

聆听我的声音

我是

研究者

分享歌曲

同行

共舞。

如果我们还没被克雷明教授自己的诗句所说服，将其视为她智慧的证明，那么我们还将读到一段她宣传“反叛研究”之美德的文字——具体是指在一次研讨会中与一名 MPhil 学生进行的一场“表现主义舞蹈”。这些反叛的研究者以“一种具身对话的形式……围绕彼此旋转，靠近又远离，连接又断开……[以此]表达我们对学术界未来的希望与恐惧”，从而“舞出了我们的学术轨迹”。

阅读这些垃圾时，我的身体确实产生了某种独特的反应，反映了我自己对学术界未来的希望与恐惧。

克雷明教授并非一名在摸索中试图理解其学科的初级研究员；她也不是蒂塔尼亚·麦格拉斯那个更激进的姐妹。她正是那个对那些本应成为我们

莫斯本维多利亚公园学院之所以成为教师工会的攻击目标，恰恰是因为它取得了成功

最优秀的教师本身也受过教育。然而，克雷明教授在她发表的主要著作中，不仅表现出无知，而且还在炫耀并颂扬这种无知。她是在学习的坟墓上跳舞。

克雷明教授并非孤例。至少在剑桥大学不是这样。正如安德鲁·吉利根为《旁观者》杂志网站报道的那样，教育学院的另一位学者法拉·艾哈迈德曾谴责“西方教育”是对穆斯林的“威胁”，但她却鼓励她的同教者在工程学方面做出例外，以便“为圣战生产先进武器”。

这件事最令人痛心的悲剧在于，当剑桥大学以及其他大学的教育学院在兜售这些有毒的废话时，全国范围内其实存在着真正改变工人阶级和少数族裔儿童机遇的典范，而剑桥大学以及教育体制中的大部分人士却对这些典范嗤之以鼻或视而不见。

本月，我们能够对比英格兰各地学校在 A-level 和 GCSE 考试中的表现。我们可以辨别出哪些学校表现出色。你可能会认为，像剑桥这样的机构应当庆幸并从中学习这些学校。

我们可以从中获取丰富的数据。但或许最好的单一参考点是一个名为 Progress 8 的衡量指标。这是优秀的自由民主党前学校大臣大卫·劳斯（David Laws）的创意，它分析了儿童在校期间教育表现的提升程度——简单来说，就是“增值”。它考察儿童进入中学时的水平（即小学毕业测试的分数），然后记录该群体在 16 岁参加 GCSE 考试后的进步情况。

这比仅看 A-level 表现更公平，因为许多中学没有设立第六形式（sixth forms）。它也比单独看 GCSE 结果更公平，因为它充分考虑了学生的先前成绩。因此，那些招收教育程度较低或处于弱势群体学生的学校，其面临的挑战会被纳入整体评估中。

值得注意的是，我们之所以拥有这个衡量指标，从而能够识别出全国最好的国立学校，仅仅是因为我们在小学结束时有 Sats 测试，在 16 岁时有 GCSE 考试，而这两项干预措施正是克雷明教授及其在教师工会中的盟友所厌恶的。

在 Progress 8 指标中表现最好的英格兰学校是位于温布利的一所国立综合学校：米凯拉社区学校（Michaela Community School）。紧随其后的是默西亚学校（Mercia School），这是谢菲尔德一个工人阶级区域的另一所综合学校，直接模仿米凯拉学校的模式。进入前十名的还有位于哈克尼的姐妹综合学校：莫斯本维多利亚公园学院（Mossbourne Victoria Park Academy）和莫斯本社区学院（Mossbourne Community Academy）。这些学校都服务于较贫困的多民族社区，且在录取时不进行筛选。它们通过在 GCSE 考试中超越许多付费独立学校能力的表现，改变了人们的生活。

人们或许希望这些学校及其领导者能受到专业协会的赞赏，被左翼政府因其为工人阶级儿童提供的机遇而称赞，并被培训我们教师的大学教育部门视为值得效仿的典范。

然而，这些学校及其领导者反而被污名化、被羞辱且被排斥。那些理应为提高教育成果而奋斗的教师工会和学校领导机构，要么对这些学校嗤之以鼻，要么对其感到尴尬。工党部长们则在嘲讽或贬低。高等教育界的人士则在冷笑与谴责。米凯拉学校校长——极具启发性的凯瑟琳·比尔巴尔辛（Katharine Birbalsingh）所取得的成就，被嘲笑并被归结为筛选学生（而该校既没有也无法进行筛选）或统计学上的障眼法。莫斯本维多利亚公园学校（Mossbourne Victoria Park）之所以成为教师工会和左翼活动人士的目标，恰恰是因为它取得了成功，而愤怒尤其指向其严格的行为准则。

在学校里，一个能让教师教学、学生学习的平静且有目的的环境，似乎是一个很难被认为有问题的教育特征。但如果这样想，就误解了我们大学教育系内部的意识形态主义者及其工会盟友的驱动力。在 Progress 8 衡量标准中表现最出色的众多学校，其共同点在于它们相信统一制服、高行为标准、学术严谨、定期测试、教师采取启发式教学的直接指令，并避开大学教师培训师所信奉的“基于小组”或“以儿童为中心”的学习法。

'我的 A-level 考试失败了。'

这些学校的成功，是对克雷明（Cremin）教授及其盟友倾注职业生涯的所有理论和意识形态的一次响亮、有力、基于实证且无可争辩的反驳。他们憎恨这些学校，就像教廷憎恨伽利略一样——他们所有伪装的权威，在被证实的证据这一硬事实面前全部瓦解。

让这一教训变得紧迫的原因在于，克雷明教授及其盟友假装信仰的事业——即解放最贫困和边缘化的人群——恰恰是由那些被他们摒弃方法、被他们轻视领导者的学校在推动。

希望给来自受偏见创伤之社区的年轻人提供额外帮助以获得成功，这绝非卑劣或不光彩，事实上，这包含着一种理想主义和同情心。探讨我们如何能更好地帮助患有自闭症或其他残疾的孩子获得最好的发展机会，这完全是有意义的。希望给来自最贫困背景的学生提供尽可能最好的教。

在学校里，一个安静且有目的的环境似乎成了一种令人反感的奇怪特征

的教育体验。这就是凯瑟琳·比尔巴尔辛（Katharine Birbalsingh）在米凯拉学校（Michaela）所做的，也是默西亚学校（Mercia School）的情况，以及莫斯本学院（Mossbourne Academies）两所分校所确保实现的。当自由学校、学院和其他综合学校采用传统教学方法、严谨的课程设置和定期测试时，他们所做的正是这些。

如果我们想确保更多来自少数族裔、贫困背景或患有残疾的年轻人获得成功，那么我们需要更多这样的学校。如果政府想知道资金从哪里来，那么我有一个建议。也许，当未来的任何调查不可避免地得出结论，认为剑桥大学教育学院应该关闭时，由此释放的资金可以提供帮助？

记忆中的小姐

苏格兰那位被指“霸凌”的副首席部长曾是我的老师

迈克尔·西蒙斯（MICHAEL SIMMONS）

当我听说一名公务员内部人士对苏格兰副首席部长珍妮·吉尔鲁斯（Jenny Gilruth）提出霸凌指控时，我并不感到惊讶。我自己就曾领教过她的怒火。吉尔鲁斯在我就读的爱丁堡综合学校教授现代研究——一门结合了政治学与社会学的课程。她当时就以有点刻薄著称，而且不是一个你想要让她失望的人；她绝对是个纪律严明的人。随着她在爱丁堡油腻的公共部门晋升阶梯上攀升，这些特质似乎一直伴随着她。她在教育苏格兰（Education Scotland）工作一段时间后离开教学岗位，随后成为苏格兰议会议员（MSP），并最终成为约翰·斯威尼（John Swinney）的副手。

本周末有消息披露，她涉嫌发送了一封“残酷”的电子邮件，其中“点名羞辱”了她从前任那里接手的那些无能官员。这封邮件被“误发”给了部门内的所有人——包括那些被指无能的官员——导致了巨大的“愤怒与不安”。一名消息人士告诉《苏格兰太阳报》：“每个人都害怕她——因为她是个霸凌者。她以前就很糟糕，但现在变得更糟了。”

吉尔鲁斯的“打击名单”——苏格兰政府否认其存在——据称包括了她从前任副首席部长凯特·福布斯（Kate Forbes）那里接手的公务员团队的每一位成员，以及她不喜欢他们的原因。当她被告知由公务员管理人员而非她本人做出人事决定时，她“大发雷霆”。

而且，天哪，她真的很会发脾气。我第一次接触到她可怕的脾气是在她协助监督的一场业余戏剧演出期间。作为一名低级别的舞台助手，我的任务是订一批达美乐比萨。当我认识的吉尔鲁斯小姐吃起她的比萨时，她突然怒火中烧。“你给我订错了填心饼底，”她爆发道，“你真是没用。”这让人不安且诡异；就像那些爱丁堡的公务员一样，我感到一种愤怒与不安的交织。

大约一年后，她给学校曲棍球队做了一次鼓舞谈话。“听着，很简单，”她解释道，“直接攻击他们的脚踝就行。”我把这当成了一个玩笑，但其他人则更为震惊。

因此，她这种粗鲁的风格延续到苏格兰的高级官员职位上并不让我惊讶。但我们要明确一点：填心饼底和脚踝事件并不构成霸凌，而且至少根据目前的证据来看，对员工质量大吼大叫也不构成霸凌。然而，这些指控似乎已成为那些对高标准过敏的官僚阶层惯用的手段。

吉尔鲁斯绝不是第一个发现这一点的部长。2022年，当媒体出现报道称英国副首相多米尼克·拉布（Dominic Raab）涉嫌将一片番茄扔过房间时，一项由国王法律顾问（KC）领导的调查随即启动，进行了60多次访谈，拉布被踢出政府——他是里希·苏纳克（Rishi Sunak）任内六个月内第二个因这类违规行为而丢掉工作的部长。

戈登·布朗（Gordon Brown），另一位脾气古怪的苏格兰人，也被传言经常大吼大叫且令人疲惫，导致国家霸凌

她给学校曲棍球队做了一次鼓舞谈话。“听着，很简单，”她说，“直接攻击他们的脚踝”

求助热线违反了各种保密协议，并公开声称布朗团队的三名成员曾打电话向他们寻求建议。

但布朗、拉布和吉尔鲁斯真正的共同点在于，他们要求严谨。领导拉布调查的国王法律顾问亚当·托利（Adam Tolley）在报告中指出，对绩效进行“合法、合理且建设性的批评”并非霸凌。这是一个重要的区别。为公众服务不应被视为一份普通的职业——有时它会充满紧张且要求极高。而公务员系统并不希望如此。

如果说吉尔鲁斯（Gilruth）该受到批评，那应该是基于她的过往记录。她作为副首席大臣（DFM）的主要职能，似乎就是阴森地站在斯威尼（Swinney）身后，而后者则像个任性的校长，在一名怒目而视的级长陪同下，对着荷里路德（Holyrood）的新闻记者团训话。她之前的部长任职期间并没有取得太多成效。讽刺的是，对于这样一个纪律严明的人来说，在担任教育大臣期间，面对暴力流行的情况，她告诉学校她不支持“更多惩罚性的手段”。苏格兰学校的攻击事件激增。当她在电视上被问及一份关于最严重事件的报告时，她承认自己没有读过。

但我毫不怀疑，我们国家表现不佳的部分原因在于公务员系统的过度修正。2020年，高级公务员工会——第一分会协会（First Division Association）的总书记戴夫·彭曼（Dave Penman）声称，至少五个部长办公室的约30名员工提出了欺凌投诉。他说，与英国公务员系统的其他部分相比，这种情况极其罕见。苏格兰民族党（SNP）对此并不满意。

在从事新闻工作之前，我曾在苏格兰政府的一个独立机构短暂担任公务员；“福祉”（wellbeing）是其核心。当时政府所做的一切都聚焦于国家的“福祉”，以及数量不断增加的公共部门员工的“福祉”。难怪现在你连对鹅大喊一声（指不敢有任何冒犯）都不行。事实上，我有大量时间被花在“每周跟进”、“状态检查”、“绩效评估”和“非正式福祉更新”上，以至于几乎没有真正的工作能完成。

“福祉”似乎在边境以南（指英格兰）也流行了起来。最近一条 Instagram 帖子走红，一名“女强人”网红吹嘘说，对于那些向往居家办公——或者在罗马办公的人来说，公务员是一条绝佳的职业路径。而我最近遇到的一位公务员，在有人建议私有化融资模式可能比国民医疗服务体系（NHS）更好时，明显地变得情绪激动。

这并不意味着欺凌是一个更好的替代方案。布朗（Brown）无法通过大吼大叫赢得选举。拉布（Raab）被指控的“扔番茄”行为也没有化解监狱危机。吉尔鲁斯的那封“残酷”邮件也不一定会改善她的部门。但是，当公共服务生产力未能恢复到新冠疫情前的水平，当一些苏格兰政府办公室记录的核心员工出勤率低至8%且失败案例不断增加时，我们或许可以原谅偶尔爆发的部长式挫败感。

苏格兰的副首席大臣可能是个刻薄的人，但我们更应该担心的是，她是否胜任自己的工作。

道格拉斯·默里

哈里和梅根值得第二次机会

不久前，我偶然看到一本泰德·休斯（Ted Hughes）的桂冠诗人诗集，书上有写给一些朋友的题词。其中包含一段这位已故桂冠诗人未发表的短诗，写道：“保皇党 / 感到恐惧 / 女王是一枚 / 手榴弹里的销钉。”如果我对诗人的意思理解正确，那么我认为自己就是这样一个保皇党。

我不喜欢对王室的批评，尤其是对君主的批评。每当这种情况发生时，感觉就像人们在敲击某种根本性的东西——而这种根本性远超批评者的认知。在我看来，如果必须进行批评，应当在私下进行，以免破坏我们在这些岛屿上所拥有的这种相当神奇的安排中那脆弱的平衡。

显然，并非所有人都同意这个观点。前段时间，我因为一部描绘王室成员的戏剧与一名美国制片人发生了争执。我告诉他我认为这太不像话了。他观察到，我对一部甚至没看过的戏持有如此强烈的观点。我不得不解释说，我对各种事情都有强烈的观点，而我是否看过某样东西并不重要。在经过一番交锋后，我提出了我的基本信念：我认为在舞台上塑造王室成员形象是完全错误的。我的对话者将此斥为极其过时的观点——在他注意到我看起来多么受宠若惊之前，他认为这个论点已经胜出。

我之所以说这些，仅仅是因为关于萨塞克斯夫妇的情况必须得说几句。

显然，哈里王子的泄密之举很难原谅。显然，他的妻子试图就王室中并不存在的种族主义行为投下的炸弹更难原谅——尽管我倾向于将其归结为文化隔阂。我怀疑梅根根本不知道我们在英国对于一个孩子是否会变成红发如此痴迷。不过，我扯远了。

重点在于，萨塞克斯夫妇的回归是我通常会不惜一切代价去回避的那类事情。然而，有些重要的事情需要注意。

我厌恶篡改历史，更不用说篡改极近的历史了。我们大多数人都足够年长，能记得 2018 年在温莎举行的王室婚礼。我不认识这对幸福的新人，所以没收到邀请函时并不在意，但当我发现有多少同样不认识这对新人的人收到了邀请时，心中确实感到了一丝伤害。无论如何，像大多数国民一样，我在电视上观看仪式时感到一种平静的自豪与喜悦。

如果君主制要进行调整（它一直如此），那么这次就是一个非常成功的调整。在没有喧嚣且广泛的喜悦中，有两件事发生了。首先，一位在青少年时期显然时而迷失的王子扭转了他的生活。哈里王子的

我怀疑梅根根本不知道我们在这里如此痴迷于孩子是否会变成红发

在军队中的一段经历将他从一个略显迷茫的“备胎”变成了国家可以钦佩并感到自豪的人。在现有的好感之上，他提供了一个相当典范的示范，展示了尤其是那些在人生早期某个阶段感到迷茫的年轻人，是如何能够重启并改变人生轨迹的。其次，通过爱上那个女人，且她被他的家人和国家如此充分地接纳，整个国家一直在审视的一片波涛汹涌的水域，看起来似乎有望获得一个如何平息的范例。

随后，不可避免的事情发生了。萨塞克斯夫妇迅速决定将任何批评种族化——仿佛不无条件地热爱梅根和哈里的唯一解释必然是种族主义。因此，被歪曲形象的是这个国家，而非这对夫妇。

“事实上我不介意移民——只要那对可怕的萨塞克斯夫妇不搬进来……”

以免人们忘记那段时期变得多么疯狂，演员劳伦斯·福克斯（Laurence Fox）失去了他的事业，因为他在国家电视台说了一句显而易见的事实：英国不是一个种族主义国家。

那些种族主义的“反种族主义者”对此深恶痛绝。于是萨塞克斯夫妇拍拍屁股离开了，甚至可怜的哈里王子在随后的几年里频频出现，发表关于内隐偏见和类似的 2020 年胡言乱语。

随后，这对夫妇开始尽可能多地赚钱，主要是通过告诉各种媒体公司，他们会有可以转化为“内容”的“想法”。遗憾的是，想法领域证明并非这对夫妇的专长。

他们所拥有的，不过是几乎所有其他名人在此期间都在散播的那些半成品假设。在这些问题上，这对夫妇谈论了他们想为世界做多少好事，以及他们想带来多少“改变”。

这里就到了关于萨塞克斯夫妇的真正教训：即“改变”和“影响力”不是你谈论的东西，而是你去做的事情。如果这对夫妇留在英国，他们一天能做的好事比他们在一千个播客节目中能做的还要多。

他们本可以开始那些通常枯燥的王室例行公事，比如为学校体育馆剪彩或参加乡村节日，但面对的是真正兴奋的公众。他们本可以建立一个慈善机构来帮助其他年轻人改变生活。只要通过切实去做这些事情，他们可能真的能改变人们——尤其是年轻人的——生活，并创造出无法用金钱衡量的价值。相反，他们决定给每件事都标价——而且标上能想象到的最高价格。

现在，就连加利福尼亚州也看穿了他们，他们正返回英国。为了君主制、为了这个国家以及为了他们自己，我希望他们能意识到自己走错了路，并再次改变人生轨迹。当然，他们需要保持一定的沉默。但评论阶层也需要展现一定程度的宽容。在做出这一观察后，我现在将回到我对这件事过时且如苦行僧般的沉默之中。

前路艰辛

爱尔兰正陷入一场“激进时尚”浪潮

埃利斯·奥汉隆（EILIS O'HANLON）

今年夏天，一名来自基尔代尔郡（Co. Kildare）的法学院学生因涉嫌为共和派异见人士运送炸弹跨越爱尔兰边境而被拦截。她的律师称，她并不知晓包里装的是什么，且受到了“操纵”。然而，这名 25 岁女子的被捕凸显了爱尔兰共和主义令人担忧的复兴——以及年轻、受过良好教育的中产阶级一代在其中扮演的角色。

在“动乱时期”（the Troubles），爱尔兰的大部分地区幸免于激进主义的吸引。在某些可预见的媒体和学术领域，人们对爱尔兰共和军（IRA）始终持有一定程度的默许同情，但在恐怖主义最严重的年份里，26 县的爱尔兰共和国对共和派政党—— Sinn Fein（ Sinn Féin）的民众支持率依然微乎其微。

然而在今天，爱尔兰全境现代社会的不满情绪正在重新点燃往日的紧张局势。在都柏林，住房危机导致许多人无法负担自己的住房，反建制的不满情绪日益增长。结果，爱尔兰似乎正陷入一场“激进时尚”（radical chic）的浪潮。

这导致了一种带有绿色色彩的对“动乱时期”的修正主义解读。新一代人认为， Sinn Fein 的北爱领导人、在斯托蒙特（Stormont）自封为“所有人的首席部长”的米歇尔·奥尼尔（Michelle O'Neill）出席爱尔兰共和军绝食抗议者托马斯·麦克尔威（Thomas McElwee）的纪念活动并没有什么问题。而麦克尔威在 1976 年用汽油弹袭击一名父亲的店铺后，导致一名 26 岁的三个孩子的母亲伊冯娜·邓洛普（Yvonne Dunlop）被活活烧死。对他们来说，这可能就像是古代历史一样遥远。年轻人在音乐节上轻率地高喊“ooh aah up the 'Ra”（支持 IRA），而民众的记忆正被不负责任地唤起，完全不考虑这将导致怎样的后果。

在《贝尔法斯特协议》承认只要大多数人希望北爱尔兰留在英国，它就仍是英国的一部分数十年之后，爱尔兰共和派异见主义再次蠢蠢欲动。但这一次，它是由社交媒体以及一种普遍认知驱动的——即认为成为爱尔兰人就是成为某种宏大的全球反殖民斗争的一部分。此外，爱尔兰共和主义在亲巴勒斯坦活动主义的形式中找到了一个强有力的新加速剂。

贝尔法斯特的说唱组合 Kneecap 将北爱尔兰与加沙之间进行了明确的类比，并受到文化和政治机构的赞赏。爱尔兰过去的动乱被浪漫化，随后与巴勒斯坦的现状联系在一起：历史上的准军事行动被重新定义为解放运动；爱尔兰共和军和哈马斯被呈现为自由战士。在贝尔法斯特的国际墙（International Wall）上，一幅巨大的壁画展示了爱尔兰与加沙事业之间的纽带，画面中有两只手

爱尔兰的往昔动荡被浪漫化，进而与巴勒斯坦的现状挂钩

两只手紧握在监狱铁窗之间，一只手臂披着三色旗，另一只则披着巴勒斯坦国旗。文字写着：“战俘团结”。

这些意识形态信念已深植于爱尔兰的体育和文化生活之中。下个月爱尔兰将在欧国联足球赛中对阵以色列，届时预计将出现抗议活动。 Sinn Fein（新芬党）和社会民主党都提出了停止该场比赛的动议。新芬党领导人玛丽·卢·麦克唐纳（Mary Lou McDonald）表示：“我们绝不容忍身着绿色球衣对阵以色列。”抗议者还针对利默里克的一场飞盘赛，原因是该赛事允许以色列队参赛。

相比之下，当爱尔兰板球队最近在单日国际赛系列赛中对阵阿富汗时（爱尔兰队以 4-0 告负），批评之声出奇地少。尽管包括英国在内的其他国家，由于塔利班对女性的迫害，在国际赛事之外拒绝与该国比赛。

这进一步凸显了爱尔兰政治和媒体建制派对以色列的痴迷。前司法部长、本身也是犹太人的艾伦·沙特（Alan Shatter）注意到，爱尔兰的人权组织和妇女团体在阿富汗比赛期间保持沉默，且缺乏“新闻界的愤怒”，由此得出结论：如果没有一个方便的犹太人可以被“指责或妖魔化”，他的爱尔兰同胞们根本不感兴趣。

沙特的宗教信仰被用作驳斥其对爱尔兰民族主义批评的工具。当他在 2024, 年谴责新芬党在恐怖分子炸弹制造者罗斯·杜格代尔（Rose Dugdale）去世时对其赞美时，这个共和主义政党的回应是：“艾伦·沙特在过去五个月里一直在为（加沙的）种族灭绝助威。他的言论不值得回应。”

文化机构正日益屈服于爱尔兰中产阶级激进主义的压力。去年夏天，都柏林圣三一学院成为第一所与以色列机构断绝关系的爱尔兰大学。它不仅撤资了与以色列国防军有关联的公司，还切断了所有涉及以色列大学的研究项目，甚至拒绝允许以色列学生作为长期交换计划的一部分进入这所爱尔兰最古老的大学。这在都柏林被誉为人权的伟大胜利。

圣三一学院的一位知名毕业生——爱尔兰小说家萨莉·鲁尼（Sally Rooney）禁止以色列出版商将其小说翻译成希伯来语。她同样将爱尔兰与加沙联系起来，她表示：“以色列定居者殖民主义的技术继承并完善自英国和欧洲帝国主义的实践。”她公开支持“巴勒斯坦行动”（Palestine Action），并声明如果这让她在英国法律下成为一名“恐怖主义支持者”，那就这样吧。爱尔兰尚未将该组织列为恐怖组织。

甚至欧洲歌唱大赛也成了这种新型爱尔兰激进主义的受害者。爱尔兰在 5 月份拒绝参加歌唱大赛，以抗议以色列的参与，而爱尔兰国家广播公司选择不转播该活动。总理迈克尔·马丁（Micheal Martin）支持此次抵制。

随后出现了一个极其可信的说法，称一架新的政府专机在浓雾中将难以降落，因为它没有安装以色列设计的安全系统。无论这一说法是否经得起推敲，令人震惊的是，爱尔兰有如此之多的评论员毫不犹豫地为这一决定辩护。

这种亲巴勒斯坦激进主义与爱尔兰共和主义情绪之间日益增强的结合，不仅影响了外交政策，还损害了作家兼战略家欧根·哈里斯（Eoghan Harris）所称的“中产爱尔兰体面的多元主义”。它正在帮助复活那些曾导致数千人死亡、且被认为已被埋葬的政治信仰。

虽然 Sinn Féin（ Sinn Féin 党）在选举中并未能像其希望的那样从这一现象中获益，但其核心主张和口号正日益被常态化。随着那些对暴力仍有真实记忆的人年岁渐长，年轻一代正被鼓励将过去浪漫化。每个人都有权缅怀自己的死者；而危险在于。

远非立场坚定，各党派政治人物正通过与这种激进趋势暧昧来争取选票

然而，爱尔兰共和主义者同时正试图将其他所有死者从叙事中抹去，无论他们是 10 月 7 日的受害者，还是爱尔兰共和军（IRA）恐怖主义的受害者。

在这种狂热的环境中，要求举行爱尔兰统一投票的呼声日益高涨，尽管这将给北爱尔兰带来不稳定影响。 Sinn Fein（共和党）最近向新任北爱尔兰事务大臣克里斯·布莱恩特（Chris Bryant）施压，要求“有序地过渡到统一全民公投和宪法变更”，将其描述得仿佛已成定局。其暗示是，目前仅剩下最后的细节需要勾勒。一些评论员现在甚至建议，除非英国同意进行边境投票，否则 Sinn Fein 应该抵制权力下放的议会。布莱恩特的回答——“我不会现在开始投票，也不会在本周、本月，或者我想说，在今年开始”——只会鼓励 Sinn Fein 进一步推进此事。

至于爱尔兰的其他政党，他们远非在面对这种激进趋势时立场坚定，许多人反而正与这些新势力暧昧以帮助争取选票。细 Gael（细盖尔党）和 Fianna Fail（费安娜法尔党）的政治人物——这些政党在历史上曾建立起坚固的宪法壁垒以抵御共和主义暴力——也同样在散布反以色列的言论。这使得重心进一步向左倾斜，并加速了这些政党曾经试图遏制的激进主义。这能出什么问题？如果以那个在边境被指控的年轻女性为例，答案是：一切都会出问题。

法律基础

《北爱尔兰动乱法案》仅在为 IRA 服务

阿尔·卡恩斯（AL CARNS）

在“动乱”期间，被杀害的英国军方人员数量比在伊拉克和阿富汗战争中合计死亡的人数还要多。除了士兵，无辜的公众、国会议员、警察以及王室成员都成为了攻击目标。《贝尔法斯特协议》（Good Friday Agreement）结束了武装斗争，但关于如何重新定义对“动乱”记忆的斗争仍在继续。战争已演变为“法律战”。

今年 6 月我辞去武装部队大臣一职时，国防资金占据了头条新闻，但《北爱尔兰动乱法案》（Northern Ireland Troubles Bill）是我离职的另一个原因。《贝尔法斯特协议》是工党的一项标志性成就。莫·莫拉姆（Mo Mowlam）走进梅兹监狱（the Maze），与那些大多数国民甚至不愿与其共处一室的人交谈。和平要求每个人都去做一些在政治上极其痛苦的事情。1998 年的天才之处在于，每个人都接受了一个不完美的解决方案，并以放弃某些东西来换取回报。

新的《北爱尔兰动乱法案》打破了这种对称性。一方面，是一个单一的独立机构——独立和解与信息恢复委员会（ICRIR），它接触到被删减情报的权限超过了以往任何公共调查委员会。另一方面，是爱尔兰警方内部的一个遗产处理部门，面对着由冲突双方家庭（尤其是 IRA 受害家属）发起的日益增加的死因研讯和民事诉讼队列。

大多数 IRA 家属并不想要结案，他们想要的是筹码。他们希望英国政府坐在被告席上，由那些炸毁酒吧、在家人面前枪杀警察的人所制定的条款来对其进行审判。该法案目前的草案将他们想要的东西交到了他们手中：一个仅在单一方向运行的法律框架。

英国政府的档案是公开的，士兵的名字是已知的，交战规则也是如此。而 IRA 没有保留任何可比的档案，即便曾经存在记录，也已被销毁。如果只有一方保留了战争记录，你可以猜到哪一方会处于劣势。这是一种“真相的等级制”。在政府任职期间，

我敦促当时的北爱尔兰事务大臣希拉里·本（Hilary Benn）在法案中加入一条规定，声明陛下武装部队成员与 IRA 成员之间不存在等同性。值得肯定的是，他在议会发言席上多次提到这一点，但这些文字并未进入法案。1967 年起北爱尔兰的法令使每个人在法律面前平等，而法案的起草者无法找到规避之法。

每一个遗产案件都应毫无例外地提交给 ICRIR。它拥有权力且具备访问权限，并且可以在证据充分的情况下将其移交，无论这意味着起诉还是死因研讯。

前保守党政府的《遗产法》（Legacy Act）为退伍军人提供了有条件的豁免权，但法院认定其与《欧洲人权公约》（ECHR）不兼容，导致工党不得不收拾残局。超过 30 起死因研讯和调查案件堆在总检察长（Solicitor General）的办公桌上。“血日星期日”调查耗资约 £2 亿，却未产生任何定罪。一次低成本的公共调查大约耗资 £2000 万。如果该法案按草案通过，我们将面临一系列耗资数亿英镑公共资金的死因研讯，且可能没有任何起诉。

退伍军人群体并非在要求豁免。他们同意任何违法者都应承担责任。但这是在一个既不能揭示真相也无法实现问责的拖延程序，与一个能够同时实现两者的程序之间做出选择。我们正在将叙事权让给那些试图将一场复杂冲突简化为简单故事的人：即英国政府是侵略者，而为其服务的人则是共犯。共和主义运动想要惩罚退伍军人，惩罚英国政府，并重写“动乱”的历史。

我相信首相和新政府可以在托尼·布莱尔和莫拉姆的工作基础上，正确处理此事。如果处理不当，我们将把退伍军人拱手让给改革英国党，把宪法问题让给 Sinn Féin（共和党），并让保守党在看着我们失败于一件他们自己也无法完成的事情时获得满足感。让 ICRIR 成为通往真相、和解与正义的途径，并以此终结这一切。现在还来得及。

主持人笔记本

瓦妮莎·费尔茨 (Vanessa Feltz)

我非常渴望有一个“B计划”。我的父亲，那个“内衣之王”诺曼，在抚养我们长大时，总是让我们在极度恐惧中生活，害怕有一天会落到“凯里街”（Carey Street，前破产法院所在地）的地步。因此，当 Channel 5 的璀璨之星瓦妮莎陷入危及地面电视的有害瘟疫时，我轻快地宣布了一场快速的复兴。我打算直接在 YouTube 上推出一个全新的节目——《与瓦妮莎在一起》(At Home with Vanessa)——那里已经是皮尔斯·摩根 (Piers Morgan)、安特与德克 (Ant and Dec) 以及霍莉·威洛比 (Holly Willoughby) 这些电视巨头占据的领地。很快，我构思出将我的客厅改造为演播室的想法，将我认识的最精干的电视圈人士召集在一起组成团队，凭空创造出一个节目形式，然后纵身跃入其中。

表妹贝弗利推荐了一支极其出色的建筑队，他们用某种神秘的艺术将她位于米尔希尔 (Mill Hill) 的半独立式住宅变成了罗瑟希斯 (Rotherhithe) 仓库风格。伊戈尔和我握了手。他的伙计们用镐子凿开了我的天花板。我像埃涅阿斯一样站在瓦砾之中，心想我当初是不是应该答应参加《我是名人》(I'm A Celebrity)？

近六十五年来，我一直压抑着创业的冲动。看着我父亲对着一箱箱未售出的桃色尼龙婴儿娃娃睡裙哀叹，彻底消灭了我拿自己辛苦赚来的钱去冒险的任何欲望。我一直是个计件工作者。我主持，我拿钱。我不需要担心相机损坏、休息室的食物、保险或停车位。突然之间，我得为剪辑室、音频技术员、数百瓶水、一个在开关拨动下闪烁着天蓝色、洋红色和蜡黄色的“VANESSA”招牌、罐装鸡尾酒、打印机、化妆师、三脚架、会计、巧克力消化饼干（用来安抚我的神经）以及所有那些在我在各家“母校”——ITV、BBC、Channel 4 ——工作期间由老板出资，而我只需在节目中轻松地发表关于拥堵费见解的所有东西买单。

我成立了一家公司：Lady V Productions 已合法注册。

谁觉得我把自己当成了谁？刘·格雷德 (Lew Grade)？路易斯·B·梅耶 (Louis B. Mayer)？路易斯·沃尔什 (Louis Walsh)？我正在洗劫费尔茨家族的财富。这个笑话的结局会不会是我把奇彭代尔家具劈了当柴烧，然后把孙辈们送进烟囱？马舍尔西监狱 (Marshalsea) 的幻象在我的梦中跳动，期间还穿插着如此热烈的潮热，以至于哈迪斯的热浪都显得寒冷。

当你已经在 2025, 预订了家庭假期，而那时你转型为 YouTube 大亨的想法甚至还没被提及，你该怎么办？如果你取消，你心爱的后代会非常沮丧。如果你不去取消，你将被技术束缚，在沙丘上订卫生纸、发送激烈辩论的话题，并在你人生中第一个拍摄日开机前仅仅 24 小时才降落在城市机场。

自然地，我们愉快地出发了——女儿们、女婿们以及我四个像布歇画作中那样天才的小天使（年龄分别为 12, 岁、10 岁、7 岁和 3 岁）——前往 Valle dell’Erica。那是一个极其低调的度假胜地，它悄无声息地融入崎岖的地貌中，未经训练的眼睛根本看不见。我们享用了青无花果和酥脆的 pane carasau 面包。我们的腿肚被成群的鞍鱼轻快地啃咬。我们在“姿势健康”课程中被矫正得笔直。我为惊醒了那些躺在阳光下礼拜的人而道歉，当时我大喊着：“我们预订卡勒姆·贝斯特 (Calum Best) 了吗？”、“珍妮特·斯特里特-波特 (Janet Street-Porter) 是张床而不是个贝果”以及“不，我们不能提供无麸质燕麦片”。

拍摄第一天非常精彩。奥斯卡奖得主克里斯汀·拉蒂 (Christine Lahti)、珍妮特·斯特里特。

波特、丹妮拉·韦斯特布鲁克、凯伊·亚当斯以及那位来自亨斯内特的绅士（拥有 280,000 名 Instagram 粉丝）在我真正的卧室里、离我的玛丽·安托瓦内特壁纸仅几厘米远的地方，斜靠在我真正的床上。我和 Pumpernick 犹太烘焙坊的尼克一起担任“大贝果挑战赛”（将自己塑造成贝果形状）的裁判，这激起的情绪波动比普鲁斯特从那块干瘪的玛德琳蛋糕中挤出的还要多。绿房——现实中其实是个阳光房——充满了鸡尾酒会般的嘈杂闲谈。一名勇敢的摄像师像打橄榄球一样将一名狗仔队成员扑倒。我不得不把那个被我小心地藏在筛子后面的、毫无美感的烤面包机给挖出来。“猜谁在洗澡？”这个环节产生了意想不到的瓷砖式悲悯，喜剧演员詹姆斯·巴尔（James Barr）忧郁地描述了将他禁锢在所谓的“dommy V”（家庭暴力）关系中的爱、希望与恐惧。如果主持人要在嘉宾身上哭得稀里哗啦，那么瓷砖墙确实是完美的选择。

我的内心对伯顿-on-the-Water 那些饱受困扰的村民们产生了共鸣。这些科茨沃尔德最美村庄的居民是如此地文雅，以至于他们在黎明时分就对那些横冲直撞的游客发起了抗议，以尽量减少对他人的不便。我就住在离阿比路录音室仅几码远的地方，这挺好，因为我不需要给那个每晚负责覆盖掉那些刺眼的国际涂鸦乱画的人付钱。仔细想想你就会发现，我也住在那个斑马线附近——就是那个粉丝们将其视为圣地，为了拍一张和好友们以约翰、保罗、乔治和林戈阵型横跨条纹的照片而前往朝圣的地方。对他们来说，那里就是泰姬陵，在他们奶奶拍摄风景时，交通必须停止。对我来说，那只是一段正在使用的路，他们应该去大英博物馆盯着那该死的罗塞塔石碑发呆才对。

Blue Book.

销售卓越住宅。

探索 Redlap House。

我的布拉格觉醒

20世纪70年代的一次访问治好了我的共产主义同情心

彼得·希钦斯 (PETER HITCHENS)

1978年身在布拉格的彼得·希钦斯

普鲁斯特可以保留他的那块湿漉漉的玛德琳蛋糕。对我而言，“布拉格”这个词是无可比拟的记忆触发点。它像一段隐约听到的忧伤曲调，或是折叠多年床单上淡淡的薰衣草香，将我的记忆唤醒。

很久以前另一个闷热的八月，来自布拉格的噩耗彻底颠覆了我的世界。那是1968年，一个充满奇迹的一年，尽管没有一个是多么美好的，而这一年将永远留在我的记忆中。那一年我加入了一个托洛茨基主义教派。那一年我打了一个人（为了自卫）。那一年我参加了第一次激烈的喧闹示威，抗议越南战争，当时警察的马匹在格罗夫纳广场的三月泥泞中奔腾。几周后，巴黎充满了催泪瓦斯和飞行的鹅卵石，我当时多么希望自己在那里。在那个时代，如果你的头脑不够狂热，就意味着你没有在思考，或者没有完全地活着。我曾站在错误的一边——我也曾站在正确的一边。我永远无法将我当时持有的那些混乱如蛋卷般的观点重新理清，将好的与坏的分离开来。

随后布拉格发生了变故，苏联坦克在此时节左右，将短暂绽放的自由之花碾碎。我知道，或者我认为我知道，革命社会主义并不必然导致苏联那种僵化死板的压制。我鄙视那种暴政和失败。共产主义下的自由就像水底之火。但这座神秘的城市，布拉格，究竟是什么样的？

我的地理课一直很传统，围绕着帝国或本土岛屿，所以我对西高止山脉或高里卡斯（Carse of Gowrie）了解颇多，但对丹。

那是我加入一个托洛茨基主义教派的一年。那是我（出于自卫）殴打一名男子的一年

或喀尔巴阡山脉。现在，我开始了解欧洲的一个我此前从未考虑过的部分，并开始意识到它在我的生命中可能具有重要意义。就像在现代新闻头条背后的一层灰色薄雾一样，我也能看到另一个布拉格和另一场捷克危机，那是在另一个令人窒息的夏末，（令人惊讶地）就在 30 年前。

在 1968 年，慕尼黑危机在时间上的距离，大约就像现在戴安娜王妃与现任国王的离婚一样遥远。我地想象中布拉格的巴洛克式塔楼坐落在伏尔塔瓦河一个阴暗的弯道处，但我们在电视屏幕上看到的却是一座充满爵士风情的城市，主要由 20 世纪 30 年代的建筑组成，有大量的玻璃和混凝土，流线型却又显得过时，而现在这里充满了愚蠢的暴力和正义的愤怒。一段坦克撞向有轨电车路障的影像——电车就像饼干盒一样被撞碎——让我第一次意识到坦克是多么恐怖的东西。我此前从未见过如此肆无忌惮的权力在光天化日之下被行使。

在越南，你看到的是远处爆炸的炸弹，听到的是枪火的噼啪声；但在这里，穿着便服、与我们非常相似的人们，正被装甲车里面色铁青的男人恐吓，而他们的领导人则被戴上手铐押往莫斯科。我们都感到愤怒。我记得一个深夜，我摆弄着我们那台老旧的无线电收音机，它有一个发光的刻度盘，承诺可以接收来自卡隆堡、希尔弗瑟姆、阿斯隆、德罗伊特维奇、柯尼斯堡……以及布拉格的信号。我荒诞地希望能在夜晚的电波中捕捉到最后一声抗议的低语。尽管我们感到震惊和痛苦，但我们知道我们的政府不会采取任何行动，因为在雅尔塔会议上，我们承诺过不干涉。我们痛恨正在发生的事情，但我们的愤怒是空洞的，因此相当可耻。

部分出于这个原因，我从未忘记这件事。十年后，当有机会亲自前往布拉格时，我必须去。这次旅程我真的要归功于伊芙琳·琼斯，她曾权倾一时的工会领袖杰克的妻子，也是我妻子的父母的朋友。伊芙琳在 20 世纪 30 年代曾担任共产国际的信使，将西方共产主义者的信息传递给莫斯科，并带回黄金。她说：“你必须去布拉格。没有其他地方还能保留两次世界大战之间欧洲的精神。那里极其美丽，而且去那里出奇地容易。”由于我当时是一名舰队街（Fleet Street）的记者，我的签证花了几周才寄到，期间捷克秘密警察拆解、复印并重新组装了我的护照。当我们规划铁路行程（巴黎、海德堡、纽伦堡）时，我们注意到官方地图在铁幕处戛然而止——从纽伦堡开始，只有一个指向“Praha”的箭头。

于是，在一个早春之日，我们的火车从昏昏欲睡的弗兰肯地区进入了那个邪恶帝国，穿过一张带刺的铁丝网。如果我之前没认为这是一个邪恶帝国，那么在那一刻我肯定这么认为了。这个国家就像一座监狱。穿着灰色制服的人在车厢之上、之中和之下蜂拥而至，搜查火车的每一个角落以及乘客的每一个口袋和包袋。座位是硬塑料的。车厢内装饰着一颗巨大的红星。我们经过的城市烟雾

“欢迎来到我们的网球俱乐部。”

这里充斥着压抑的气息。我们第一次体会到，害怕说出自己的想法是什么感觉

熏黑，挂满了红白相间的宣传横幅。我们的同行乘客们有着不锈钢牙齿。

当我们进入布拉格郊区时，开始看到印有镰刀锤子标志的苏联铁路车厢，感觉自己仿佛正被拉入一颗更阴暗的太阳的轨道。当我们乘坐有轨电车从文塞斯拉斯广场前往酒店时，我遇到了第一个我意识到是秘密警察的间谍，他主动向我们示好并结交。后来我们遇到了各种各样的人，其中一人在谈到 BBC 全球服务（BBC World Service）带给他的慰藉时几乎落泪，另一位则是来交流的亲英派古巴黑人同志，他急于分享他那极好的朗姆酒。（我们确实这么做了。朗姆酒瞬间打破了数道语言障碍。）

在这一切之外是这座城市，它那弯曲狭窄的街道、钟楼和尖顶，让人奇怪地想起牛津；从山顶俯瞰效果最佳，其中大部分建筑漆黑，仅靠古老的脚手架支撑。共产党人并不珍惜它。这里没有游客。主食似乎是团子。这里弥漫着压抑的气息。我们第一次体会到了害怕说出心中所想是什么感觉。而且，正如伊芙琳·琼斯（Evelyn Jones）所承诺的那样，这座城市的塔楼确实在低语着 20 世纪 30 年代的最后一点魔力。历史——那种真实、危险、能让你恐惧且不安的历史——涌入我的脑海——而这一切就发生在我见过的最动人心魄的美丽之地之一。很抱歉，你现在无法再去那里了。现代世界已经将那里的过去洗刷得干干净净。但我们心中永远拥有布拉格，那是我经历过的最伟大的一堂历史课。

彼得·希钦斯（Peter Hitchens）是《星期日邮报》（Mail on Sunday）的专栏作家。

邮寄订单

降低邮票价格以挽救圣诞卡

索菲亚·钱币-库茨 (SOPHIA MONEY-COUTTS)

神经敏感的读者请翻页，因为在接下来的几个段落中，我将多次提及那个以 C 开头的词（Christmas，圣诞节）。现在还是八月，讨论圣诞节显然还太早，但一项现已发起的运动需要我们现在就关注。

首先，做一个快速的小测验。一张一类邮票多少钱？嗡嗡嗡，时间到。现在是 £1.80，这意味着一本六枚装的邮票要超过十英镑。简直疯了。我现在习惯于在当地邮局排队，仅在需要时才一次买一枚邮票。如果你像我一样熟悉那里的排队情况，你就会意识到这是一个巨大的牺牲。不过我想你们邮局的排队情况大概也差不多——带着好几件 Asos 和 Shein 退货商品的年轻女性；有人在寄一个发往墨尔本的极其复杂的包裹；一个紧张的旅行者正试图兑换度假资金，等等。但邮票已经贵到无法批量购买，所以我只能疲惫地站在他们身后。

结果就是，我寄的信件和卡片变少了。至于寄几十张圣诞卡的想法？算了吧。我又不是对冲基金经理。

这时，四姐妹发起了一项请愿，敦促皇家邮政在圣诞节前的一个月降低邮票价格，以鼓励我们所有人恢复这个习惯。这四姐妹的领头人夏洛特·格雷厄姆（Charlotte Graham）表示，一张节日特价 50 便士的邮票将支持那些销售圣诞卡的慈善机构，并有助于对抗许多人在一年中那个时间点经常感受到的孤立和孤独，尤其是那些不精通技术、无法简单地发送或接收一条欢快的圣诞 WhatsApp 消息或电子邮件的人。夏洛特说，这类卡片还可以成为珍贵的纪念品，“保存着关于爱、友谊和家族历史的信息”。

夏洛特对圣诞邮寄情有独钟，因为她和她的三个姐妹——乔汉娜（Johanna）、伊索贝尔（Isobel）和维罗妮卡（Veronica）——是那位发明了圣诞卡的人的后裔。亨利·科尔爵士（Sir Henry Cole）是一位忙碌的维多利亚时代人物，一名公务员，他后来被认为说服了阿尔伯特亲王举办大展，并创立了维多利亚与阿尔伯特博物馆。但在 1843 年，他脑子里的想法太多，以至于没时间坐下来给熟人写节日信件，而这在当时是维多利亚时代的习俗。

相反，科尔想出了一个妙招：发送一张带有欢乐图片和简短信息的插图卡片。他委托一位艺术家朋友匆忙制作了一张卡片，上面画着

飞往阿尔巴尼亚并在那里寄出100张圣诞卡，比使用英国皇家邮政更便宜

画面中是科尔家族的三代人，几个人正举起波尔多红酒杯，下方写着“祝您圣诞快乐，新年快乐”。这比你在Scribbler商店里能找到的一些产品要愉快得多。去年我收到的一张卡片上写着“祝圣诞节大获成功”，配图是一个在露屁股的圣诞老人。

科尔的圣诞卡并没有立即走红。他印了1,000张，给家人和朋友寄了几十张，并试图出售剩下的部分。直到十年左右后，随着印刷技术的进步和维多利亚时代人们对圣诞节痴迷程度的增加，这种卡片才变得更加主流。但他的卡片是世界上第一张。而现在呢？考虑到一张邮票的价格可能比卡片本身还贵，只有最执着的人才会费这个劲。

两年前有报道披露，飞往阿尔巴尼亚并在那里寄出100张圣诞卡，比使用英国皇家邮政更便宜。即便你愿意花大钱买昂贵的英国邮票，也无法保证你的卡片能及时送达。今年一月我收到了好几张圣诞卡，发件人的心意固然美好且体贴，但到了新年，圣诞节的光彩已经有些褪去了，不是吗？

提供更便宜的圣诞邮票是有先例的。澳大利亚、芬兰和荷兰的邮政服务在11月和12月会打折出售“季节性”邮票。在澳大利亚，圣诞邮票的价格不到普通邮票的一半，去年的邮票既有宗教场景（玛丽亚和婴儿），也有非宗教场景（戴着圣诞老人帽的企鹅），以确保每个人都满意。

四姐妹发起的“拯救圣诞卡”请愿书自5月启动以来已征集了近30,000个签名，但夏洛特认为他们需要接近100,000个签名，英国皇家邮政才会认真对待。因此，尽管我们仍处于夏日的最后时光，但压力已经接踵而至。她和妹妹维罗妮卡曾与一名英国皇家邮政的沟通经理进行过一次Zoom通话，但这“其实只是对方想了解我们在做什么的机会，之后我们就再也没收到任何消息”。

遗憾的是，亨利爵士最初的卡片仅存十余张，四姐妹中没有人继承到。2001年，其中一张在拍卖会上以2.2 万英镑的价格售出，由一名匿名竞买者出价，几乎是预估价的两倍。考虑到这些卡片在1843年时每张仅售一先令，这简直是惊人的涨价。英国皇家邮政无疑会对这种通货膨胀表示赞同。

莱昂内尔·施赖弗 (LIONEL SHRIVER)

孤注一掷

在我二十多岁的时候，我在皇后区阿斯托里亚的一套一居室公寓出现了蟑螂问题。我指的不是偶尔有一只蟑螂匆匆跑掉并彻底消失在冰箱底下的情况。哦，刚开始确实是那样。但在情况尚可控时我没有采取措施，因为蟑螂让我毛骨悚然，而且当时有太多更有趣的事情在吸引着我。

在个小架子和厨房墙壁之间，我存放了一些备用的棕色纸袋——我开始从中察觉到沙沙声。在某个时间点，纸袋开始移动。在它们旁边，墙上聚集起了一片起伏的阴影，我训练自己绝不去直视它；就像《小人物》里的费·邓纳薇那样，我会在“必要的时刻移开视线”。有一天晚上，一个朋友来吃晚餐，他带着赤裸裸的厌恶盯着那面墙。为什么我不采取行动？我茫然地看着他。关于什么？他急于离开。

最终，在把我的公寓变成了一部低成本恐怖电影之后，我不得不面对现实。我是单身，没有男人会来救我。尽管是夏天，我还是穿上了牛仔裤、长袖衫，戴上了手套和靴子。我像《枪烟》里的银行抢劫犯一样，用一块头巾蒙住口鼻。我紧握着我的“六发转轮枪”：两只手里各拿着一罐经济装的杀虫剂。终于，我将注意力集中在成百上千只互相攀爬并不断繁殖的昆虫身上。我用两把“枪”对着那团生物猛轰。它们四处炸开。我踩死的混蛋可能比我毒死的还要多。我很少感到如此自豪。

然而，我也很少感到如此厌恶自己——因为忽视了一个紧迫的问题，并任由其失控。这虽然是以一种迂回的方式，但将我们引向了目前我们所理解的美国、英国及其他西方强国，乃至整个世界的稳定性所面临的最大直接威胁。那不是温和上升的全球平均气温，甚至不是核战争。而是债务。

美国的国家债务刚刚突破了 40万亿美元 这一关键阈值。2000 年，美国欠债 5.7万亿美元——这个数字在 25 年里翻了七倍。就像那场未被正视的蟑螂侵害一样，债务只会变得更糟。按照目前的轨迹，我们在六年或更短时间内将达到 50万亿美元。十年前，这个数字“仅”为 20万亿美元。

为什么这个国家巨额的欠条没有成为一个选举议题？为什么它在两个政党的中期选举竞选中都没有发挥明显作用？为什么它在美国 2024 年总统大选中没有起到实质性作用？为了不让外国看客们幸灾乐祸，为什么降低接近 GDP 100% 的英国债务没有出现在 2024 年的民调中？在明年的法国选举之前，为什么每个政党已经在竞争谁承诺花费更多借来的钱？

理论？主权债务是一种累赘。处理这个问题不会让任何一个选民群体感到高兴。更高的税收，更少的福利——有什么好喜欢的？政治家们很愚蠢

那40万亿美元 的里程碑让我感到有些恶心，但对大多数人来说，数字本身并不具备足够的情感冲击力

即便仅仅是就减少赤字进行竞选，从而将蟑螂窝维持在大致相同的沸腾规模，也会失败。“踩碎蟑螂窝”并不是一个诱人的保险杠贴纸。

其次是抽象性。这关乎数字，而大部分普通选民几乎是不识数的。一百万很多，十亿非常多，一万亿简直不可想象——这就是为什么在修辞上，赌徒和评论员经常把 M-词（百万）、B-词（十亿）和 T-词（万亿）搞混。数字问题显得枯燥且无形。那40万亿美元 的里程碑让我感到有些恶心，但对大多数人来说，单纯的数字并不具备情感冲击力。

然后是所有权问题。选民并不认为所有这些欠款是他们的债务。对于低收入者来说，累进税制鼓励他们采取一种“这跟我没关系，长官”的免责态度。40%的美国住户不缴纳联邦所得税，而50%的成年人仅缴纳了所得税总额的3%。超过三分之一的英国成年人（由于税级爬升，比例从43%下降）同样不缴纳所得税。当政府没有拿走你的钱时，它似乎也没有在代表你个人借款。鉴于国家另一半的人已经几乎支付了所有费用，那么肯定还是这同一半的人将应对债务——前提是那些生活不如意的人会考虑债务问题，而他们可能根本不会，因为实际上没人会这么做。

在曼哈顿中城，那个每秒更新多次、令人眩晕的国家债务时钟在2008年经过了手动修改，以适应其创建者从未想象过联邦政府会超支的数万亿金额。为了试图对抗纳税人与现实之间的疏离感，LED显示屏显示了每个美国住户欠款多少（目前为$295,500，或 216,500 英镑）。然而，很少有游客将这个恐怖的统计数据放在心上。

最后，在椅子边缘坐得太久会让屁股长出褶皱。国家债务不断攀升，看起来越来越危险，然后：什么也没发生。据称这种鲁莽的借贷是不可持续的，但任何真正不可持续的东西都不会被维持，而我们却在拼命维持着。呃，直到最近——看看日本就知道了！

你有时可以做一件蠢事很多年，然后突然之间你就不能再这么做了。大多数经济学家一致认为，猖獗的主权借贷最终会导致：1) 破产，即投资者拒绝向政府贷款，或要求如此高的收益率，以至于国家预算被债务偿还款压垮；2) 恶性通货膨胀，使债务缩减为微不足道的零钱，但摧毁养老金、投资组合和普通民众；3) 一次剧烈的、可能是全球性的违约，使债务归零，但同时也以如此巨大的规模摧毁财富，以至于很可能会引发我们礼貌地称之为“社会动荡”的局面。但没有人知道这种局面何时才会终结。

1979年一个令人难忘的史密森学会展览在模型厨房里贴满了130,000只冻干蟑螂——这是在一对昆虫在理想条件下经过三个繁殖周期，大约18个月的结果。那景象极其怪诞。那本可以是我的阿斯托里亚厨房。它也可以是一个关于利息支付的展览。

辩论在网上继续。

指环之王（Ring cycle）

托尔金洞悉权力的真相

D.J. 泰勒（D.J. TAYLOR）

进入探讨 J.R.R. 托尔金政治倾向这一棘手问题的一条路径，是由乔治亚·梅洛尼提供的。如今，几乎每一篇关于这位意大利总理的人物报道在上市时，都会堆砌大量关于托尔金的引用，就像掉落的苹果一样：在 20 世纪 90 年代，她与意大利社会运动（MSI）青年团的成员一起演出《霍比特人》；她对指环持有者的助手山姆·甘吉的痴迷（“比佛罗多有用得多”）；以及每年对他这位“用故事抚养了我们这么多人”的人表达的生日致敬。显然，这里出现了一个中土世界的狂热者，托尔金的作品成了政治行动的直接诱因。

向北行进千里进入斯堪的纳维亚森林，极右翼的警钟敲得更加响亮。对于一代挪威黑金属乐队来说——他们给自己起的名字都盗自托尔金的旧作（如“Gorgoroth”、“Darkthrone”等）——《指环王》系列书籍有时读起来就像是一本白人至上主义者的年鉴。例如，来自 Burzum（兽语中意为“黑暗”）乐队的瓦格·维克内斯（Varg Vikernes）曾表示：“我们被索伦及其同伙所吸引，而不是那些霍比特人，那些愚蠢的小矮人。精灵们很美丽，但具有典型的犹太特征……”顺便提一句，维克内斯因谋杀一名音乐合作伙伴而被监禁数年。

所有这些因素叠加在一起，导致许多左翼自由主义者在想象金发蓝眼的洛汗骑兵将深肤色的哥布林敌人践踏在泥土中时，将其诊断为一种严重的（尽管伪装得巧妙的）法西斯主义。当然，这纯属胡说。

托尔金是一名天主教徒、一名反动派和一名保皇党，但他不是法西斯分子。他谴责种族隔离，厌恶种族主义；当被问及他的雅利安血统时，他告诉出版商《霍比特人》的德语译本可以“见鬼去吧”；他也不喜欢文化帝国主义者：在得知地球上八分之一的人口说英语后，他评论道这真是“太遗憾了”。

尽管如此，托尔金根深蒂固的保守主义是无法回避的，因为它像海雾一样笼罩在他的世界之上。在作品之外，他是一个以持有回顾性观点而感到自豪的人。“支持—。

他是一个以持有保守观点为荣的人。“进步”是糟糕的，而国家主义则更糟

“进步”是糟糕的，而国家主义则更糟。两者结合几乎可以保证会导致灾难。如果上述观点让他显得保守得近乎 caricature（漫画式地僵化），那么另一方面，这是一种特立独行的保守主义，总能转向意想不到的方向，有时会产生一些与那些著名的贵族式言论格格不入的态度，例如：“向地主脱帽致意对地主来说可能糟糕透顶，但对你来说却大有裨益。”

不可避免地，托尔金的政治观点根植于他的成长经历。作为一名维多利亚时代晚期的下层中产阶级子弟，他认为资产阶级处于进退两难的境地：一边是组织起来的劳工，另一边是富得离谱的权贵，而一个心怀报复心的政府则试图通过惩罚性的税率来削弱他们。他所表现出的阶级认同感始终是彻头彻尾的中产阶级式的。在一次关于战时烟草短缺的丑闻中，供应商被认为优待了某些特定客户，托尔金对此愤愤不平地表示：“他们应该被关进监狱。但在社会阶层的顶端和底端，政府依然戴着‘丝绒手套’（宽容对待）。而（像往常一样）受苦的总是可怜的老中产阶级！……商业主义在本质上就是个畜生。”

这话由两个省级小商贩的孙子说出来可能显得奇怪，但托尔金所指的“商业主义”是指高端的公司主义。如果他生活在 20 世纪 50 年代的法国，他无疑会成为一名普雅迪主义者（Pou-jadist）。除了对中产阶级利益的坚定支持，他还厌恶技术、技术所助长的物质主义，以及技术可能被利用的政治目的。托尔金似乎没有读过美国政治哲学家詹姆斯·伯纳姆（James Burnham）的《管理革命》（1941），但他会同意伯纳姆的论点，即未来的世界将不再由暴君和将军统治，而是由经理、行政人员和技术官僚统治，且他们的审议将始终由机器辅助。

这一切在《指环王》中都有回响，其中莫多和艾辛格的奴隶国家是由技术驱动的，而至尊环本身——至少在神话意义上——可以被视为一台终极机器。他如此厌恶的物质主义由于多种原因而是一件坏事。其表面现象可能仅限于令人厌烦的噪音和杂乱，但其效果是使被其掌控的人丧失斗志。

这不仅仅是因为现代世界是一个骗局，旨在迷惑和贬低其居民，而且这是一个危险且具有局限性的骗局，其渐进的推进将剥夺人们最宝贵的品质之一——自我意识。

因此，对托尔金来说，政治最终关乎个人和集体的自由。但他在心中认为自由包含什么？在与他的朋友查尔斯·威廉姆斯讨论关于“在目前所使用的自由概念中，是否存在共同因素（如果存在的话）的探索困难”后，托尔金宣称根本不存在共同因素，他认为就像许多抽象名词一样，这个词被过度使用了，以至于现在成了“一个纯粹用来制造情绪的剂量”。

至于自由的捍卫者，将信任寄托在个体政治家身上是没有意义的，因为他们的动机永远值得怀疑。在浏览 1943 年 11 月德黑兰会议上盟国领导人的新闻照片时，他主张温斯顿·丘吉尔“看起来实际上是在场最像地痞的人”。

托尔金在其他方面也与《每日电讯报》的大多数读者不同，尽管他也是该报的忠实读者。如果说他在西班牙内战中支持佛朗哥，那是基于宗教理由—。

托尔金曾坦言，他的政治观点“越来越倾向于无政府主义”

一个被教会纵火和谋杀神职人员的报道所震惊的罗马天主教徒，内心充满了虔诚的恐惧。广岛的毁灭令他感到恐怖（“如此惊悚，令人震惊”）。值得注意的是，他对战后要求报复德国人的呼声持敌对态度，这有着阶级层面的基础：“那些粗俗且无知的无赖尚未成为掌握权力的老板；但在这一片绿意盎然、宜人的岛屿上，他比以往任何时候都更接近成为老板。”可惜，普通人正日益趋向于平庸。

从根本上说，托尔金在政治观点中似乎带入了男孩学校故事中的道德态度——这种态度源自一个讲究公平竞争和共同价值观的环境，其中 populate 着英雄、无赖和贫民窟男孩，正义在其中击败强权，弱者总有机会，而传统的等级制度最终总是占据上风。他理想的世界，实际上就是 G.K. 切斯特顿（G.K. Chesterton）那种模拟中世纪的“分配主义”景观：周围到处是奶牛和小农场，但地主依然掌控全局，且现有的阶级区分在很大程度上得以保留。同样，他最大的恐惧依然是哈耶克在《通往奴役之路》（1944）中所预言的那种社会——这是一篇论证社会主义会导致专制的政论文章，他肯定在右翼报纸上读到过。

你可能会怀疑，其结果是一种

托利党式的无政府主义：其中对过去的热爱与不愿被命令的倾向相结合，对社会优越感的假设感到愤慨，而对普通人自命不凡的怀疑则被深切地谴责。托尔金曾坦言，他的政治观点“越来越倾向于无政府主义”。他随后兴致勃勃地补充道，他会处决任何在非指代英格兰及其居民这一无生命领域时使用“国家”（state）一词的人。

这些态度是如何转化为《指环王》的？或者它们真的转化了吗？托尔金评论家帕特里克·库里（Patrick Curry）曾将中土世界的政治安排描述为一种“混乱的多元主义”。毕竟，至尊环之战聚集了一个城邦（米那斯提里斯）、一个封建王国（洛汗）、两个独裁的战争领主（萨鲁曼和索伦）、一个霍比特人共和国、一片按长者统治原则组织的森林（树人）、一个以商业设计和贵金属为基础的矮人领地、一支海上雇佣军（昂巴的海盗）、一个东方哈里发国（哈拉德人）以及其他几个高度模糊的实体。

然而，所有这些个体和集体单位在为什么而战？在某种层面上，显然，人类-矮人-精灵-树人-霍比特人的联盟是为了确保正义战胜邪恶。但正义只能通过获取并行使权力才能获胜，而“权力”这个抽象名词在整个《指环王》中的价值是极具争议的，哪怕仅仅是因为其整个驱动力是坚决反英雄主义的。英雄是不值得信任的：我们被鼓励去钦佩甘道夫、阿拉贡和加拉德丽尔，是因为当权力摆在面前时，他们拒绝了它。如果他们中没有人想要，或者没有人能被信任去掌控至尊环的权力，那么责任就落在霍比特人身上。

有趣的是，这让我们回到了梅洛尼，她曾评论道：“最重要的是，托尔金给了我这样一个理解：权力不是一种征服，而是一个敌人，是一个你必须将其控制在笼子里、用皮带拴住的问题。”

与此同时，有证据表明，托尔金对具体细节的关注程度并不亚于对概括性理论的兴趣。他最耐人寻味的小作品之一，是首次发表于1945年的短篇小说《尼格尔的叶子》（Leaf by Niggle）。故事中的艺术家被描述为生活在“法律相当严苛的国家”中，这通常被解读为关于创作过程的寓言。然而，文中对规则、检查员和济贫院的不断提及，表明这实际上投射了许多保守党人在20世纪40年代对英国国家机器所抱持的情绪，它与伊夫林·沃（Evelyn Waugh）的反乌托邦作品《废墟中的爱》（Love Among the Ruins，1953年）或H.E.贝茨（H.E. Bates）笔下的拉金故事一样，都是那个时代的产物。

抛开索伦不谈，真正的敌人是克莱门特·艾特利（Clement Attlee）。

D.J.泰勒（D.J. Taylor）的著作《山下之王：寻找J.R.R.托尔金》（The King Under the Mountain: In Search of J.R.R. Tolkien）将于下月出版。

晴雨表

为奔跑而生

在北京机器人奥林匹克竞赛上，一台机器人将尤塞恩·博尔特的100米纪录提高了0.19秒。

– 然而，现实追上虚构花费了一个世纪的时间。“机器人”（robot）一词源于捷克作家卡雷尔·恰佩克（Karel Capek）编写的剧本《R.U.R.》。剧名代表“罗苏姆通用机器人公司”（Rossum’s Universal Robots），该公司制造机器以取代工厂生产中的人类。该词衍生自 Robotnik，这是一个捷克语词汇，意为奴隶或苦力。

隧道乘客

维珍铁路（Virgin Trains）获得了铁路与道路局（Office of Rail and Road）的许可，可通过英法海底隧道运行最多20班服务，从而挑战目前的垄断运营商欧洲之星（Eurostar）。多年来，欧洲之星的乘客人数发生了怎样的变化？

— 在英法海底隧道开通之前，伦敦和大陆铁路公司（London and Continental Railways）预测到2004年，每年将有21.4m乘客。

– 1995, 在其运营的第一个完整年度，欧洲之星承载了3m乘客。这一数字在2000上升至7m，但在2003.回落至6.3m。2004, 随着经过肯特郡的高速链路部分开通，乘客数增加到7.3m，并持续增长，在2018和2019.达到11m。到2023, 它尚未从新冠疫情中恢复，承载乘客数为10.7m。

– 对于2025, 欧洲之星声称有20m乘客。然而，这包括了它从 Thalys 接管的服务，后者运行在巴黎、布鲁塞尔和阿姆斯特丹之间，以及通过英法海底隧道的列车。

表亲结婚

一名苏丹移民凭借与表亲的婚姻（这种做法在英国仍然合法）赢得了留在英国的权利。据估计，全球哪些国家的近亲结婚率（指比二表亲更近的关系）最高和最低？（占所有婚姻的百分比）

巴基斯坦< / td><>61.2%< / >< / tr><><>科威特< / ><>54.3%< / >< / ><><>卡塔尔< / ><>54.0%< / >< / ><><>阿联酋< / ><>50.5%< / >< / ><><>苏丹< / ><>50%< / >< / table>

捷克共和国、荷兰、斯洛伐克、瑞典、秘鲁、美国....0.1% 澳大利亚、比利时....0.2% 阿根廷....0.4% 匈牙利....0.5% 英国的估计率为1.1%。 来源：世界人口回顾（World Population Review）

想在世界任何地方观看您最喜爱的节目吗？

扫描二维码获取 《旁观者》杂志订阅者特惠

朱莉·伯奇尔（JULIE BURCHILL）

我夺回了“cripple”这个词

如果你错过了（如果错过了，那太好了），上周威尔·塞尔夫（Will Self）在 Substack 上写了一篇极其激烈的谩骂文章，攻击多位记者报道杰森·阿尔代（Jason Arday）的方式，并要求他们为他的死亡负责。这让我想起酒吧里那种狗：先是对着某种想象中的威胁对着主人狂吠，然后被自己吠叫的兴奋感冲昏头脑，直到彻底失控，必须被带到室外才能冷静下来。

文中有一段，这位滔滔不绝之辈攻击了优秀的梅丽莎·凯特（Melissa Kite）：“我指控梅丽莎·凯特将阿尔代塑造成一个可爱的骗子，一个娱乐符号，通过他，当代教育中所谓的对少数群体和残疾的痴迷本身可以被嘲讽……我想知道她是否也喜欢与她的读者见面：聚在一起，让他们都能就‘cripples’（残废）和 n—s（黑人蔑称）互相取笑：在我看来，这绝非不可能。”

梅丽莎理所当然地对塞尔夫这种令人费解的“读心术”感到震惊，她在《旁观者》杂志的网站上回应道：“我绝对没有嘲笑过‘cripples’，也从未使用过那个词。那么为什么它出现在直接引用中？而且我从未使用过 n-word，为什么他说我可能使用过？”

我一百万年也不会使用 n-word，但我认为它与“cripple”这个词完全不可比，我相信梅丽莎也不会使用后者。然而，我经常将自己描述为一个 cripple。这比“截瘫患者”（too medical，太医学化）或“轮椅使用者”（implies some level of voluntary behaviour – a hobby, even，暗示某种程度的自愿行为——甚至像是一种爱好）要好得多。gov.uk 的残疾部门建议：

避免使用诸如“遭受”（suffers from）或“被禁锢在”（confined to）（例如，轮椅）等暗示不适或持续疼痛的短语。使用中立、客观的语言，如“患有”（has）（例如，某种损伤）或“使用”（uses）（例如，轮椅）。避免使用将残疾人描绘成受害者的被动词汇。使用尊重残疾人为掌控自己生活的积极个体的语言。

但通常我们这些残疾人无法掌控自己的生活。我们经常听命于他人，而且大部分时间都处于不适之中。

我喜欢“cripple”这个词的残酷感。对我而言，脊柱手术是除了死亡之外唯一的选择，这个词唤起了一种在毫无预警的情况下被踢掉双腿的感觉，感觉像一个破碎的玩偶，由一个残酷的孩子强行将不同玩偶的零件拼凑在一起而成。（不过，不合逻辑的是，我无法忍受“lame”——另一个表示无法行走的老词——因为它带有表现糟糕的含义。）

当我不用“cripple”时，是为了照顾那些性格没那么粗犷的人，比如我在电话里向社区护理服务描述自己时。当我使用 c-word 时，他们往往会倒吸一口气，所以现在我简单地说：“我是”

成为一名截瘫患者是一件艰辛且费力的事。为了能像正常人一样生活一半，我们必须付出双倍的努力

在轮椅上。”一位与残障人士共事的朋友说：“我经常思考我在工作中使用的语言。我认为治疗师的工作本质上是帮助人们应对新的现实。有时这意味着要引起对方对现实的关注，而有时则意味着试图让他们忘记它。这是一种因人而异的平衡艺术。我想，像‘cripple’（跛子 / 残废）这样的词，感觉就像是过于强调了那个现实。”

我也很喜欢那些古老的伦敦东区押韵俚语（Cockney rhyming slang）中关于残疾的说法，既粗鲁又亲昵。我是一个“raspberry”（覆盆子，押韵 ripple，意指残疾）。然后还有“Canary Wharf”（金丝雀码头，押韵 dwarf，意指侏儒）、“bacon rind”（培根皮，押韵 blind，意指盲人）、“Diet

“我厌倦了总是得面对这些琐碎的麻烦。”

Pepsi”（百事可乐，押韵 epilepsy，意指癫痫），以及极妙的“Bennie and the Jets”（本尼与喷气机，押韵 Tourette's，意指妥瑞氏综合征）。相比于那些刻板且居高临下的称呼，比如“能力不同者”（differently abled），或者更糟糕的、包罗万象的“弱势群体”（vulnerable）——正如 Spiked 的埃拉·惠兰（Ella Whelan）所指出的，后者试图剥夺残障人士的所有自主权，将他们简化为一种像孩子般依赖他人的状态——我更倾向于所有这些所谓的“侮辱性”名称。

语言永远无法伤害我，但那一小撮规模却在扩大的怪人让我愤怒，他们将残疾视为一种时尚并渴望加入其中。有些是彻头彻尾的怪癖之徒，比如加拿大的“单手杰森”（One-Hand Jason），他通过用“一个非常锋利的电动工具”切掉自己的右臂，实现了成为残疾人这一终身夙愿。但也有一些偷偷摸摸的“兼职”者，他们留着蓝色刘海，出现在支持巴勒斯坦或跨性别权利的游行中，携带的助行设备数量显然超过了全国平均水平——这就是“受害者角色扮演”阶层，他们的精神疾患导致他们认同自己身体残疾。我的朋友最近看到一把轮椅被像自行车一样锁在一排车位上。如果你能那样对待你珍贵的战车，那么你就是在把它当成道具，而你很可能就是我们这些“跛子”用戏谑俚语称呼的那类人：“shelf-reachers”（够架子的人）、“thumbs”（大拇指）以及“Tabs”——即“暂时身体健全者”（temporarily able-bodied）。

残疾人形态各异；有些人天生残疾，有些则是被强加了残疾。有些人因自己的状况而感到悲伤和孤立；有些人则能掌控局面并做出卓越的成就。我们大多数人在不同时间里都会感到快乐或悲伤，就像双足动物一样。

但通过清理这些词汇，人们似乎认为他们可以清理掉这个问题。成为一名截瘫患者是一件艰辛且费力的事。为了能像正常人一样生活一半，我们必须付出双倍的努力。在我看来，哪怕只是瞬间地称自己为“跛子”，也能强迫那些生活在健全身体中的幸运猪们面对残疾生活的现实。这就是为什么它不会冒犯我——即便我曾一度认为梅丽莎（Melissa）会使用这个词，尽管我不这么认为。所以 Self 可以停止他的吠叫了。

“进出便捷”

我们的大学对中国学生产生了依赖

帕特里克·德鲁里（PATRICK DRURY）

“上海绑架”（Shanghaiing）是指在美西海岸通过下药和绑架男子，强迫其在开往中国的船上服役的行为，这在1915年被定为联邦罪行。但每年夏天，我任教的大学在院长飞往中国招募学生时，似乎从中获得了反向灵感。虽然他不太可能在宜昌或邢台的青少年聚集地游荡，并在毕业生的珍珠奶茶中偷偷加入鸦片酊，但英国大学对中国新生的需求之大，以至于它们采取类似“强征兵”的方式招人，既不会令人意外，也不违背其一贯作风。

英国每20名学生中就有超过1名是中国学生。他们每年为英国经济贡献数十亿英镑；如果没有他们，几所大学将会破产，大多数大学则会陷入困境。真正的盈利点在于硕士课程，部分一年制课程的学费超过 3 万英镑。大学管理人员在内心深处希望所有学生都是中国人且就读于硕士课程。中国学生缴费准时，极少抱怨，而且通常能适应大学管理层所青睐的“我们假装教学，他们假装学习”的模式。

中国学生与其他学生没什么两样。大多数人都活泼、开朗且出人意料地幽默，他们了解自己的社会及其不满之处，有时对东道国也观察得非常敏锐。但语言和文化差异巨大，许多人极大地夸大了自己的英语听说能力，而且他们学习英语的动力很小。

在教学之外，其实不需要说太多英语。我任教的城市有中餐馆、超市、理发店、学生公寓等等。翻译软件填补了空白。这并不是学生的错，但其结果就是，教师在尝试教那些往往连听到内容的80%都无法理解的人。

我很庆幸自己教的是电影制作。在无聊到极点之前，向世界投放几个不合格的电影制作人并不会产生生死攸关的后果。但有时我会担心像医学或核工程这样的课程。

在电影制作课上，研讨会通常以我筛选出英语最好的学生开始。然后我将关键信息传达给他们，由他们向其他人解释——至少我是这么希望的。他们可能会在说任何话：“只要对着这个愚蠢的英国人点头微笑就行，今晚我们去拍空军基地。”事实上，他们电影的主题表明，大多数人对中国体制的支持程度非常低。尽管作者知道自己的某些同学可能是党的线人，但腐败以及中共操纵从教育到工作和住房的一切，仍是剧本中的常见主题。

剧本几乎无一例外地是用普通话写成，然后通过翻译软件转换，但比起学生们被迫进行的那些令人痛苦的口头陈述，剧本能更好地展现其构思。有很多

分数膨胀猖獗，剽窃与AI使用在很大程度上被忽视

这些电影大多关于关系，且主要是代际关系。英国学生电影制作者在片中让虚构的父母死于车祸，然后写关于自己的故事；而中国学生片中的父母和祖父母则无处不在且要求苛刻。片中总有涉及食物的场景。性爱场景罕见，且即便有，也倾向于讲述出柜，但偶尔会显得极其诡异。我曾经不得不向一名几乎不懂英语的学生解释，为什么他不能拍摄一个孩子被一个穿着羊装的男人虐待的场景。幸运的是，用肢体语言比划手铐能瞬间消除文化隔阂。

哑剧、手语和谷歌翻译至关重要——在所有手段都失效时，带有

“天黑后我绝不会进去！”

普通话对话和英语字幕的吴宇森DVD也能派上用场。虽然会有一些教学，但仅针对少数人，且偶尔能产生一个优秀的剧本。不过也有其他补偿。沟通误会和拼写错误可能非常搞笑：“警报响起，玛丽突然从睡眠中醒来。她喘不过气来。她伸手去拿附近的公鸡（cock，此处原词为cock，可能误用，原意应为时钟clock）。”

评估机制旨在奉承、欺骗和招揽。有报道称中国学生认为英国的课程是“容易进，容易出”，这并不令人意外。想要让学生不及格非常困难。分数膨胀猖獗，剽窃和AI使用在很大程度上被忽视。讽刺的是，剽窃正变得不再那么成问题，因为AI作弊更有效。虽然这仍然很容易被发现，因为只会一种语言的学生突然写出了完美的英语，但提出质疑意味着要启动学术不端案件，这需要时间和精力，且未必能成功。如果律师介入了怎么办——而且，如果你对此感到如此强烈，为什么不直接扣掉他们最终成绩的10%呢？

大学当局对此心知肚明，但被财务问题所困。在戴维·洛奇的《好工作》（Nice Work）中，商人维克·威尔考克斯警告大学，你不能在资本主义游戏中敷衍了事；但大学没有听从，现在市场逻辑已让他们陷入奴役。如果他们执行真实的评分制度、纸笔考试以及对使用AI者予以开除，学生们就会去那些不这么做的大学。我们真正出售的是国家诚信的残余。有时你会觉得自己像个腐败的帝国官员，为了贿赂而分发殖民地的闲职：这张证书上有国王的头像。用银行转账还是支票？

改变的机会微乎其微。中国学生可能难以教学，且他们对英国学历价值的幻想正在破灭，但目前没有替代方案。我们未来的人口结构令人恐惧，大学的崩溃将带动城镇随之垮台，因此学者将继续被审查，安保人员将被派去对付中国民主活动人士，而公然的作弊将被忽视。我们的大学对中国学生上瘾，而且——像大多数瘾君子一样——甚至无法开始想象没有这种刺激的生活。这花了将近200年时间，但神灵是公正的，鸦片战争现在回过头来惩罚了我们。

人民的力量

先生：昆廷·莱茨的文章（《塑料牧师》，22 August）强调了如今英国国教会的糟糕状态。当教会的领导层与信众之间日益脱节时，教会如何能够增长？

问题在于教会的管理方式。面对成本增加和收入下降，教区削减了牧师人数，并强迫教区合并，形成由十个或更多教区组成的联合教区（benefices），每个联合教区仅由一两名领取薪水的祭司监管。

相反，或许我们教区的平信徒成员应该予以反击。每个教区的队伍中都有许多受职神职人员。应当要求每个教区将这些受职神职人员分配到教区教堂中，让他们在担任教区牧师的同时，继续履行其教区职责。教区的行政职能应当合并，从而在人员和建筑方面节省大量成本。毋庸置疑，赔偿基金应被排除在讨论之外。

或许这样我们就能避免莱茨所强调的命运，至少在未来几年内如此。 朱利安·诺特 肯特郡，罗尔文登

保持信念

先生：昆廷·莱茨的文章读起来非常令人沮丧，尤其是因为他如此精准地击中了要害。有三个当前的现实值得特别关注：第一，新型的“监督”完全破坏了圣职（祭司的职责描述）的价值和实践；第二，议程已取代信仰，成为受职和“晋升”的必要条件；第三，一个臃肿且低效到自杀地步的圣公会等级制度，拒绝倾听“拯救教区”（Save the Parish）这个由平信徒专业人士和神职人员组成的“激进小组”的意见，而这些人已经在运行和扩大大型机构的所有方面拥有证明过的记录。然而……有志者事竟成。 R.C. 佩吉特牧师 牛津郡，马查姆

债券评级

先生：我不赞同玛德琳·格兰特认为詹姆斯·邦德系列电影没有空间推出周期性系列（《邦德的身份危机反映了英国的危机》，22 August）。弗莱明是一位非常现代的作家，但很难看出在电视剧《机构》（The Agency）如此出色之后，邦德还能走向何方——在剧中，迈克尔·法斯宾德有效地扮演了一个邦德与勒卡雷世界相结合的角色。大多数原著小说

LETTERS

从未被恰当地拍摄成电影。在弗莱明的《你只活一次》中，并没有秘密火箭发射场的火山；相反，有一个极其阴森的画面：布洛费尔穿着中世纪武士盔甲，在他的毒药花园中踱步，怂恿日本朝圣者自杀。在我看来，最令人兴奋的邦德小说是《月 राकेश》（Moonraker），其场景几乎全部设定在多佛附近——尽管我承认，大银幕很难传达出其中关键的一场桥牌比赛所带来的兴奋感。 蒂姆·阿德勒 伦敦 E2

甜蜜的复仇

先生：摩尔勋爵询问（《笔记》，22 August）其他读者是否收到过通过 Zoom 向读书会成员发表演讲的甜言蜜语邀请。

在过去一个月里，我通过电子邮件收到了两封此类邀请。第一封告知我，“您温馨的处女小说需要基础设施”。一旦我注意到“cozy”的拼写方式，我就将其删除了。

第二封来自一位似乎代表一个名为“章节地图”（The Chapter Map）组织的女士，显然同样来自大西洋彼岸，且性质与联系摩尔勋爵的那个读书会相似。我认为这是一匹需要全面检查牙齿的特洛伊木马（gift horse），于是将邮件转发给了作者协会，协会随后给我发了一封关于欺诈性宣传邀约的标准警告信。

我从中获得了一些鼓励，首先是美国似乎有人至少翻阅了我的一本书；其次是他们认为我的作品可能值得利用。 D.M. 奎尔曼 赫特福德郡，海梅尔海姆斯特德

狂野的假设

先生：查尔斯·摩尔将野泳（wild swimming）与野营（wild camping）混为一谈是错误的（见 8 月 22 日《笔记》）。野泳仅仅是在湖泊、河流或大海中洗浴，这是人们自古以来就在做的事情，只不过被重新包装成了某种全新的、激进的事物。它并不包含在不该去的地方进行活动这种含义。至于在污水处理厂或球池里游泳：那才真正称得上是“狂野”。 亚历山大·佩林-布鲁斯 珀斯郡，布莱尔格罗伊

请指教

先生：玛丽在上周刊中提供的解决方案（见 8 月 22 日《亲爱的玛丽》）既精妙（关于令人反感的擤鼻涕问题），又离经叛道（关于降低邻居山火风险的问题），而且出人意料地大胆（关于诱惑潜在伴侣的问题）。如果能知道其中是否有任何方案达到了预期效果，将会很有趣。 杰夫·格林 巴斯

午餐券

先生：哈里·芒特对目前晚餐派对的状态表示遗憾（见 8 月 22 日《抱怨与用餐》）。我很大程度上同意他的观点。午餐派对要好得多，而且其性质也可以随季节而变化。

午餐还允许一种在晚餐派对中没有对应物的体验——sobremesa，即用餐结束后放松聊天的那段慵懒时光。我强烈推荐午餐界的“圣经”——基思·沃特豪斯的《午餐的理论与实践》。 里克·萨里恩 伦敦 NW11

蛋糕上的浆果

先生：作为同样痴迷于采摘桑葚的人，我想向弗雷迪·赫弗推荐国民信托财产 Vyne 的桑葚，我和女儿们曾在那里度过快乐的夏天，采集野果（见 8 月 22 日《关于……桑葚的笔记》）。最近，我震惊地发现我的岳父——一名汉普顿学校校友——竟然不记得学校回廊里那棵矗立了 80 年以上的著名桑树，我担心当时学校并不鼓励采摘。我对国民信托的采集政策表示赞赏：他们“欢迎可持续的采摘”，并指出这有助于我们“欣赏自然”。 凯瑟琳·芬尼尔 萨里郡，吉尔福德

毛茸茸的决定

先生：奈杰尔·琼斯说阿尔伯特王子留胡须是错误的（见 8 月 15 日《关于……刮胡子的笔记》）。他更倾向于干净的面庞配一个小胡子。不过，他的欧洲继承人和王子们确实留着浓密的络腮胡，将其作为婚姻主导权和男性权威的象征。不同寻常的是，奥地利大公马克西米利安偏好分叉胡，当他成为墨西哥皇帝时，他拒绝为了伪装自己以避免被捕而剪掉胡须，称这会摧毁他的尊严。他在被处决时依然留着它。 马尔科姆·沃森 怀特岛，赖德

来信地址 letters@spectator.co.uk

其他事务 / 马丁·范德·韦尔

贝森特应当记住撒切尔：你确实无法对抗市场

玛格丽特·撒切尔在1988年曾向下议院发表过一段名言：“没有任何办法可以对抗市场。”她的意思是，部署政策工具试图抑制当时英镑兑德国马克的强势是毫无意义的，但在更广泛的意义上，她从未被证明是错误的。有人或许可以为了美国财政部长斯科特·贝森特（Scott Bessent）的利益而补充一点：一个人甚至无法告诉市场应该如何思考——而贝森特此前却表示，美国政府债券的收益率“并未反映潜在的基本面”。

收益率所反映的，正是市场对基本面的集体看法——而交易员接下来的行动将影响经济生活的方方面面。全球债券投资者目前认为，特朗普政权为了过度支出而借贷过多，尤其是用于与伊朗的冲突。华盛顿的总债务首次突破了难以想象的40万亿加元大关，而其财政赤字正朝着GDP的6%迈进，而50年的平均水平仅为3.8%。美国公司也在通过增加债务来资助对AI的巨额投资，这使得它们对反映债券收益率上升的高利率极其敏感。

你可能会认为，这些内容有些过于技术化，且都与美国相关：但请允许我解释为什么这对你我同样构成威胁。那些全球投资者一直在抛售美国国债，推高收益率——并抛售加元导致其下跌——以反映他们感知到的风险增加，即那种往往在10月发生并波及大西洋两岸的债务危机兼股市暴跌。如果你的储蓄持有在某种管理的“全球投资组合”中，你会发现其中40%或更多是由美国投资组成的，且权重偏向于最容易下跌的科技股。

因此，贝森特接下来的行动绝非纯粹的美国问题。他上周像卡努特国王（Canute）一样宣称，将把长期国债的定期回购规模翻倍以压低收益率（通过出售波动性更大的短期政府债券来筹集资金），这被视为绝望的信号而非实力的体现。此前，他采取了奇怪的干预措施来支撑日元，这也被解读为一种迂回的尝试，旨在阻止投资者抛售国债、推高利率并动摇股价。本周，他完全超出了其常规职责范围，宣布对伊朗的贸易伙伴发起“经济猛攻”。

当贝森特在2024年底被任命为财政部长时，他被视为一名相对理智、精通市场且主张削减赤字的鹰派。而现在，他开始看起来像是一个经济文盲暴君的无能傀儡——这个暴君摒弃财政纪律，却要求采取一些旨在支撑股市的夸张姿态，因为总统的小圈子将股市视为唯一重要的指标。也许如果一个人欠职于特朗普，就无法对抗他；但贝森特在被要求为秋季市场崩盘背锅之前辞职，或许才是明智之举。

为特立独行者心存感激

上周，我赞扬了零售大亨迈克尔·艾希利（Mike Ashley）救助了陷入困境的百货连锁店哈维·尼科尔斯（Harvey Nichols）。这周，我将再次冒险，向另一位企业界的“弃儿”致敬。吉姆·拉特克利夫爵士（Sir Jim Ratcliffe）的英力士（Ineos）化工集团出手拯救了位于朗科恩（Runcorn）的一个工业综合体。该综合体生产了英国饮用水处理所需氯气 98% 的份额，并且是英国本土最后 1 家二氯乙烷生产商——这种成分被广泛应用于从药品到汽车零部件和排水管 PVC 塑料的各类产品中。该工厂还加工工业用盐，尽管附近有历史储备，但若无此厂，盐类将不得不依赖进口。

居住在摩纳哥的拉特克利夫被左翼人士厌恶，因为他曾在苏格兰的格兰杰茅斯（Grange-mouth）炼油厂与工会正面交锋；他也不受曼联球迷的喜爱（他是该俱乐部的共同所有者），并且在今年早些时候因称英国正被“移民殖民”而遭到唐宁街的谴责。

与艾希利一样，他在公关方面是一场灾难，但他并不在意。与艾希利不同——后者的商业干预既显示了投机心，也显示了乐观态度——拉特克利夫对英国工业在惩罚性能源成本和绿色限制的“绝对疯狂”下的未来始终持悲观态度。然而，他冷峻的现实主义和对风险的胃口，使英力士成为了本世纪建立的规模最大、最成功的总部位于英国的跨国公司。

如果没有像拉特克利夫和艾希利这样特立独行的企业家——顺便向 76, 岁依然叛逆的理查德·布兰森爵士（Sir Richard Branson）致意，他刚刚为一项旨在与欧洲之星竞争的跨英吉利海峡铁路服务赢得了轨道使用权——我们将剩下什么样的荒废经济景观？

萨塞克斯夫妇会选择萨里郡吗？

萨塞克斯夫妇的回归，既是一个探索高端住宅租赁市场的机会，也可以用来猜测他们最终会选择在哪个郡定居（尽管可能不会待太久）。威廉希尔（William Hill）开出的赔率是 3-1 选牛津郡或格洛斯特郡，在这些地方，带有网球场和古英语水管的大型科茨沃尔德（Cotswold）农舍每月租金相对适中 1.2 万英镑。但这真的是梅根喜欢的风格吗？我更倾向于押 12-1 的赔率选萨里郡——因为我认为她会更喜欢英国能提供的最接近蒙特西托（Montecito）排他性的地方，即位于韦布里奇（Weybridge）圣乔治山（St George's Hill）那个拥有 964 英亩土地的封闭式社区。

这里是跨国银行家、高尔夫球手、名人及流亡者的聚集地，这个远离狗仔队的林间 enclave 距离科布汉（Cobham）的一所美国国际学校仅 15 分钟路程，距离通过希思罗机场 VIP 休息室快速离境的时间不到半小时。目前在售最好的房子是一栋名为 Treetops 的优雅新建筑，配备所有奢侈设施，由苏富比国际地产（Sotheby's International Realty，旨在吸引来自美国的潜在租客）挂牌，月租金为 \$40,894。对你我来说，这相当于一年 36 万英镑，但这个梦想之屋自去年 11 月起就一直在市场上，所以听我的建议，哈里：在困难时期，开个低价或许能赢得奖赏。

书评与艺术

卡罗琳·摩尔黑德（Caroline Moorehead）发现许多意大利人依然迷恋墨索里尼 哈里·芒特（Harry Mount）沉溺于“教堂巡礼”的追求之中 马克·科克（Mark Cocker）说服我们应该停止将土壤视作污垢 赫米奥妮·艾尔（Hermione Eyre）在锡利群岛偶然发现了一位极佳但几乎完全不为人知的艺术家 理查德·布拉特比（Richard Bratby）看到爱丁堡国际艺术节已找回其活力的迹象 德博拉·罗斯（Deborah Ross）将雷德利·斯科特的最新电影归类为“等等，什么？”类型的电影

哈佛艺术博物馆 / 福格博物馆

书籍

恶作剧与忧郁

弗朗西丝·威尔逊探讨杜·莫里尔家族阴暗的一面

《昨夜我梦见：杜·莫里尔家族个人史》 保罗·德·祖卢埃塔 著 Virago 出版社，£25，368页

“我们再也无法回去，”达芙妮·杜·莫里尔在她那部畅销小说《蝴蝶梦》（1938）中写道，“过去离我们依然太近。”然而，在一部又一部的书作中，她一次次地回溯这个非凡家族的过去。1934年，在她的父亲——当年的偶像男星杰拉尔德·杜·莫里尔去世六个月后，达芙妮撰写了他的传记，将他描绘成一个被宠坏的“巨婴”，身边有一群情妇。杰拉尔德的父亲乔治·杜·莫里尔则是著名的书籍插画师和《Punch》杂志漫画家，他创造的庞森比·德·汤金斯夫人和盖瑟梅尔夫人等角色，辛辣地讽刺了维多利亚时代的暴发户。作为亨利·詹姆斯的友人，他还写了《特里尔比》，这部1890年代的畅销小说讲述了恶魔操纵者斯文加利如何将一名音痴的年轻洗衣女工变成世界级歌剧名伶的故事。

达芙妮说，是乔治“开启了这一切，开启了家族创造力与阴暗的想象力”，但这种精神在他祖母玛丽·安·克拉克身上便可见端倪。玛丽·安曾是约克公爵在摄政时期的情妇，还经营着一项通过向军队出售委任状来获利的副业。达芙妮在家族传记中写道，玛丽·安是

一个没有道德、没有荣誉、没有美德的女人，一个在15岁时就清楚地知道自己想要什么的女人；她出身于阴沟，成长于阴沟，用她那精致的双脚践踏着感性和礼貌，在嘲笑中赢得了这一切——她用大拇指顶着鼻子（表示蔑视）。

玛丽·安的女儿艾伦嫁给了失败的发明家路易-马图兰·布松·杜·莫里尔，而真正可以说开启这一切的人，其实是后者的父亲罗伯特·布松。他是一名玻璃吹制工，也是一名被定罪的诈骗犯，他在家族姓氏中加上了“杜·莫里尔”，让后代相信他们的血管里流淌着旧制度（ancien régime）的血统。当乔治嘲讽中产阶级的抱负时，他在内心深处知道，自己的血统其实是一个谎言。

杜·莫里尔的血脉如今已断绝，这也是为什么达芙妮的长孙保罗·德·祖卢埃塔深受启发，为他的先辈们写下这篇令人心酸的“告别词”。但《昨夜我梦见》不仅仅是另一部家族传记。它是德·祖卢埃塔试图理解杜·莫里尔特质的一次尝试——一种恶作剧与忧郁的混合体，具有一种挖掘集体无意识的超自然能力。他写道，乔治、杰拉尔德和达芙妮“就像是在一个未破碎巨浪最陡峭处冲浪的人。他们知道能量所在，并且对公众的需求有着不可思议的直觉。”三人都在还没来得及做好准备之前就迅速获得了成功，而他们每个人都发现很难适应聚光灯下的生活。

公众对乔治畅销书的反应被称为“特里尔比狂热”：出现了特里尔比派对、特里尔比香肠、特里尔比冰淇淋圣代，当然，还有特里尔比帽。达芙妮反思道：

当一部小说能以这种方式影响人类心灵时，在我看来这意味着一件事：并非故事本身出类拔萃，而是作者将自己的个性如此深刻地投射在印刷页上，以至于读者要么认同这种个性，要么被其吸引，在某种意义上近乎被催眠。

EDWARD GOOCH COLLECTION / GETTY IMAGES

这是一个耐人寻味的意象，因为《特里尔比》的主题本身就是催眠，而像丹弗斯夫人对年轻的德·温特夫人那样实施的精神控制，也是达芙妮作品中反复出现的主题。《蝴蝶梦》同样深深植根于大众想象之中，其迷人的魅力始于那句富有节奏的开篇语，正如德·祖卢埃塔所指出的，这是一个抑扬六步格的例子：“昨夜我梦见我再次回到了曼德利。”

达芙妮是一位对“双重人格”有着浓厚兴趣的双性恋荣格主义者，她曾描述过自己拥有一个分裂的自我。一个是“自我一”，充满礼貌与幽默；另一个是“自我二”，想要“把每个人的脸都揍烂”。德·祖卢埃塔在揭开她复杂性格的同时，在两个自我之间穿梭，并暗示她根本不认为自己是一个独立的个体，而是一个家族幽灵的通道：“她非常清楚，自己的感受、情感、思想和身体，都是由早已死去的人传递给她的。”

被传递的不仅仅是基因密码。杜·莫里埃家族使用一种他人无法理解的语言代码进行交流。这种代码由乔治开创，经杰拉尔德润色，并由达芙妮丰富。它如此深植于他们的历史之中，以至于德·祖卢埃塔在书的开头加入了一个解码表。“开罗”（Cairo）指代性交，“威尼斯”（Venetian）指代女同性恋，“脚伸进烟囱”（have your feet up the chimney）是指同性恋，“威胁”（menace）是指有吸引力的人，而“被威胁”（menaced）则是指产生性吸引；“看我”（see-me）意味着虚荣或自我沉溺，而“告诉他”（tell-him）则是指关于自己的无聊故事。达芙妮说，玛格丽特公主就是一个典型的“看我”。德·祖卢埃塔承认，即便在现在，“如果我发现自己在漫无目的地讲述一些在他人看来可能是‘告诉他’的事情，我也会警觉起来。”

在这些篇章中，德·祖卢埃塔并没有任何“告诉他”或“看我”的倾向，他逐渐了解起他那位遥远且冷峻的祖母——她穿着“像一名法国抵抗运动的女特工”，在他三十多岁时去世。他的写作风格中最令人印象深刻的是其诚实、谦逊且毫无矫揉造作之感。他透露，直到四十多岁才读过《蝴蝶梦》（Rebecca），而且直到准备写这本书时，他才发现了祖母的大部分短篇小说，其中包括《鸟》（The Birds）和《不要回头看》（Don’t Look Now）。他对达芙妮作品反应的清新感在每一页中都能感受到。

盖蒂图片社（GETTY IMAGES）

畅销小说家：达芙妮及其祖父乔治·杜·莫里埃

家族中的“看我”是杰拉尔德，他对关注的渴求如此之深，以至于他甚至无法将自己的外遇保密。他写信给妻子：“我的甜心，我的爱人，除了深爱着你之外——我还疯狂地爱上了周日在朴次茅斯遇到的一名女孩。——我很惭愧地说，我们住在了一家酒店。”除了不忠，杰拉尔德对达芙妮的爱具有如此强的占有欲，以至于德·祖卢埃塔“产生了一种认为他们的关系甚至是乱伦的念头”。虽然他的研究中没有任何证据能推翻这一暗示，但他对自己曾祖父的了解却意外地令他动容。“在写这本书之前，”他说，“我对杰拉尔德的态度是矛盾的，就像今天家族中的许多人一样，但随着我对他的生活和事业研究得越深，我就越发地钦佩和同情他。”有时，当德·祖卢埃塔翻阅家族信件时，他会不禁落泪，尤其是当他发现其祖父所遭受的战后创伤之深时。

达芙妮是一位对“双重人格”有着浓厚兴趣的双性恋荣格主义者，她曾描述过自己拥有一个分裂的自我

他的祖父，弗雷德里克·“博伊”·布朗宁爵士（Sir Frederick ‘Boy’ Browning，也被称为“汤米”）中将，于1932年与达芙妮结婚。

1948年，布朗宁成为了爱丁堡公爵办公室的财务主管，达芙妮将这位公爵描述为“绝对的亲切之人”；1952年，布朗宁夫妇受邀参加加冕典礼。达芙妮向她的密友艾伦·杜布莱（Ellen Doubleday）抱怨道：

加冕典礼把每个人的夏天都搞得心烦意乱。我必须在凌晨5点到达威斯敏斯特教堂，如果我正处于“罗伯特”状态怎么办，而且在这种情况下一个人该去哪里“nim”或者“pal”。汤米戴着有羽毛的三角帽，而我得穿一件及踝的长裙并戴面纱，像个医院护士一样。让我们一起飞向东方，在布达佩斯见面吧。

快速浏览一下密码表便可得知，“Robert”意为月经，“nim”和“pal”是指内急，而布达佩斯则代表“幻想”。

《昨夜我梦见》（Last Night I Dreamt）中充满了这类令人赞叹的细节，但对我而言，书中最精彩的一章是德·祖卢埃塔回顾自己过去的那一部分。那是1968年的复活节，他当时12岁，父母正在办理离婚。60岁的达芙妮建议她和这个不快乐的学童在午餐后一起散步；这是他们唯一一次单独相处。他们之间羞涩的沉默偶尔会被突然的倾诉打破，达芙妮谈到了她的新书《海滨之屋》（The House on the Strand）、她不久前去世的丈夫，以及一场破坏了当地鸟类生存环境的漏油事故。至于离婚这件事，只字未提。“我确信她其实更希望能独自沉浸在自己的思绪中，”德·祖卢埃塔反思道，“那是她表达关心的独特方式。”

屏幕时间 菲利普·亨舍（Philip Hensher）

《新黑暗时代：阅读的终结与后文学社会的黎明》 （The New Dark Ages: The End of Reading and the Dawn of a Post-Literate Society）

作者：詹姆斯·马里奥特（James Marriott） Bodley Head 出版，£12.99，128页

任何打算出版一本关于识字率和阅读能力下降的硬皮 polemic（激进论著）的人，当然会发现自己是在对一群早已认同的人在布道。如果你读很多书，你会同意这本书的观点；如果你不读，你的懈怠也不会被其热忱所触动。我不会说这是一个无用的物件；我只是想说，仅仅同意其核心观点是多么地没有帮助。

阅读习惯的下降在各项调查中得到了相当令人信服的证明。根据人们的自述，在美国和英国，习惯性阅读的人数越来越少。在一个著名的案例中，美国的一整批英国文学学者竟然完全无法理解《荒凉之屋》（Bleak House）的第一页。这种趋势似乎与智商测试报告中显示的通用智力能力下降相对应。对此的解释是智能手机和网络分心的兴起，这可能加速了一个自各类屏幕出现以来就已可观察到的过程。在詹姆斯·马里奥特引用的一项极具趣味且顽皮的研究中，有线电视在挪威复杂地形上的缓慢推广，被证明与每个地点的智商小幅但可衡量的下降完全对应。

这种影响不仅体现在消费者身上，还体现在许多形式的娱乐和信息中。简而言之：即使是垃圾内容也在变得更糟。Netflix 的电影强迫角色一遍又一遍地解释正在发生的事情。流行音乐正变得更加简陋。我想我第一次注意到这一点是在碧昂丝（Beyoncé）的巨作《单身女士》（Single Ladies）凭借一段八岁女孩玩拍手游戏时唱的曲调获得全球成功之时。研究费力地证明了在过去的 50 年里，旋律和歌词都变得更加简单。但如果你走进一家还算时髦的酒吧或咖啡馆，播放的音乐更有可能来自 20 世纪 70 年代而非 20 世纪 20 年代。而且，那个时代最具挑战性的音乐似乎表现得相当不错。且不论琼尼·米切尔（Joni Mitchell）；你甚至可以用一场全利盖蒂（Ligeti）的曲目单让音乐厅售罄。对低智化内容的狂热可能并不像我们担心的那样普遍。人们在某些方面依然渴望复杂性。

但即便这本书在灾难性的基调上未能完全令人信服，毫无疑问，人口中大部分人的阅读量下降正在发生，并且这带来了某些可怕的后果。马里奥特强调了对真理的威胁以及疯狂幻想的盛行。一个不接触书籍或纸质报纸、所有信息都来自网络来源的公众将侵蚀标准。你只需要看看那些试图在一次可疑的学术任命历史中寻找客观真相的人所遭受的谴责——他们被告知必须只能相信并尊重个人感受——就能看出最终会发生什么。

马里奥特是《泰晤士报》的专栏作家，这是他的处女作。他有一个主张要推销，因此全书的风格都是新闻报道式的。《伊利亚特》被描述为“荷马关于特洛伊战争的著名史诗”，任何名字出现时都带着定义性的形容词簇。你可能会觉得这种报纸习惯令人厌烦，或者仅仅是冗余且不优雅，给人一种紧张感。“小说家 H.G. 威尔斯”、“小说家 维克多·雨果”以及“俄罗斯小说家 费奥多尔·陀思妥耶夫斯基”接踵而至。即使是最平庸的观察也需要一个有名望的权威和一段引语来支撑：当社会实现了近乎普及的识字率时，“正如历史学家罗伯特·达恩顿（Robert Darnton）所言，这是一个‘转折点’”。

蒙田、早期天文学、哲学家之间的通信、约翰逊博士的阅读习惯、工业革命以及革命女性主义，在六页并不完全连贯的篇幅中被匆匆扫过。不过，马里奥特在分析他认为影响我们阅读习惯的力量方面表现出色。虽然经典小说仅被简略提及，但他却倾注了极大的关注于智能手机的演变；其中几页还详细探讨了一位名叫 Mr Beast 的人物的在线产出，以及一些更奇怪的算法娱乐：

由 AI 生成的、头部是水果的动画角色在演绎简短的肥皂剧式（有时略带色情）的情感剧。曲线玲珑的“草莓头夫人”与英俊且穿着昂贵西装的“香蕉头先生”发生了婚外情。

“这种垃圾内容如此令人无法抗拒，”马里奥特说。嗯，我对此并不确定。对我来说，它似乎相当容易抗拒。当《Single Ladies》刚出的时候，我确实很喜欢，持续了大约十天。另一方面，埃罗伊卡交响曲（Eroica Symphony）带来的愉悦在 50 年前经过一点努力后被体会到，且至今依然强劲。如果你认为这听起来很势利，那么你就是问题的一部分。马里奥特没有完全触及的问题是，阅读习惯正变成一种基于阶级的习惯。五十年前，像我这样在公立学校就读的孩子可以接触到优秀的图书馆、极具雄心的课程，以及一种具有大胆倾向且乐于接纳新事物的文学文化。（我清楚地记得安东尼·伯吉斯的小说《尘世权力》引发的轰动。）所有这些公共资源都已在一定程度上退缩。几十年来，谢菲尔德综合学校里没有一个人被要求阅读法文版的《包法利夫人》。近年来，爱书的孩子更有可能来自私立教育和专业人士家庭背景。如果阅读习惯在很大程度上是由社会地位决定的，那么社会阶层将会僵化，我们所有人的生活都将变得更糟。然而，阅读在社会最成功阶层中消失的可能性并不大。

《新黑暗时代》（The New Dark Ages）是对该论点的一次有益且具有警示意义的贡献——尽管我觉得它给人一种略显随意的感觉，而我反复的反应是：“噢，得了吧。”也许这本书应该由一个在漫长的知识生涯末期拥有丰富经验的人来撰写。即便如此，听取一个像马里奥特所说地“两边都涉足”的人的见解仍有价值——他受到屏幕、游戏、流媒体和社交媒体的影响，而这些影响对年长一代来说将永远在某种程度上充满神秘感。如果“查理咬了我”（Charlie bit me）比“读者，我嫁给他了”（Reader, I married him）更广为人知，那么我们将面临一些无法仅从外部分析的后果。

领袖崇拜

卡罗琳·摩尔黑德（Caroline Moorehead）

《墨索里尼的幽灵：一个独裁者的死后世界》（Mussolini's Ghost: The Afterlife of a Dictator），斯蒂芬·冈德尔（Stephen Gundle）著，牛津大学出版社（OUP），£25，352页

在意大利，你无需远行就能遇到墨索里尼关于建筑辉煌之梦的遗迹。从罗马通用展览区（EUR）那些闪耀的大理石和凝灰岩宫殿，到罗马体育论坛中巨大的运动员雕像，再到南部的拉特里纳（Laterina）新镇，这位“领袖”（Duce）的创造物清晰可见。1945年春，当盟军完成对意大利的解放后，他们曾试图抹除法西斯主义的所有痕迹，但这些痕迹实在太多了。因此，他们决定仅移除那些最“不美观”的部分。就像那些与法西斯主义共事20年的公务员、司法人员和领先工业家一样——他们原本都被列入“epurato”（清洗）名单，但很快就获得了特赦——这些遗迹已深深根植于意大利本身的结构之中。正如斯蒂芬·冈德尔所写，它们被留了下来，成为了墨索里尼幽灵遗产的一部分。

普雷达皮奥（Predappio）纪念品商店出售的葡萄酒

在二战结束后的80年里，墨索里尼的名声从未真正定论，而是随着几代历史学家和政治家的更迭而波动。冈德尔审视了这位独裁者形象的每一个方面，从海报、雕塑到电影，并借鉴了精神分析学家关于哀悼与记忆的研究，描述了墨索里尼“非凡的死后生命力”如何在数十年间产生共鸣。这是一个迷人的故事。仅凭其参考资料部分，这本书对于研究该时期的学生来说就具有极高价值。

人们常说，对墨索里尼的崇拜是第一个现代人格崇拜。随着法西斯主义在20世纪20年代初笼罩意大利，他的肖像和语录被贴在公共建筑、办公室、教室和候诊室的墙上。新闻短片记录了他击剑、骑马、身边跟着一只狮子幼崽开车，以及他身着制服或赤裸上身、下颌突出、目光炯炯地发表演说。正如一句流行口号所言：Il Duce ha sempre ragione（领袖永远正确）。当他的情妇玛格丽塔·萨法蒂（Margherita Sarfatti）撰写《领袖》（Dux）一书时，她将他描绘成一个现代罗马人，一个能深刻感知人民需求的“贵族平民”。当然，崇拜墨索里尼的不仅仅是在意大利。在20世纪30年代，他曾八次登上《时代》杂志封面，被认为将他的国家从布尔什维主义和革命中拯救了出来。（希特勒仅出现过一次。）

然而，正如冈德尔正确指出的，他在1943年垮台的速度之快令人惊叹。无论是他的“M”营还是法西斯民兵都没有采取任何行动来拯救他。当维克多·伊曼纽尔三世国王在一夜之间将他撤职时，随之而来的狂欢中，各种象征物和胸像被摧毁，党证被撕毁，赞美他的涂鸦被抹除。

墨索里尼的故居现已成为一座圣地，馆藏有他的制服、小提琴和自行车

在博洛尼亚，一座巨大的青铜骑马像被砸碎，独裁者的头像被拖过街道。一名记者写道，人群的行为“像一只从笼中获救的野兽”。18个月后，当墨索里尼被游击队枪杀，他的尸体与情妇克拉拉·佩塔奇（Clara Petacci）的尸体一起在米兰被以一种令人毛骨悚然的方式悬挂展出时，针对他及其法西斯分子的愤怒再次爆发。

但愤怒并未持久。原计划中的意大利纽伦堡审判从未举行。没有哪个政党希望看到法西斯主义及其对墨索里尼的奴隶式崇拜在20年间被推上被告席。无论如何，冷战政治改变了视角与联盟。不久之后，意大利人便将自己塑造为多年暴力时期的受害者而非加害者，认为自己是被少数罪犯误导了。冈德尔（Gundle）指出了意大利与德国的对比，以及在意大利，罪责从未被赋予同等重要性的方式。法西斯主义通过集体意志消失了。

渐渐地，随着钟摆的再次摆动，墨索里尼得到了平反，他作为幽灵的死后生活开始了。这在一定程度上源于其妻子拉凯莱（Rachele）的著作，她方便地忽略了他的多次外遇，将他描述为一个深情但有缺陷的丈夫和父亲。历史学家伦佐·德·费利切（Renzo de Felice）也为此提供了助力，他在20世纪70年代和80年代撰写了一部共8卷的传记，将墨索里尼塑造为一名社会改革者和政治家，而不仅仅是一个独裁者，并将意大利人描述为“好人”，以区别于“坏”德国人。直到20世纪90年代，当学者们开始记录在意大利殖民地犯下的暴行以及黑衫军实施的暴力时，墨索里尼的名声才再次下滑。安东尼奥·斯库拉蒂（Antonio Scurati）创作的一系列以被法西斯暴力吞噬的意大利为背景的小说极其受欢迎。

冈德尔在书中精彩地描述了目前一些较为奇特的关于墨索里尼时代的呈现方式，例如在罗马的一家博物馆中，独裁者的蜡像就站在希特勒和特朗普之间。或许缺失的是对墨索里尼政治遗产更详细的分析，从战后立即兴起的新法西斯主义组织——意大利社会运动（MSI），一直到西尔维奥·贝卢斯科尼（Silvio Berlusconi）将其极右翼势力纳入其联盟。尽管乔治亚·梅洛尼（Giorgia Meloni）迅速撇清了自己与法西斯主义污点的关系，但她在15岁时就在意大利社会运动（MSI）的青年翼开始其政治生涯。墨索里尼的几个孙辈在认为没有必要改名的情况下，成功地在政坛闯出了一番事业。

1922年墨索里尼向罗马进军的周年纪念日每年都在10月28日大肆庆祝，其中在埃米利亚-罗马尼亚大区独裁者的出生地普雷达皮奥（Predappio）最为盛大。在那里，他母亲的教室向公众开放，附近的家族故居已成为一座圣地和博物馆，馆藏有他的制服、他的小提琴和他的自行车。在镇上的礼品店里，法西斯纪念品随处可见。人们无法想象同样的事情发生在德国。墨索里尼的许多现代主义建筑现在被视为意大利文化遗产不可分割的一部分。时尚品牌 Fendi 已将其总部设在 EUR 地区一座较为壮观的建筑中。

正如冈德尔清晰地证明的那样，墨索里尼继续令意大利人着迷，这在很大程度上是因为从未对法西斯主义进行过真正的清算。他们看待他的方式很像印度教徒看待其古鲁的死后状态，被包裹在“一种奇怪且不理性的光环”之中。由于其具有如此强大的吸引力，摆脱他的幽灵十分困难。但冈德尔警告说，保持警惕是明智的：此类遗产具有令人不安的潜力，能够影响当下。

关于伊芙（All about Eve） Emily Hill

《太洛杉矶：从未寄出的信（但有些寄了）》（Too L.A.: Letters Never Sent (But Some Were)） 作者：伊芙·巴比茨（Eve Babitz），莉莉·阿诺利克（Lili Anolik）编辑，Atlantic 出版，£16.99，448 页

“我认为《太洛杉矶》是伊芙的第二部杰作——第一部当然是《慢日，快公司》（Slow Days, Fast Company）——也是她最具影响力的作品，”编辑莉莉·阿诺利克在介绍这本书时这样写道。这本书是由她将已故的伊芙·巴比茨寄出和未寄出的信件整理而成的。“这是 20 世纪末西海岸版的《自己的房间》，是一次女性主义的内心呐喊。”这是阿诺利克第三本关于伊芙的书。她是巴比茨的博斯韦尔。但《太洛杉矶》给我的感觉更像海伦·菲尔丁，而非弗吉尼亚·伍尔夫。

在由她自己构思的杰作中，伊芙·巴比茨（人格面具）是一位货真价实的性感女神，吉姆·莫里森就在她的双腿之间。而在她的私人通信中，伊芙·巴比茨（本人）则像是一个服用了酸类药物的布里奇特·琼斯。她用体重磅数和香烟来衡量日子：“我正试着让体重回到 130 磅。我几乎总是 135 磅，除非我能减到 125 磅，否则我觉得自己还没有真正战胜吸烟这件事。”她对自己的身体感到焦虑：“我的屁股依然是最糟糕的。”

她遇到的男人都很糟糕：“彼得·坎特是个爱捏腿的人，而且没什么魅力。”而当她显得像个傻瓜时，他们最欣赏她。来自杰斐逊飞机的马蒂“在我做一些蠢事时似乎最喜欢我，比如我指着金门大桥问‘那些灯都是干什么的’”。达西先生出现了，威胁到了她计划中的单身生活。但（剧情反转）他是同性恋。我们的女主角服用过量的酸类药物。还有过量的可卡因。以及过量的酒精。1982 年，她加入了匿名戒酒会（AA）并停止写信。全剧终。

“作为一个人在七十年代幸存下来的伊芙，作为一名作家却没能在那十年里幸存，”阿诺利克总结道，并引用伊芙表亲的话说：“伊芙的存在仅仅是

我不能说我不喜欢这本书，但读到一半时，我开始感到极其不适

如此失控。她认为只有这样她才能成为一名作家。”巴比茨（Babitz）的生活或许是失控的，但如果清醒毁掉了她的写作，那么是谁写了《黑天鹅》（Black Swans）和《我曾如此迷人》（I Used To Be Charming）？

我不能说我不喜欢《太洛杉矶》（Too L.A.），但读到一半时，我开始感到极其不适。这种感觉就像是在翻找一个死掉女人的内衣抽屉。如果这些信件中的一部分被筛选出来，并包装成一本像企鹅出版社“小黑经典”系列那样规模的书，我会同意安诺利克（Anolik）接生了一部杰作。巴比茨写给约瑟夫·海勒（Joseph Heller）感谢其在封底撰写推荐语的信就是其中之一：

在你那段小小的引用中，你说我能让“即使是最糟糕的角色也变得有趣且迷人，即使是最沉闷的关系也变得引人入胜且令人兴奋”。但是，乔，我不认为有人是糟糕的。我发现其他人认为有价值的东西是可怕的监狱，而人们通常认为糟糕的东西，我有时甚至因为太着迷而无法眨眼。

随后她引用了劳里·科尔温（Laurie Colwin）对她经纪人的话：

如果这就是这位作者（《慢日，快公司》的作者）真实的生活方式，那么应该有人给她狠狠地打屁股。虽然如果某个混蛋这样生活，我会觉得极其肮脏，但巴比茨小姐把它描述得极其浪漫。

当安诺利克说《太洛杉矶》包含了一次关于女性是否适合进入文学经典之列的“女性主义心声”（cri de coeur）时，她指的就是给海勒的那封信。但在我看来，这更像是在呼吁更好的书评。她继续写道：

我想知道的是，如果我告诉所有人关于我的疾病，关于我隔壁死于癌症的奶奶，关于我衣橱里死掉的猫，关于爱上一个据称更喜欢男人的男人是多么可怕，以及看着我的母亲在周围所有人的离世中崩溃是多么可怕……那么你认为人们会更喜欢我吗？

这封信格外特别。在信中，巴比茨坦白了大多数作家会掩饰的事情：她作为一名艺术家究竟打算实现什么。她告诉海勒：

你看，除非我的角色穿着铂金色金属织物睡衣潜行，否则我甚至无法在打字机前坐下来……我就是那个角色。我总觉得没有人知道像我这样的人，我觉得自己是原创的。

在读了三遍这本书之后，我想我理解安诺利克在本篇评论开头所提出的主张。《太洛杉矶》就是剥去了那位星女铂金色金属织物睡衣的《慢日，快公司》。这固然很好，但我并不确定巴比茨是否希望任何人那样看到她。

作为一名读者，以及巴比茨和安诺利克的粉丝，我是否庆幸这本书的存在？是的。但如果是我写了《太洛杉矶》里的素材，我会想出版它吗？不。像拜伦、纳博科夫和拉金一样，我会想把它烧掉。

动物精神 德里克·特纳（Derek Turner）

故事与歌谣中的生物：追溯英国失踪的物种

作者：Lee Raye

Reaktion 出版社，£16.95，共 312 页

2023年，《自然状态报告》（State of Nature Report）宣布英国是全球自然资源最匮乏的国家之一。对于任何意识到乡村日益空旷的人来说，这几乎不足为奇；而对于一个孕育了工业革命的小岛而言，这或许在预料之中。但 Lee Raye 的众多资料来源揭示，这一进程早在蒸汽机出现之前就已开始，其深远影响不仅在于自然世界，更在于国民心理。

本书中介绍的 14 个物种曾占据英国意识形态的显著位置——它们既是生物，也是隐喻、寓言、比喻和象征。它们逐渐从视野中消失，使环境和我们的想象力都变得贫瘠，而我们现在却在渴望它们：就像截肢者在缺失的肢体中感受到幻肢痛一样，我们感受到了那些曾处于文化核心地位的动物的缺失。

这种缺失通常源于我们自身的行为——在我们日益破坏这个“半伊甸园”的过程中，造成了物种灭绝、过度开发和附带损害。但 Raye 认为，在寻求恢复自然时必须考虑人类的需求，以避免出现“环境殖民主义”，即傲慢的局外人将不公正或不切实际的观念强加给既有的社区和景观。

大海 auk（英国学校）

灰鲸对罗马-不列颠人来说足够熟悉，以至于驻守在哈德良长城的士兵会将它们的骨骼雕刻成艺术品。鲸鱼也出现在凯尔特基督教中（圣哥伦巴曾警告有一头鲸鱼潜伏在艾奥纳岛附近，而圣布伦丹则在另一头鲸鱼身上登陆，误以为那是座岛屿），而古英语中对大海的一个称呼就是“鲸鱼之乡”。几个世纪以来，鲸鱼被视为恐怖的利维坦或造物的奇迹，直到一个不那么富有诗意的时代开始将它们视为灯油或紧身胸衣支撑条的来源，从而产生了破坏性和错位的影响。到 19 世纪，灰鲸已在大西洋中被消灭——尽管它们在太平洋中依然存在。

大海 auk（Great Auk）——可能是最初的“企鹅”（penguin），源自威尔士语中表示“白色”和“头部”的词汇——据称在 1844 年灭绝，当时最后几只鸟在冰岛附近的一个小岛上被杀。它们不会飞行，因此在饥饿的人类面前极其脆弱，而它们美丽的蛋则被鸟蛋收藏家们热烈追捧。它们刚消失，便引起了人们的哀悼；在查尔斯·金斯莱的《水宝宝》（The Water Babies, 1863）中，烟囱清扫工汤姆遇到了唯一的幸存者，一位坐在“Allalonestone”上的“高贵的老妇人”，她告诉他关于它们灭绝的故事，然后流下了油一般的泪水。在另一种传统中，最后一只 auk 被圣基尔达岛人当作女巫杀掉。在鲁思文·托德 1943 年的超现实主义小说《失踪的旅人》（The Lost Traveller）中，主人公寻找最后一只 auk，结果就在惊恐的渔民挥下钝器的一刻，他自己变成了那只可怜的鸟。

老鹰同样可以变形，正如在《马比诺吉昂》（Mabinogion）中，布洛德温的丈夫勒乌在被谋杀的瞬间被魔法变成了老鹰，随后通过诗歌的力量重新变回人类。它们既是抢夺羔羊的掠食者，也是王权的象征，就像托尔金笔下的风之主格怀希尔（Gwaihir the Windlord），他将弗罗多从末日火山中救出。

狼被视为牲畜的威胁、战场死者的吞噬者，甚至被视为恶魔——但 Wulf 也是一个受欢迎的名字，寓意着骑士般的战士精神，如在《贝奥武夫》（Beowulf）或圣伍尔夫拉姆（St Wulfram）中，据说有一头狼守护着圣埃德蒙被砍下的头颅。野猪可能会破坏庄稼，但它们也是像加文爵士（Sir Gawain）这样的人值得追猎的猎物，也是教会人士选址建立修道院时的精神向导。海狸因皮毛及其分泌的海狸香而遭到猎杀，但根据传说，邓威奇的圣费利克斯在被一只海狸从海难中救出后，将其封为主教。

Raye 通过转换视角，让我们透过“动物性的镜头”来看待问题，从而缓解了人类对动物残酷对待的故事。在一首 16 世纪的诗作《Marchan Wood》中，

[...OMITTED...]

根据传说，邓威治的圣费利克斯在被一只海狸从海难中救出后，封其为主教

红松鼠从威尔士迁徙到伦敦，责备伊丽莎白时代的英国人砍伐威尔士的森林；而在 1611 年的民谣《Powte 的诉求》中，“powtes”（一种对拟鳕及其他类似鱼类的地区性称呼）则在哀悼芬兰沼泽地的排水工程。

英国依然遭受着损失，近六分之一的所有物种面临灭绝威胁。但本书中的一些动物正回归并夺回属于它们的一切，例如灰鹤、大鸨和野猪；而海狸则开始按照更古老的模样重新塑造这片干渴的土地。如果运气好（且得到协助），鲟鱼或许有一天能再次涌入亨伯河，而猞猁则会潜入这里处理我们的鹿群，并满足人们在博德明之兽之外对大型猫科动物的渴望。通过回顾我们与这些生物古老的共存历史，雷伊（Raye）帮助我们展望这样的未来。

从蓝调到说唱 伊恩·汤姆森

《我们曾在此：黑人与另类音乐史》斯蒂芬妮·菲利普斯·法伯 著，£20, 351页

《Dub 革命：牙买加的声音发明者与混音文化的诞生》 大卫·卡茨 著 白兔出版社，£25, 376页

《舞厅之火：声音、风格与抗争的遗产》（Fire Inna Dancehall: A Legacy of Sound, Style and Struggle），德里克·A·巴多韦尔（Derek A. Bardowell）著，约翰·默里出版社（John Murray），£22，368页

在1919年酷热的8月，一支名为“南方切分乐队”（Southern Syncopated Orchestra）的27人非裔美国人爵士乐团受邀前往白金汉宫，参加一场皇家命令音乐会。这支乐队是英国首次接触黑人音乐。他们那如温室般炽热的切分音和密西西比搓衣板节奏，在第一次世界大战后犹如一剂抚慰之药，并在巡演电路中大获成功。

大约十年后，在20世纪30年代的摇摆乐时代，单簧管演奏家本尼·古德曼（Benny Goodman）为了迎合白人的口味而对爵士乐进行了改编，使其变得温和且纯净——正如埃尔维斯·普雷斯利（Elvis Presley）在战后一代将黑人摇滚乐（rock 'n' roll）大众化所做的那样。到20世纪50年代迈尔斯·戴维斯（Miles Davis）出现时，爵士乐已日益成为白人的狂热爱好。他成为了蓝眼睛摩德族（Mods）以及各种白人灵魂兄弟的时尚偶像。即便在今天，时尚杂志依然推崇他1958年专辑《里程碑》（Milestones）封面上的照片。那是多么慵懒且漫不经心的着装风格。（是的，迈尔斯的格调早已超越了所谓的“酷”。）

斯蒂芬妮·菲利普斯（Stephanie Phillips）撰写的《我们曾在此》（We Were Here）是对一个世纪以来黑人另类音乐（从蓝调到嘻哈，经由爵士乐和黑人重金属）的一次深思熟虑的综述，该书有着自己的主张。菲利普斯并非第一个指出如果没有黑人先驱，西方流行音乐将不复存在的人，但她以极大的热情论证了黑人音乐家和歌手一直被刻意地“排除在故事之外”。滚石乐队（正如米克本人会率先承认的那样）从路易斯安那沼泽蓝调大师斯利姆·哈波（Slim Harpo）那里窃取了许多吉他片段；披头士乐队在“拖把头”时期的尖叫“呜”声，则是模仿了他们的偶像小理查德（Little Richard）在舞台上的号叫。

菲利普斯是英国黑人朋克乐队 Big Joanie 的主唱兼吉他手。她从小就被那些“黑人怪才”（用她的原话）音乐人物所吸引。在名为《回归根源》的精彩章节中，她探讨了摇滚乐教母罗塞塔·萨普（Rosetta Tharpe）的一生，后者可能是双性恋或酷儿。萨普高能量的吉他节奏和福音音乐的演绎方式，被埃尔维斯在其早期的扭胯表演中借鉴。尽管萨普在数十年的标准音乐史中被遗忘，但她现在已被年轻一代重新发现。

洛杉矶直到20世纪80年代才出现一种独特的黑人音乐：说唱（rap）。在说唱出现之前，20世纪70年代初曾短暂而辉煌地出现过一个多种族放克组合——斯莱与石头家族（Sly and the Family Stone），他们的单曲《别叫我***，白皮》（Don’t Call Me ***, Whitey）使用了直白的种族蔑称来反击偏见。菲利普斯对斯莱的描写引人入胜，同时对洛杉矶的混血乐队 Love 也有精彩的论述，该乐队在1967年推出的惊人专辑《永远改变》（Forever Changes）将巴洛克式的民谣风格与关于输血和城市病态的诡异暗示相结合。

作者的音乐品味非常广泛，她评述的一些黑人流行朋克、垃圾摇滚和新浪潮歌手对我来说比较陌生（比如 Bolokos——瓜德罗普岛上唯一的朋克乐队？）。然而，许多年长的读者会记得 X-Ray Spex 乐队的波莉·斯泰林（Poly Styrene），她那首激昂的单曲《噢，束缚！去你的吧！》（Oh Bondage! Up Yours!）在1977年的英国曾大获成功。当然，琼·阿马特拉丁（Joan Armatrading）和普林斯（Prince）无需过多介绍。《我们曾在此》是一部极具可读性的文化史，捕捉到了一种永远改变了世界的音乐所具有的兴奋感与胆识。

在牙买加，音乐影响着生活的方方面面，从着装、言谈到饮食皆是如此。老派雷鬼音乐（reggae）带有奴隶船时代之前的正义灵性，为“受压迫”的牙买加人提供了获得救赎的希望，并鼓励一代在英国出生的黑人加勒比公民去接纳他们父母经常回避的文化遗产——非洲。在戴维·卡茨（David Katz）看来，dub雷鬼是“雷鬼子类型中最具趣味且最令人困惑的”，它是一种带有沉重低音铺底的电子音乐。20世纪70年代那些伟大的dub专辑——如基思·哈德森（Keith Hudson）的《Pick a Dub》和燃烧之矛（Burning Spear）的《Garvey’s Ghost》——具有一种赞美诗般的、如咒语般的特质。这些作品大多是纯乐器演奏。像金·塔比（King Tubby）和李·“刮擦”·佩里（Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry）这样的牙买加录音工程师，在混音台前进行实验，通过去掉现有曲目中的人声并强化鼓点和低音部分，将其称为dub音乐。

卡茨是牙买加的资深专家。他撰写的雷鬼口述史《坚实基础》（Solid Foundation）是伟大的音乐书籍之一。其续作《Dub革命》（Dub Revolution）在很大程度上依赖于他30多年前对牙买加和英国的dub及雷鬼从业者进行的采访。金·塔比并不在受访者之列，因为他在1989年被一名枪手在金斯顿家门外谋杀。金·塔比（原名奥斯本·鲁多克，Osbourne Ruddock）曾在金斯顿技术学院学习电子学，职业生涯始于制造电压适配器和修理电视机。凭借一把电烙铁和一把钳子，他随后创造出了充满混响、回声和延迟的抽象dub声景。

牙买加舞厅音乐（dancehall）是雷鬼音乐的一个分支，是一种由DJ主导的数字化音乐，通常被称为“ragga”。其中大部分内容是由预设的鼓机节奏和计算机键盘生成的。英国音乐记者德里克·A·巴多韦尔（Derek A. Bardowell）认为舞厅音乐是一个被误解的流派。在《舞厅之火》（Fire Inna Dancehall）一书中，他将其起源追溯到20世纪50年代和60年代金斯顿的音响系统文化（sound-system culture），当时的DJ在唱片上进行谈话和拟声吟唱（牙买加人称之为“toasting”），以此点燃舞池。在社区的舞厅聚会（即“bashments”）中，一名出色的DJ需要能够跟上节拍地吟唱，并编出机智的童谣短语和无意义的歌词（如“Aba-shanti, boom-shaka-lacka. Skiddly-iddley. Biddy biddy bong”）。在存在40多年的时间里，舞厅音乐发展出了一套放荡不羁的行话——“舞厅语”（dancehallese），其生动程度不亚于18世纪的盗贼暗语。巴多韦尔对像大象人（Elephant Man）和比尼人（Beenie Man）等舞厅歌手所表达的恐同情绪感到失望，但他高度赞扬他们演唱时使用的方言帕特瓦语（patwa），认为这是一种极具韵味的独特语言。

美与真 Leyla Sanai

《M的一生》（Life of M）

作者：蕾切尔·卡斯克（Rachel Cusk） Faber出版社，£18.99，192页

蕾切尔·卡斯克最新小说的主题是真理与名声。事实上，将其称为“小说”并不完全准确：书中虽有两个主要角色，但没有情节；而且，尽管读者会逐渐理解这两个女人，但这种理解是通过观察一系列片段中的行为而实现的，而非通过传统的故事叙述。

书名中的“M”是一位美丽且著名的女演员，据报道是以娜塔莉·波特曼为原型。她的朋友——那位匿名的叙述者——想要为她写传记。“你能不能直接编一个？”M轻描淡写地建议道，这让我们意识到虚构是如何编织进她的生活中的。叙述者（正如在卡斯克的《轮廓》三部曲中一样）似乎部分基于作者本人，她感到被“平庸之辈的随机暴力”所击碎——而她的朋友则因名声而免受其害。她感觉到自己不被父母所爱（卡斯克曾写过她在考文垂的母亲）；并且被她爱过的人所辜负（卡斯克关于离婚的书《后果》对她的前夫评价极其刻薄）。她还觉得自己在M面前无法展现真实的自我。

尽管M声称厌恶名声带来的特权，但她实际上很享受其中。酒店花园里的一张桌子因季节结束而关闭；谁被允许坐在她身边是由管理层精心筛选的。我们得知，她在童星时期曾受到将其性化企图的影响——这些计划被她的母亲坚决阻止了。M想要真实，但她意识到自己一直都在演戏。对她而言，世界就像对那些拥有权力的人一样，是可塑的。她无法感受到情感或共情，尽管她能令人信服地模仿这些情绪。她周围的人经常回避真相。当她参观一个她将要饰演其情妇的男人的庄园时，她发现那根本不是他的庄园：他的财产被搬到那里是为了模拟他的家。而现实被进一步扭曲。一位朋友抱怨抑郁症——并且因为没有服用抗抑郁药，而坚持认为自己是唯一能准确看待世界的人。但如果循环水供应中普遍存在抗抑郁药，那么这种可疑的道德优势也就消失了。

在故事早期，叙述者的伴侣住院了。卡斯克对前往医院漫长路途的描述，让人想起T.S. 艾略特《J. 阿尔弗雷德·普鲁弗洛克的情歌》中那种催眠般的节奏：“繁华的地段让位于粗粝的地段，然后再次变得繁华，就像一场永无止境的争论或一场对胜利的挣扎。”虽然没有明确说明，但这种对生活失去控制的状态，与M在生活中平静的滑行形成了对比。

M努力过正常的生活——接送孩子上学，比起高端母亲，她更喜欢与低薪保姆聊天——但她总是受到特殊对待，这使得这一切变得不可能。电影世界充满了矫饰。一个文学沙龙由一名设计师经营。热爱阅读的M受邀参加，一名模特也受邀参加，后者尽管没读过那些书，却对它们赞不绝口。人们在自己荒唐的谎言中自我欺骗。然而，想到不被认出来会让M感到恐惧。她可以假装避开名声，但她需要它。

真理以多种且往往矛盾的方式被探讨。叙述者不喜欢看电影，因为她不想让自己的大脑填满那些并非她真实经历的记忆。但在尝试润色自己的纪实写作时，她对真理并没有那么执着。她解释说，美化自己令人兴奋，这让她有机会保留生活中她喜欢的部分，而舍弃其余的部分。

令人费解的是，她有时会使用“我们”这个词。另一个人大概是她自身的另一个部分，仿佛通过不断的自我虚构，她已经变成了多个人。她排斥自己性格中的某些方面，并对其他方面感到幻灭。她无法想象陷入疯狂热恋的状态。在某个时刻，她谈到了一个曾爱她随后又恨她的男人（再次出现了《余波》的影子）。然而，她爱并需要她那患病的伴侣，而这种依赖令她恐惧。

结尾耐人寻味。M 最终是否在挑战叙述者做出选择？这部小说中，卡斯克（Cusk）将虚构的边界推得比在《大纲》三部曲中更远。它聪明、洞察力敏锐，且——在结尾处——令人恼火。

考文垂圣三一教堂 15 世纪《末日审判》画作的中心部分

毁灭的边缘 哈里·芒特

《教堂巡礼：英格兰教堂中失落的生命与隐藏的故事》 作者：瑞秋·莫利 (Rachel Morley) Bodley Head 出版，£22, 320页

约翰·贝杰曼（John Betjeman）是英格兰教区教堂的守护神，他在 1948. 创造了“教堂巡礼者”（church-crawler）这个词。瑞秋·莫利在这本迷人的指南中承认了他的天才。但她自己也承认，她与类似的教堂痴迷者之间存在一定的距离。没错，她完全具备资格，因为她是 1957. 成立的卓越组织“无主教堂之友”（Friends of Friendless Churches）的负责人。但事实上，她是爱尔兰人，在科克出生并长大。

她通过教区教堂了解英格兰，并提出了一个令人信服的论点：这些教堂是理解英格兰艺术、建筑、国民性格甚至语言的关键。7世纪的伊利修女圣埃塞尔德雷达（St Etheldreda）的名字演变成了圣奥德里（St Audrey），这为我们提供了“tawdry”（廉价且俗气的）这个词，用来描述在圣埃塞尔德雷达节日期间出售的廉价饰品。

教堂如此深植于英格兰的性格和景观之中也就不足为奇了。教区制度建立于10世纪。萨塞克斯郡的一座教堂——博舍姆（Bosham），出现在拜约挂毯中，因为哈罗德国王在 1064. 启航前往诺曼底之前曾访问过这里。在随后的岁月里，它发生了相当大的变化，但萨克逊时期的圣坛拱门仍然与挂毯中的样子非常相似：其高度、比例、三层模制的柱头以及柱基处粗壮的残柱，尼古劳斯·佩夫斯纳（Nikolaus Pevsner）将其比作磨盘。

正是这些跨越世纪的联系，让我们这些教堂巡礼者变成了痴迷者，正如菲利普·拉金（Philip Larkin）在他的诗作《去教堂》（Church Going）中所说，是对“古物充满渴望”。我们能从最微小的细节中获得快感，例如通过燃烧和研磨柳树枝而形成的彩色玻璃中的深灰色，或者是用烧焦并压碎的动物骨头制成的颜料“骨黑”。

莫利对那些难以察觉的细节有着敏锐的观察力。教堂的钟经常刻有格言：康沃尔郡卡尔斯托克（Calstock）的一口钟刻着“我召唤生者赴教堂，死者入坟墓”，日期为 1773；而林肯郡克罗夫特（Croft）的一口钟则刻着像《终结者》一样的“准备好迎接死亡”，日期为 1716. 年。敲钟人曾是一群嗜酒之徒。从17世纪到19世纪中期，他们被配发“gotches”——一种带有水龙头或喷嘴孔的大陶瓷麦芽酒罐。有些罐子能装 32 品脱。

古老的教区教堂中蕴含着如此多的奇迹，以至于我们这些教堂巡礼者被认为古怪简直令人惊讶。谁能不对比如坎布里亚郡的比威卡斯尔教堂（Bewcastle Church）产生兴趣？它坐落在青铜时代定居点上的一个罗马堡垒内部。英格兰最早的萨克逊日晷就保存在那里，它被嵌入一座刻有葡萄藤和花朵的高十字架中。佩夫斯纳将其描述为“那个时代整个欧洲最伟大的成就”。那是 660 年代。一次又一次，最早的幸存之物总是在教堂中被发现。索尔兹伯里大教堂中建于 1386, 的机械钟是世界上最古老的时钟之一。年龄——以及它带来的记忆——解释了为什么我们不断回到教堂。它们的规模意味着它们可以字面意义上地存储记忆——就像诺福克郡萨尔（Salle）战争纪念碑下停放的一把犁，它是对逝去农民的纪念。

“如此多的死者躺在周围，”拉金在《去教堂》中写道——这也是他认为教堂是“严肃土地上的严肃之屋”的原因之一。数千万的人被埋在英国的教堂墓地里。一位大学朋友曾说我在这儿徘徊很诡异，因为我花时间在牛津的教堂墓地里闲逛。但是，除了性，还有什么比死亡更令人感兴趣的吗？

教堂里不仅充满了死者，还充满了关于死亡的图画——比如通常位于圣坛拱门上方的“末日审判”壁画。在考文垂的圣三一教堂中，有一幅最精美的壁画在1940年的大轰炸中幸存了下来。该教堂的牧师格雷厄姆·克利瑟罗（Graham Clitheroe）在屋顶巡逻了11小时，扑灭了燃烧弹，多亏了他，这幅创作于1430年代的“末日”壁画才得以保存。在画面的一个角落里，一个长满毛的恶魔正将三个女人围拢在一起，她们除了头上的蝴蝶头饰外全身赤裸，手里拿着大酒杯。她们是酿酒女，因为在啤酒中掺水欺骗顾客而被判定受苦。这正义执行得相当严酷。

由于在“无主教堂”（Friendless Churches）组织工作，莫利（Morley）始终在致力于拯救那些被弃用的教堂。其中不乏小小的胜利。她在贝德福德郡一个被遗忘的银行金库里，发现了一件来自白金汉郡埃德尔斯伯勒教堂（Edlesborough Church）的失踪中世纪玫瑰黄铜纪念牌（一种罕见的花卉纪念物）。这种保护与拯救的愿望，支撑着我们的教区教堂延续了1,000多年。愿这种精神长存。

林利·桑伯恩（Linley Sambourne）在1881年《Punch》杂志上创作的查尔斯·达尔文讽刺漫画的彩色版本 BRIDGEMAN IMAGES

虫眼视角 马克·考克

《脚下的世界：土壤的隐秘生活及其对我们所有人的意义》

作者：弗兰克·阿什伍德（Frank Ashwood） 霍德出版社（Hodder Press），25英镑，288页

在本书的结尾有一个令人愉悦的时刻，弗兰克·阿什伍德在他定居的新西兰家中寻找栖息在土壤中的无脊椎动物。突然，他宣布：“我注意到了一些东西，心跳都漏了一拍。一只天鹅绒虫。”他接着告诉我们，在一天之内发现两只这种稀有生物简直是“梦寐以求的事”。

读者非但不会嘲笑他的兴奋，反而早已与他一同感受到天鹅绒虫之非凡。毕竟，它们就像是裹在微小亮片里的蓝色和橙色条纹糖果。我们能够领略整个亚表层土壤领域的完整美感、丰富程度以及纯粹的诡异，这正是阿什伍德更广泛成就的体现。在他的引导下，我们邂逅了一个时刻存在却几乎完全不为人知的世界。

如果我们对此一无所知，那么这种情况已经持续很久了。查尔斯·达尔文是最早探索并意识到蚯蚓在土壤形成中起核心作用的人之一。在此之前，维多利亚时代的园丁和农民习惯于将它们作为不受欢迎的害虫予以杀死。阿什伍德在简要回顾达尔文研究的同时，将书中的大部分篇幅用于介绍最新的发现，这些发现揭示了土壤是地球上最后一个尚未被探索的领域。

他首先带我们进行一次温和的远足，了解土壤科学家的基本词汇以及地下世界的“常驻角色”。我们见到了碎屑食动物——这些无数的生物以欧洲林地平均每英亩3.5吨的速率消耗掉落的叶片；还有微小的动物，如假蝎、甲螨、线虫和跳虫。

线虫是贪婪的捕食者，也是地球上数量最多的动物，西伯利亚的一件个体标本被认为生存了大约46,000年。它们的数量是人类的600亿倍，尽管就生物量而言，我们的重量仍然略高于它们。幸好，大多数线虫长度不足一毫米，且它们自己也经常被真菌套索捕捉并吃掉。

跳虫同样令人惊叹。许多种类拥有用于逃避捕食者的卷曲机制，使它们能够跳起自身长度100倍的高度。然而，跳虫最强的竞争力并非在于运动能力，而是在于生态上的成功。正是这些微小动物的累积质量真正决定了它们的整体重要性。十平方英尺的普通健康土壤可支撑50,000只跳虫、100,000只螨类、300条蚯蚓、1,000条圆线虫和500万条线虫。

这些数字凸显了普通土壤的产生与维持背后巨大的生命力。由于拥有丰富的根系，温带草原拥有最丰富的土壤动物群之一。地下的动物生命量可达每英亩40吨，其生物量超过了所有在地面植被上觅食的哺乳动物。

阿什伍德带我们前往那些拥有最高产土壤的地方。诡异的是，我们几乎每晚在新闻中都能看到它们的一部分：乌克兰东部战争地带的底层是一种被称为“黑土”（chernozem）的土壤。类似的土壤仅在少数其他地区发现，包括加拿大草原和亚马逊南部地区（在那里被称为 terra preta，即黑土）。乌克兰黑土区占地球陆地表面的比例不足6%，却养活了4亿人口。2010年，全球黑土地区的总产量几乎占我们小麦产量的三分之一和所有马铃薯产量的四分之一。然而，乌克兰的表层土壤正以每年约5亿吨的速度流失。

这些统计数据使我们关注到人类对土壤的绝对依赖，以及土壤治理中日益严重的危机。但艾什沃思在处理他向我们详尽阐述的这些问题时，态度十分乐观。例如在中国，政府早在 1978 年就宣布进入紧急状态，建立起一道稳定屏障，以保护塔克拉玛干沙漠周边的北方土壤。现在，一道类似的由树木组成的“绿色长城”横跨 11 个撒哈拉以南国家，旨在遏制沙漠的扩张。但其核心信息很明确：土壤的复杂程度令人惊叹，且是所有生命的基础。它目前正面临威胁，我们不能再将其视作卑微的尘土。

天生的间谍 Leaf Arbuthnot

《寒色日落》（Cold Sunset） 作者：威廉·博伊德（William Boyd） Viking 出版社，£20，320页

威廉·博伊德最新间谍惊悚小说中的主角加布里埃尔·达克斯（Gabriel Dax），是文学作品中典型的“不情愿的间谍”：他们善良且孤独，如果那些糟糕的上线能放他们一条生路，他们会很乐意继续追求自己的业余爱好。就达克斯而言，他的正职是一名旅游作家——这让博伊德能够定期地沉溺于他显然非常钟爱的华丽措辞之中。在系列第三部小说《寒色日落》的第一页，达克斯描述了从 20 世纪 60 年代的圣莫尼卡望去的太平洋，称其为“石板灰、鼠灰、脏洗碗水灰”，甚至用了“锌灰、灰烬色、锡灰色”。

值得称赞的是，这部小说可以作为独立作品阅读，但最好在读完前两部之后再欣赏。前两部探讨了达克斯悲惨的过去（母亲死于火灾）以及他如何坠入阴暗的间谍世界。此时，达克斯同时为军情六处（MI6）和一个异常轻信的克格勃（KGB）工作。根据他那极具魅力的间谍上司费思·格林（Faith Green）的部署，他的任务是在俄罗斯人意识到内部有内奸之前，将一名秘密特工从莫斯科转移出来。在此过程中，达克斯被一名怀有正当怨恨的刺客追杀，招募了一名可爱的当地女孩来打理他在萨塞克斯的度假屋，并抽空与一名迷人的美国女性幽会。

尽管书中的节奏快且情节丰富，但并非没有内省的部分。达克斯在小说的大部分时间里都心心念念费思，而费思对他态度冷漠却又吊足他的胃口，直到那个真正令人惊讶的结局出现。尽管如此，这本书的大部分乐趣在于达克斯纯粹的专业能力。他是一个优秀的、天生的间谍：擅长在不被察觉的情况下跟踪他人，擅长设陷阱，擅长致命射击。

博伊德对角色所处物质世界的刻画也令人满意，从他们驾驶的汽车到他们潜行时穿着的衣服。他特别细致地描述了费思的衣橱（在某个时刻，她穿着一件“浅饼干色、宽松的宽边贵格会领夹克”——极具诱惑力）。达克斯的装束也被仔细列出：在城里穿粗花呢，在莫斯科则穿着经典的间谍装（“灰色人字纹粗花呢大衣，一条围巾和两件毛衣”）。

这本书不太可能赢得那些仍希望博伊德能写出另一部《任何人类的心脏》（Any Human Heart）的读者的青睐。它给人的感觉是写得相当快，有些反转可以预见，间谍惊悚小说的陈词滥调也出现得过于密集（女性总是“漫步”，男性则饮酒至昏迷）。但这部小说很好地实现了它想要达到的效果，令我深陷其中。顺便说一句，结局感觉更像是一个“未完待续”——所以尽管该系列被宣传为三部曲，但如果它在这里就结束了，我愿意吃掉我的（毡制、沙色的） trilby 帽。

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艺术

真爱至上

罗宾·西蒙认为，雷诺阿可能带有感伤色彩——但他最优秀的画作却具有穿透力且富有冒险精神

那是1874年的夏天，地点在巴黎郊外塞纳河畔阿尔让特伊的克劳德·莫奈家中。爱德华·马奈从对岸的热讷维耶住处赶来，开始在花园里绘制莫奈的妻子和幼子。奥古斯特·雷诺阿随后抵达，并开始与马奈一起绘制同一场景。他创作的这件小杰作将被展出在国家美术馆即将举办的“雷诺阿与爱”展览中。

1924年，莫奈回忆起半个世纪前的那个日子：

马奈被色彩和光线所吸引，决定在户外绘制一幅树下人物的画作……雷诺阿来了……他向我借了调色盘、画笔和画布，就这样在马奈身边开始作画。后者时不时用余光瞥他，看看画布。然后他做了一个鬼脸，悄悄经过我身边，在我耳边低声议论雷诺阿：“那孩子没天赋！既然你是他的朋友，告诉他放弃绘画吧！”

哎哟！这充其量是一个令人尴尬的玩笑（莫奈在接受采访时干巴巴地评论道：“这话出自马奈之口，挺有意思的，对吧？”）。马奈虽然富有魅力，但可能极其敏感。雷诺阿通过借鉴同辈的风格和方法来推进自己的艺术，而马奈在那天一定觉得这很恼人，因为雷诺亚的处理方式显然深受其影响。而且，马奈当时可能比平时更敏感，因为他自己的画作《莫奈一家》（1874年；纽约大都会艺术博物馆）对他来说是一次全新的户外写生尝试——他过去曾对此嗤之以鼻，而莫奈和雷诺阿则对此深信不疑。

雷诺阿此前已经在研究马奈，这一点从《包厢》（1874年；考陶尔德美术馆）中可见一斑，该作品在同年4月举行的首届印象派展览中展出。这位年轻的艺术家掌握了马奈标志性的黑色运用，并且在描绘现代生活场景方面追随他的脚步。即便如此，其题材还是相当新颖的：

一对坐在剧院包厢里的情侣。突然之间，所有人都想画剧院内部的场景。这件杰作没有出现在“雷诺阿与爱”的巴黎展中（我有幸参观了该展），但它将在国家美术馆展出，这很合适，因为它是最早在伦敦展出的印象派绘画作品之一。

莫奈本人对雷诺阿的模仿习惯总是很宽容，并且很乐意让他陪在身边作画。1869年的几个星期里，他们两人都在塞纳河一个名为“青蛙池”（La Grenouillère）的洗浴点工作，面前是一个被称为“卡门贝尔”（Le Camembert）的小岛（grenouilles 是指

他大量产出画布，能在45分钟内快速完成一幅肖像

（那些聚集在那里的风尘女子）。正如展览中一幅绝妙的油画草图所证明的，雷诺阿在与莫奈的对比中并未逊色。

不过，雷诺阿经常流露出一种感伤，这是马奈和莫奈从未有过的；而且他在透视和构图相对平面上的底层结构也很少能像他们那样稳固。但他充满了原创想法，随着时间的推移，莫奈和马奈都从他那里学到了新技巧，三人成为了朋友（对于马奈来说，交友并不总是那么容易）。但雷诺阿作品的质量波动之大令人心惊。在访问威尼斯后，他参加了1882年的第七次印象派展览，马奈的弟弟欧仁告诉他的妻子，虽然雷诺阿的《船上 the 划船者的午餐》（1880-81）看起来很不错，但他笔下的威尼斯景色却“极其丑陋，完全是失败之作”。

雷诺阿并没有帮自己的名声加分。问题在于他单纯地热爱绘画。他大量产出画布，能在45分钟内快速完成一幅肖像。令人震惊的是，他画了4,000到6,000幅画——没人确切知道具体数量。

当他年老被禁锢在轮椅上，几乎拿不动画笔时，他依然坚持绘画——又画了400幅。而且他缺乏质量控制。他经常乐于在处理面部时使用不恰当的速写简写；尽管他比大多数人更懂得如何绘画水面，但他经常倾向于只是简单地勾勒出来，有时背景是一个同样简陋且仓促的前景。

大规模地审视雷诺亚的画作就像在坐艺术过山车。他有时深刻且专注，有时则过于甜腻和感伤，尤其是在描绘丰满女性和令人厌倦的可爱婴儿时。雷诺阿在状态好时，是非常、非常出色的，但状态差时，则糟糕透顶。幸运的是，这次展览得益于国家美术馆策展人克里斯托弗·里奥佩尔（Christopher Riopelle）和基亚拉·迪·斯特凡诺（Chiara di Stefano）的专业筛选。展览集中在那些只有雷诺阿能做，且能做得极其出色的作品上。

正如标题所示，他最优秀的作品是由对同类的热爱所驱动的，并体现在欢快的人际交往中。雷诺阿热爱女性，热爱陪伴，热爱美食。他画的是快乐的人们享受时光：他这里没有阴郁的苦艾酒饮用者。他说：“我知道很难让人承认，一幅画既可以是伟大的作品，同时又是快乐的。”

本次展览的关键作品是无与伦比的《穆兰德拉加莱特舞会》（1876）和《船上划船者的午餐》。雷诺阿在这些绝妙创作中所构思的两家餐厅至今依然在原址，一家位于蒙马特高地的中心，另一家——富尔奈斯之家（Maison Fournaise）则位于巴黎边缘沙图的塞纳河畔，而且这两家餐厅现在依然非常出色。穆兰的舞池区域已经消失，但富尔奈斯之家的带遮阳篷的阳台依然在——我可以保证，没有什么感觉能比在这样一幅伟大的画作内部用餐更美妙了。

这两幅画截然不同。《穆兰德拉加莱特舞会》是一次大师级的壮举，通过在整个画面分布斑驳的光影，将拥挤的人群统一起来。这幅画采用了中调色调，如果想要保持画面的生动感，这是一个很棘手的处理方式，而这幅画显然做到了。而《船上划船者的午餐》则采用了更高的色调，拥有几乎不可能实现的色调与色彩组合，是对当时欢快气氛的一种不可抗拒的具象化。正前方是雷诺阿那些令人惊叹的静物画之一：酒瓶、醒酒器和葡萄，以令人垂涎的细节讲述了一顿美餐结束时人们吃过喝了什么。一个天才的笔触是，富尔奈斯之家红白相间的遮阳篷边缘（dags，请查阅此词）在微风中飘动，这是极其敏锐的观察与执行力的体现。这是我最喜欢的雷诺阿式笔触。

雷诺阿的《船上的午餐》，1880-81年

雷诺阿在现场用较小的油画速写记录了大多数此类效果，而完成后的巨作通常是在画室中合成的。在富尔奈斯餐厅（Maison Fournaise），即便是最宽容的餐厅老板也会在允许一块6英尺长的画布连续数周占据宝贵空间这件事上划清界限。然而，穆兰（Moulin）的舞池区域提供了一些空间，因此雷诺阿抓住机会，每天下午都在那里绘制他的巨幅画布。雷诺阿的朋友乔治·里维埃（Georges Rivière）带着某种感触记录道—。

雷诺阿在状态好时，极其出色；但状态糟糕时，则简直惨不忍睹

感： “我们每天都把那幅画布从[雷诺里山坡上方不远处的工作室]搬到红磨坊，因为这幅画完全是在现场创作的。我们勉强做到了，但并非没有困难，因为风一吹，整个东西就威胁要像风筝一样飞走。”

1962年，我在BBC的《监视器》（Monitor）节目中看到了一场采访，采访者是难以言表的休·韦尔顿，受访者是雷诺阿的儿子让——《游戏规则》这部伟大电影的导演。他在采访中提到的一句话让我一直铭记在心。雷诺阿显然有时会凭记忆绘画，当让和家人看到第一抹颜料在画布表面这里那里点缀时，他们完全不知道会呈现出什么。是风景？花卉？还是裸体？然后，让说，这就像冲洗照片底片一样：雷诺亚的创作过程揭示了那些似乎一直隐藏在那里的东西。令人难忘——而且这显然是不经意间呼应了米开朗基罗在雕刻《大卫》时那句著名的评论。

这是一个伟大且具有冒险精神的展览，闪耀着雷诺阿最核心的特质，而这种特质在他那经历了过多波折与打击的职业生涯中无疑是必不可少的。他是不可阻挡的。

'一个非常乖的孩子'：电影《狗星》（The Dog Stars）中与雅各布·埃洛迪在一起的比利时马里努阿犬贾斯珀

电影

至少没有僵尸 Deborah Ross

《狗星》（The Dog Stars） 15, 全国发行

雷德利·斯科特的后末日电影《狗星》是他四年内的第三部作品，此前还拍了《拿破仑》（支离破碎且诡异）和《角斗士 II》（不怎么好看）。这一次，他拍了一部我称之为“等等，什么？”的电影。等等，什么？这些骑马的美国原住民是谁？等等，什么？为什么艾莉森·珍妮突然在角色扮演 20 世纪 50 年代的空姐？故事情节推进得如此仓促，以至于难以跟上。斯科特现在 88 岁了，所以也许他认为已经没有时间可以浪费了。

这部电影改编自彼得·海勒的小说，背景设定在一次流感疫情几乎抹去了全人类之后，文明被简化为一系列电影布景。（你知道这种设定。）其中一个布景就是科罗拉多州一个废弃的机场机库，幸存者希格（雅各布·埃洛迪 饰）和班格利（乔什·布洛林 饰）在那里安了家。

班格利是个扣扳机很快的人，而希格则是在必要时才会杀人——他绝非懦夫——但更为敏感。巧合的是，他最好的朋友是他心爱的狗贾斯珀，由一只比利时马里努阿犬饰演。这只狗参加了我去的那场首映礼，所以我可以凭亲身经历地说，它是个非常乖的孩子。

希格让贾斯珀坐在副驾驶座上，驾驶一架旧塞斯纳飞机搜寻乡村并前往城市补充物资，此外还会在他曾与妻子（愿她安息）共同生活的房子周围凄凉地徘徊。有一天，他通过飞机的无线电听到一个声音，于是决定飞往比以往任何时候都更远的地方

后末日电影的一个有趣特点是，枪支幸存了下来，但没人有烤面包机

去看看那里有什么。贾斯珀在他的离开决定中起到了一定作用，但除此之外我不能透露更多，只能说我可能永远无法原谅斯科特。（等等，什么？你竟然会对这么乖的孩子那样做？）

在后末日的呈现上，这部电影大部分时间显得平淡且熟悉，过度依赖该类型的陈词滥调：荒废的城市、空旷的公路，以及代表最极端的邪恶的人类。至少没有僵尸，但有一些像僵尸一样蹒跚而行的掠夺幸存者，以及一群看起来像新纳粹的纹身光头掠夺者。情节经常切回到班格利在瞭望塔上将他们的脑袋轰掉，这种处理方式并没有推动故事发展，但确实提供了一段血腥的插曲——斯科特似乎觉得必须随意插入这种片段，而观众似乎很喜欢（有人被斩首时，他们鼓掌了）。

在其他地方，希格在被迫降落飞机后，发现了波普斯（盖·皮尔斯 饰）和他担任医生的女儿西马（玛格丽特·夸利 饰）。你听了应该不会惊讶，她成为了感情线对象。波普斯拿着枪巡逻自己的农场。（后末日电影的一个有趣特点是，枪支幸存了下来，但没人有，比如说，烤面包机，即便——等等，什么？——电力依然在运作？）最终，三人组将被迫逃亡。那些神秘的骑马美国原住民与此事有关。

电影的节奏混乱不堪，基调亦然，在深沉真挚与纯粹荒诞之间瞬间切换。例如，在某个时间点，我们花了一些时间在由珍妮饰演的空姐领导的一个邪教组织身上，他们似乎在冰箱里存放着砍下的头颅。说真的？我没主意。这部分演起来像是一场喜剧闹剧，与电影的其余部分完全格格不入。

电影有一个充满希望的结局，但我并不认为这个结局是水到渠成的。而且所有的表演都显得敷衍。由于角色没有呼吸的空间，演员们几乎没有可以深入挖掘的戏份。不过，这仅仅是我个人的看法，所以我把斯科特的看法留给你们：“这是我拍过的最好的电影。”等等，什么？

流行乐的治愈之方 Graeme Thomson

The Cure 爱丁堡，皇家高地展会场

Phoebe Bridgers: Lost Weekend Dead Oceans

天哪，其他所谓的“传奇艺人”一定非常羡慕 The Cure。有很多成军 40 或 50 年的乐队，其最初的粉丝群体会将后代带到演唱会上——但很少有乐队能像他们这样，让如此多的族群在没有外界推动的情况下，如此心甘情愿地聚集在一起。从后朋克幸存者到居家化的千禧一代，从 X 世代和 Z 世代，到流行乐少年、新哥特以及各种另类群体，The Cure 似乎能对每一个群体说出某种具体且紧迫的话语。

或许是因为他们的歌曲能触动成年人内心深处的孩子，以及

关于动物、食物、疾病与性的轻快流行歌曲，所有人都在起舞

成年人内心深处的孩子。无论如何，我们当时都聚集在爱丁堡郊外，在一个温暖的夏日周日，随着音乐起伏，身旁机场的飞机在起飞与降落间往复。

与许多同辈不同，The Cure 乐队似乎是一支永远活在当下的乐队。他们直到相对近期才发行了《Songs Of A Lost World》，这是一张由全新原创素材组成的优秀专辑，尽管在爱丁堡的演出中没有演唱这张专辑中的任何曲目，但人们能明显感觉到，这支乐队仍处于一种探索状态，而非在旧日的荣光中循规蹈矩地行走。

这是一场延长的夏季音乐节演出，曲目重心大量倾向于 1989 年的专辑《Disintegration》。相比他们 2022 年在英国的最后几场演出，这次的体验没那么令人煎熬，光影交织的融合近乎完美。当然，The Cure 拥有如此多伟大的歌曲无疑起到了助力作用。不仅是那些家喻户晓的——如《Pictures Of You》、《In Between Days》、《Just Like Heaven》，以及《Charlotte Sometimes》那种奇异且如梦似幻的冲动——在他们庞大的作品库边缘，还潜藏着许多其他曲目。其中几首在现场被演绎，包括《Three Imaginary Boys》和一首节奏紧凑的《Prayers For Rain》，而凄凉的《Trust》则在亢奋的《Push》中遇到了它的对立力量。

随着实用乐手 Perry Bamonte 去年去世，贝斯手 Simon 的儿子 Eden Gallup 接替了他的舞台位置（与此同时，鼓手 Jason Cooper 17 岁的儿子 Gabriel 在《A Night Like This》中演奏了萨克斯风；显然，如今不仅仅是观众在带孩子来看演出）。人员的变动带来了能量上的微妙转变，使声音变得不再那么庄重，而多了一分干练。

如果说过去有时让人觉得 Robert Smith 仅仅是在青少年极端情绪的浅滩中嬉戏，那么在 67 岁如今的他，已经真正地经历了经验之火的洗礼。因此，无论歌曲是阴郁还是荧光色，都显得更深邃且更具分量。他依然是一位独一无二的主唱：双手像个忧心忡忡的牧师一样交叠在胸前，头发像个炸开的鱼鹰巢，模糊的嘴唇在微笑与苦相之间闪烁。他的声音，无论是像小猫般的低吟还是疏离的嚎叫，都令人惊叹，且完全没有被年龄削弱。

按照惯例，返场环节带来了一波最后的金曲冲击，一次又一次地带来橘色调的快感：《The Love-cats》、《The Walk》、《Friday I'm In Love》、《Close To Me》、《Why Can't I Be You?》。关于动物、食物、疾病与性的轻快流行歌曲。所有人都在起舞。我不完全确定这是如何发生的，但 The Cure 已经成为了世界上包容性最强的局外人。

我想知道 Phoebe Bridgers 的歌曲是否也能同样经受住时间的考验。当这位加利福尼亚创作歌手在 2020 年发行第二张专辑《Punisher》而走红时，人们很难琢磨出原因（与 Paul Mescal 那段备受关注但现已结束的恋情可能起到了推动作用）。她的嗓音有一种迷人的朦胧感，仿佛她唱的一切都经过了棉花过滤，而且她显然能写出不错的歌曲，但尽管她继承了像 Elliott Smith 和 Sufjan Stevens 这样的血统，她似乎缺乏这两者中任何一方那种特立独行的个性。

Bridgers 的第三张个人专辑对其才华的证明同样令人矛盾。积极的一面是，《Lost Weekend》为她的声音增添了令人欣喜的转折：出现了一些恰到好处的酸涩合成器效果，而幽灵般的声部编排则非常有效地削弱了《The Governor's Waltz》中那种令人晕眩的正式感。然而，那些较为轻快的时刻从未真正令人信服。《Lost Boys》的推进相当平淡，而《Haunted》则像是一个独立民谣版的 Eagles 乐队，充斥着口琴、小提琴、班卓琴和踏板钢棒吉他的甜腻组合。

大多数时候，布里杰斯那忧郁而甜美的嗓音，在演唱像《Kill Me》这样同样忧郁而甜美的歌曲时显得最为自在。其结果是一张扎实且真挚的独立根源音乐专辑，但人们依然很难看出，为何该作会引起如此大的轰动。

剧场派对 / 劳埃德·埃文斯 (Lloyd Evans)

《另一半如何恋爱》(How the Other Half Loves) 旧维克剧院 (The Old Vic)，展至 9 月 19 日

《艾比盖尔的派对》(Abigail's Party) 哈罗德·品特剧院 (Harold Pinter Theatre)，展至 9 月 19 日

《另一半如何恋爱》是让艾伦·艾克本 (Alan Ayckbourn) 作为闹剧作家的名声确立之作。弗兰克 (Frank) 和菲奥娜 (Fiona) 是一对高雅且成熟的夫妇，但当菲奥娜与弗兰克公司里的一名英俊下属鲍勃 (Bob) 发生婚外情时，他们的婚姻出现了问题。鲍勃的妻子特蕾莎 (Teresa) 怀疑鲍勃不忠，并开始调查他的社交生活。由于一系列误会，一对天真的夫妇威廉 (William) 和玛丽 (Mary) 也被卷入了这场混乱。这部精心构思的剧作之核心，是在同一个舞台上同步表演的连续两晚的晚餐派对。

这些复杂的情节令人赏心悦目，因为你必须在脑海中不断调整碎片，使之全部契合。阶级偏见渗透在剧本之中，艾克本假设观众会认同他对社会地位吸引力的划分。他喜爱弗兰克和菲奥娜，这对六十多岁、富有且优雅的夫妇；他钦佩中产阶级年轻人鲍勃和特蕾莎的活力与野心；而他则鄙视那些粗俗、半文盲的笨蛋——威廉和

罗杰·阿拉姆像帕丁顿熊一样可爱，像彼得·库克一样刻薄

玛丽，而这两个名字恰好是英国一对著名国王和王后的名字。这是一个仅供观众享用的内部笑话，而乐趣的一部分则源于观众知道，威廉和玛丽这两个角色根本无法理解这个笑话，因为他们对任何事情都一窍不通。

威廉是一个愤怒的控制狂，他希望将自己那个惊恐的妻子变成像菲奥娜那样圆滑的女主人，但玛丽根本无法习得任何社交礼仪。威廉把她当成一只淘气的小狗，在她表现不佳时拍她的手。尽管玛丽对酒精过敏，但她没有勇气拒绝一杯雪莉酒，于是她将其一饮而尽，然后立刻呕吐了出来。与此同时，威廉因为弗兰克的房子有两个洗手间而过于焦虑，他不确定该去哪一个。

有时，情节显得过于精巧，而 150 分钟的演出时长是由菲奥娜说的一个谎言延伸而来的。最大的亮点是罗杰·阿拉姆 (Roger Allam)，他毫不费力地融入了弗兰克这个角色。他像帕丁顿熊一样可爱，又像彼得·库克一样刻薄。如果你认为这个角色是为了契合阿拉姆的习惯、他的嗓音调制以及他那独特的颓废幽默感而创作的，那也是可以原谅的。但这部剧作诞生于 1969 年，当时阿拉姆才 16 岁。

罗杰·阿拉姆（饰演弗兰克·福斯特）与多萝西·阿特金森（饰演菲奥娜·福斯特）在《另一半如何恋爱》中

首演于 1977 年的《艾比盖尔的派对》针对的是同一类中下阶层群体，但迈克·利 (Mike Leigh) 的剧本与之截然不同。场景设定在罗姆福德 (Romford) 的郊区，一个无聊但有魅力的家庭主妇贝弗利 (Beverly，由塔姆辛·奥斯威特饰演) 为三位邻居举办了一场即兴聚会。什么都没有发生。客人们喝酒，吃薯片，闲聊废话。贝弗利试图通过与托尼 (Tony) 调情来挑衅她的丈夫劳伦斯 (Laurence)，而托尼的妻子安吉拉 (Angela) 是贝弗利的最好的朋友。剧作在一次医疗紧急情况中结束。

利对他笔下人物的社会蔑视比艾克本更加明显且尖锐。贝弗利和劳伦斯认为自己比朋友们稍微成熟一点。当贝弗利说“博若莱 (Beaujolais)”时，她把末尾的“s”发音得像复数一样，并且把酒放在冰箱里冷藏。劳伦斯吹嘘他书架上展示的莎士比亚和狄更斯的浮雕版书籍，尽管他从未阅读过。他拥有一盘贝多芬第五交响曲的录音，并且

塔姆辛·奥斯威特仿佛是喜剧之神派遣而来的神话诱惑者，旨在让我们开怀大笑

他在客厅里装饰着梵高和劳里的绘画复制品。每位画家的作品他各有一幅。

作为观众，我们被引导去觉得一个品味如此平庸的人竟然认为自己很精致，这很有趣——但其实被捉弄的是我们。我们对劳伦斯（凯文·比肖普 饰）的态度镜像了他的对待邻居的方式。我们急于嘲笑他，但或许我们应该反思，为什么最初想要嘲弄他。

这部剧充满了温暖与乐趣，但开场却显得陈旧且刻意。在任何台词响起之前，贝弗利就跳上了咖啡桌，在头顶旋转的闪光球下表演了一段独舞。而第二幕则以一段冗长的哑剧开场，伴随着沉重的迪斯科音乐和艺术化的灯光。这一切感觉有点像特纳奖（Turner Prize）的风格。幸运的是，这些过度的表现并没有持续到足以损害剧本带来的愉悦感和幽默感。

塔姆辛·奥斯威特身着一件飘逸的橘色长裙，仿佛是喜剧之神派遣而来的神话诱惑者，旨在让我们开怀大笑。她一直使用一个特定的欢迎词——“进来吧”（come through），这感觉像是一个个人标志性的口头禅。在中场休息的酒吧里，人们互相说着这句话并咯咯地笑。潘多拉·科林将像修女一样的苏演绎得非常出色。劳伦·帕特尔饰演的那个谄媚且紧张的安吉拉，有时甚至威胁要从奥斯威特手中抢走最高荣誉。从这次表现来看，帕特尔具备成为明星的潜质。

我偶然发现了一位线条极其犀利、眼光更为敏锐的艺术家

博物馆。与许多在 iPhone 镜头下显得逊色的精美画作不同，她的单色作品反而愈发有力。

1948年，她迎来了一次成功：乔纳森·凯普（Jonathan Cape）出版了她的《沼泽与海岸：康沃尔海岸观鸟指南》（Marsh and Shore: Birdwatching on the Cornish Coast）。该书以活泼且富有信息量的基调以及精美的插图，成为后来被广泛模仿的模式。此时，她已深植于康沃尔的文化生活之中，备受追捧，且在彭赞斯（Penzance）的克拉伦斯小屋（Clarence Cottage）安顿良好，本可以获得世俗意义上的成功。但相反，她在1951年选择搬到圣艾格尼丝（St Agnes）——这座拥有新石器时代石阵和阴森石堆的微小荒岛上，并在那里度过了余生。

当我走在沙质且避风的布兰基特湾（Blanket Bay），看到她曾经的住所佩里格利斯小屋（Periglis Cottage）时，我对此有了更深的一层理解。那座房子相当宽敞，有足够的空间安置她的工作室和手工压力机（她用它来制作版画）。她几乎实现了自给自足，种蔬菜，并用植物酿酒——当地人亲切地回忆说，那些酒根本没法喝。

佩里格利斯小屋面对着安内特（Annet），那是一个被保护为鸟类保护区的无人岛。她只需从窗户望出去，就能看到最精彩的活动。她是一位虔诚的观鸟者——“如果不戴上双筒望远镜，我就觉得没穿好衣服”——这里正是撰写她的下一本书《西利群岛之鸟》（Birds of the Scilly Isles，1964年）的绝佳之地。即便如此，这本书的撰写、插图和出版仍耗时13年。显然，搬到一个几乎无人居住的地方并不能免于社交干扰。她管理当地的妇女协会（WI），在教堂担任祭坛执事，审核年度鸟类报告。当 BBC 的自然主义者路德维希·科赫（Ludwig Koch）来到西利群岛时，她接待了他及其团队。她加入了他们的行动，在安内特岛露宿四个夜晚，他们成功记录下了夜行性曼岛剪水的鸣叫声，这是世界首例。她为这次访问创作的漫画极其精彩。

然而，尽管取得了这些成就，希尔达·奎克（Hilda Quick）仍像一只罕见的鸟，难以追踪，甚至没有一个维基百科页面。1951年，她成为第一个在英国识别并报告蓝颊蜂虎的人。让我们希望，未来发现她的木刻版画能比发现那只鸟更容易。通过这次完美的微型展览，西利群岛博物馆与文化中心（Isles of Scilly Museum & Cultural Centre）已经迈出了第一步。

古典音乐 音乐与灯光 理查德·布拉特比

《奔腾之疗》（The Galloping Cure） 爱丁堡节日剧院

林肯中心爵士乐团 / 马赛利斯 / 王 爱丁堡，亚舍尔音乐厅

那些灯光！回想起为爱丁堡国际艺术节创作的新歌剧《奔腾之治》（The Galloping Cure），米西·马佐利（Missy Mazzoli）的作品中最令人难忘的就是这一点：现代LED技术能提供的每一种色调都在闪烁、波动，如瀑布般倾泻而下。起初，这种效果近乎于禅意——粉色、蓝色和赭色的柔光洗刷着舞台，旋转木马在其中升起并穿梭。随后，随着剧情升级，角色们陷入集体狂躁，灯光变得更亮、更快、更具侵略性：一种疯狂的感官过载，随着马佐利乐谱中源自锐舞音乐（rave）的后拍节奏而闪烁。露西·卡特（Lucy Carter）的灯光设计旨在让你屏息凝神，而它确实做到了。

你可能会说，这绝非歌剧的重点。简直胡说：在所有艺术形式中，视觉奇观与音乐同样必要；自从蒙特威尔第首次用火球和天车令威尼斯观众目瞪口呆以来，情况一直如此。我参加的是第二场演出，而此前已有传闻称前一晚的世界首演赢得了雷鸣般的掌声。根据一个标题的说法，我即将看到21世纪最伟大的歌剧之一，尽管不可否认，这个门槛并不高。在巴尔费（Balfe）的时代，迈耶贝尔（Meyerbeer）的作品永远显得出类拔萃。

但毫无疑问，在汤姆·莫里斯（Tom Morris）的舞台呈现下，《奔腾之治》是一次生动且引人入胜的体验，尽管我好奇观众的狂热在多大程度上仅仅是因为终于有东西可看了而感到宽慰。通常情况下，人们对一部新歌剧作品没有太高期望。这项艺术在视觉上已变得如此贫瘠，以至于当你面对色彩、奇迹和高度的情感冲突，而不是在白色方盒子里忧郁地走来走去的休闲西装时，会感到由衷的惊喜。马佐利在美国非常流行，我们此前被告知这是一部关于阿片类药物危机的歌剧。因此，预想最坏的情况是很自然的。

事实上，它要有趣得多。《奔腾之治》是一部幻想剧，根植于卡夫卡以及《旋转木马》（Carousel）和《音乐之师》（The Music Man）这些典型的美国音乐剧神话。梅菲斯特般的迷人人物幸运·麦克（Lucky Mack，由贾斯汀·奥斯汀饰演）将他神奇的旋转木马带到了一个挣扎中的农村社区。一次旋转即可逃离烦恼；进一步的乘坐则承诺极乐与超越。理想主义的小镇医生（丹妮拉·麦克饰演）对此持怀疑态度，但她最终被说服支持这一新潮流。任何促进心理健康的活动肯定对社区有好处。

随后，她的女儿诺伊（Noy，由加布里埃尔·图尔吉昂饰演）也陷入其中，罗伊斯·瓦夫雷克（Royce Vavrek）的剧本在此处发生了一个出人意料的转折。我们本以为会看到一场典型的女性主义战胜资本主义邪恶的胜利（姐妹们冲啊！）。然而，神奇的灯光突然熄灭，气氛变得阴森，出现了一种类似E.T.A. 霍夫曼式的、对挖眼行为的恐怖痴迷。饰演一个被蒙蔽的老妇人的苏珊·布洛克（Susan Bullock）愉快且血腥地与她的眼球（vile jelly）分了家，而她并非最后一个。血腥场面和马肠溅满了舞台，而最后那个凄凉的寓意仅被一群白痴羊合唱团和一对唱歌的狗（还配有狗语字幕）稍微抵消了一些，后者由卡特里奥娜·休伊特森（Catriona Hewitson）和爱德华·乔尔（Edward Jowle）以一种憨傻且拖泥带水的快感演绎。

听起来很荒诞？确实，但正是这种幻想、幽默与恐怖的混合，赋予了《奔腾之治》一种纯正的童话氛围——一个能够被无限次重新讲述的故事，而不是另一部正确但可有可无的“议题歌剧”。这次首演的演唱和演奏都非常出色（由斯图尔特·斯特拉特福特指挥苏格兰歌剧院管弦乐团），马佐利的乐谱效果极佳，拥有厚实的后极简主义管弦乐编曲、宏大的唱段（尽管没有显著的旋律），以及一些令人愉悦的傲慢细节（在如今这个时代，使用流行音乐作为道德腐败的代名词几乎具有颠覆性）。英国国家歌剧院如果能安排一次伦敦演出，绝不会比现在更糟，而且很可能真的会这么做。

《奔腾之治》（The Galloping Cure）仅仅是本次艺术节聚焦美国音乐的一系列新颖尝试之一。次日夜晚，温顿·马萨利斯（Wynton Marsalis）及其常驻的林肯中心爵士乐团在亚舍大厅（Usher Hall）与王羽佳共同演出了两场。

当一名卓越的古典音乐家试图演奏摇摆乐或（更糟糕地）尝试即兴演奏时，结果往往惨不忍睹。王羽佳精明地没有尝试这两者。相反，她坚持自己的风格，而马萨利斯及其全明星团队则发挥他们的特长。王羽佳带来了如水晶般剔透、如钻石般精准的演绎，在演奏《老虎拉格》（Tiger Rag）和《土耳其风格蓝色圆舞曲》（Blue Rondo à la Turk）时，她像一名行走在拉丝镲片伸展台上的超级名模一样步履轻盈。

与此同时，林肯中心爵士乐团（JLCO）在她周围灵活穿梭；利用这种反差进行演奏，并提醒我们，在 2026 年，能听到一支真正灵动敏捷的大乐队是多么罕见且令人兴奋——那是顶尖演奏家之间轻松且本能的对话，以及那些闪耀的萨克斯风和

麦田小径

《麦田》（Champ de blé），克劳德·莫奈，1881

这一天有一种近乎可听见的灿烂，仿佛这样的日子是圆融的——声音过滤声音，光线过滤光线。前方是一抹橙金色，那是昨晚满月的饱和色系亲属；前景则是向上翻卷的银色苜蓿——两种作物与一条小径恰到好处地偏离中心分布；天空则是卷云的笔触。

他本会将卡米耶安置在小径上，以向观者展示该感受什么，该如何存在。但现在她已被带走，他必须让这一天纯净的圆融感如此真实（bien vrai）——那些贵金属般的色泽，那如弓般弯曲的小径——好让他们在没有她的情况下也能知道该感受什么。

——海伦·法里什（Helen Farish）

海伦·法里什的第五部诗集《莫奈的金雀花》（Monet's Broom）将于 11 月由 Bloodaxe 出版社出版，以纪念这位艺术家逝世一百周年。长号。最终，这场演出就是它本身的样子；也就是说，这是一种仅在 8 月的爱丁堡才会发生的、一次性的、极低概率的艺术邂逅。在新冠疫情五年后，以及在尼古拉·贝内蒂（Nicola Benedetti）担任艺术总监四年后，爱丁堡国际艺术节（EIF）或许终于找回了它的灵气。

电视评论：莫斯科骡子？詹姆斯·德林波尔 (James Delingpole)

《无条件》(Unconditional) Apple TV

《恐怖：银色之魔》(The Terror: Devil in Silver) Sky Atlantic / Now

关于“在行李中被查出毒品时最糟糕的世界机场”这一头衔，竞争一定非常激烈：波哥大？迈阿密？新加坡？拉巴斯？盖特威克？但莫斯科无疑将是一个强有力的竞争者。

我自己曾在那里被拘留过，虽然只有一个小时。但你永远不会被告知为什么要让你等待，还要等多久，或者这只是常规检查还是严重问题。那些戴着超大檐帽的年轻男女非常有礼貌，但除了无法逾越的语言障碍外，你面对的是几个世纪以来文化根深蒂固的晦暗与官僚主义。至于那里的监狱，简直不敢想象。

这一切在《无条件》的开场戏中得到了最生动的捕捉。这是一部以色列惊悚剧，讲述了23岁的加莉（Gali，塔莉亚·林恩·罗恩 饰）在莫斯科中转期间因持有毒品被捕的故事。在接下来的八集中，她的母亲兼旅伴奥娜（Orna，利拉兹·查马米 饰）将被迫采取越来越绝望的措施来营救她的女儿——而这个女孩可能无辜，也可能并非如此。

到目前为止我看到的两集非常真实。例如，有一场戏是奥娜与一名猥琐的当地律师谈判，试图潜入监狱会见女儿——律师同意这么做，但需要支付费用，且要求她打扮成妓女的样子。（剧透：计划失败了。）我也完全相信该剧对以色列政治的愤世嫉俗之见，比如在其中一段情节中，该国外交部长同意将加莉的案件大肆宣传，前提是她的母亲不得独立与媒体接触。当奥娜执意在电视节目中发声时，部长的助手在广播过程中通过向制片人透露消息来破坏她的行动，称她那令人落泪的众筹活动是虚假招股书，因为她的女儿是已知的一名吸毒者。

尽管开局非常有前景——紧张感十足，有一些不错的反转，异域风情的取景，有趣的人物，对细节的把控，再加上外语剧集常有的那种令人愉悦的不可预测感（因为其文化参考和习俗是陌生的）——但我从各种评论中了解到，剧情后来变得有些荒诞。奥娜不再是一个试图救女儿的普通母亲，而变成了一个业余超级特工，其搜集情报的能力甚至超过了以色列情报机构，并展开了一场令人难以置信的营救行动。真是可惜。

《银色之魔》是美国恐怖剧集《恐怖》的第三个独立季，最初灵感来自已故的、备受赞誉且极具文学造诣的科幻作家丹·西蒙斯（Dan Simmons，《海伯利昂》系列作者）的作品。第一季基于19世纪40年代灾难性的富兰克林探险队，当时两艘英国皇家海军极地探险船——“厄瑞玻斯号”和“恐怖号”——被困在冰层中，随后发生了同类相食。第二季背景设定在二战期间加利福尼亚州的日裔美国人社区。新的一季——基于维克多·拉瓦尔（Victor LaValle）的小说——发生在当下的纽约一家精神病院，一名叫佩珀（Pepper）的无辜男子在与三名腐败警察发生冲突后，被蛮横地送入了这家医院。

这部剧令人感到极度幽闭且不安。就像《飞越疯人院》一样，你被迫通过一个看似清醒的人的眼睛，去体验被困在一个监狱般系统中的绝望与无助——这个系统旨在折磨你并将你推向崩溃边缘，却声称是为了你的最大利益。在那些由一名穿着夏威夷衬衫的精神科医生主持的团体治疗环节中，他强迫病人们听他极其糟糕地朗读《白鲸记》，场面令人尴尬至极。

佩珀是一名来自皇后区的搬家工兼兼职鼓师，由丹·史蒂文斯饰演——虽然这种选角令人难以置信，但演技极佳。除非你事先就了解，否则你绝不会猜到这个扮演起暴躁且日益偏执的纽约工人阶级的家伙，竟然是一个毕业于汤布里奇和剑桥大学、曾在《唐顿庄园》中饰演人气角色马修·克劳利的英国毕业生。

最近我似乎推荐了不少恐怖片——《寡妇湾》（Widow's Bay）、《碎片》（The Shards）——并不是因为这个类型是我的心头好，而是因为显然现在的电视产业想把资金和注意力都投在这里。为什么？我不知道，但答案肯定令人沮丧。这意味着，如果你想看高质量的电视节目，通常不得不忍受充满压力的内容，其中充斥着跳跃式惊吓（jump scares）、令人不敢直视的血腥场面以及虚无主义。

如果有人能向我保证，佩珀能将这群乌合之众般的囚犯团结起来，领导他们成功反抗那些像护士拉切德（Nurse Ratched）一样卑劣的压迫者，并杀死住在天花板上方猎杀病人的邪恶恶魔生物（如果那不是幻觉的话），那么我愿意继续观看《银色之魔》（Devil in Silver）。但恐怖片并不是一个经常有圆满结局的类型，所以我可能有点过于乐观了。

游戏玩家 《漫威 Tokon：格斗之魂》（Marvel Tokon: Fighting Souls）

评分：B

《漫威 Tokon：格斗之魂》的最终 Boss 叫作“冠军”（Champion）（他们本可以起个更有创意的名字），他毫不掩饰自己的哲学。“行动比任何语言都更有价值，”他说，“而最伟大的行动就是……战斗！”好吧，把这话告诉普鲁斯特吧，那个把饼干浸在茶里吃的胆小鬼。

这是一个制作非常专业、节奏快得令人愉悦的新作品，属于最基础的电脑游戏类型——2D 格斗游戏。自从《艺亚功夫》（Yie Ar Kung-Fu）的鼎盛时期以来，玩家们就知道让几个卡通角色面对面地互扇耳光是有趣的。

这是一款动漫风格的格斗游戏，初始阵容包含 20 位深受喜爱的漫威超级英雄（金刚狼、死侍、美国队长等）。其基础玩法（连招、格挡、组合技、角色专属特技）通过一个标签组队系统得到了增强，你可以随机更换其他队员来地进行更多的“扇耳光”攻击。填满“技能槽”即可触发华丽的电影感终结技。

对于开发者来说，诀窍在于制作一款技能范围既有“高上限”——资深玩家能以像素级的精准度完成连招——又有“低下限”的游戏，让那些在喝了几品脱啤酒后乱按按钮的菜鸟也能享受其中。作为一个乱按按钮的菜鸟，我认为这款游戏完全做到了。它很有趣。

不过，我对那个“冠军”嗤之以鼻。如果能看到一些包含作家团队的可下载内容（DLC）就太好了，每个作家都有自己的特技：穿着睡袍的普鲁斯特使用“软木墙反弹”，弥尔顿释放“可见的黑暗”，或者也许是谢默斯·希尼，发射一连串的土豆。我非常期待。 ——萨姆·莱斯

关于...的笔记

Grockles（外来客）

作者：鲁阿里·克拉克（Ruari Clark）

“他们在这儿多久了？”“三代人了。”“啊，那也就是些‘grockles’（外来客）罢了。”这样的对话一定在无数个德文郡的村庄里上演过。“Grockle”是一个德文郡方言，用来指代游客或外来移居者。我想这个词可能会带有冒犯性。但被称作 grockle 通常并不是一种辱骂，而且一般来说，人们在说这个词时是带着半笑的，而不是一脸厌恶。这在很大程度上是因为，至少在德文郡，想要摆脱 的身份并变成其反面——即当地的小伙子或姑娘——是一项需要跨越几代人才能完成的工程。

我绝对是个 。20岁时，我从亨廷登郡搬到德文郡，在东沃灵顿（East Worlington）附近的一个奶牛场工作。（不要把它和西沃灵顿混淆，因为尽管两者近在咫尺，但在内战期间它们却分属敌对阵营。）遗憾的是，虽然我偶尔还会回到德文郡从事农业工作，但我现在住在伦敦，这里或许才是 文化的精神故乡。

但即便我住在德文郡直到90岁，可能依然是个 。我的雇主的已故父亲迈克尔在德文郡做了六十多年的农民，他经常开玩笑说他自己仍然是个 。为什么？因为他出生在伦敦，直到战争期间被疏散到乡村时，才意识到自己想成为一名农民。在德文郡的田间劳作近乎一辈子的时间，还不足以让他成为一个真正的德文郡当地人。

我曾经在离农场不远的一家酒吧里喝啤酒。那家店要么在黑狗村（Black Dog），要么在诺曼斯兰村（Nomansland）——这两个是村庄的名字，而不是酒吧的名字。我走到外面抽烟，发现自己站在两个年轻农民身边。过了一会儿，抽了几口烟之后——在黑狗村或诺曼斯兰村，人们不会轻率地开启对话——其中一人评论起了天气。大概是雨下得太多，或者太少。在得到了适当的铺垫后，关于天气的讨论引发了进一步的交谈。

“你在谁的农场工作？”“蒂姆·沃尔（Tim Wall）的。”

“那是哪个农场？”“拉克利（Rackleigh）。”“在那儿？”“东沃灵顿。”但对话到此结束。“沃灵顿？在那儿，得走好几英里。”这让我觉得我可能实现了某种不可能：被误认为是一个来自东沃灵顿的“外乡人”。

讽刺的是，在我极少数次前往埃克塞特（Exeter）的时候，我反而觉得自己没那么像个 。夏天，我们有时会在周六晚上去酒吧喝酒。我就像《远离喧嚣的城市》中睁大眼睛的凯恩·鲍尔（Cain Ball）一样，在访问巴斯市时，也太晚才意识到“上帝不仅提供了酒，还没提供食物”。最终，在天知道什么时候，我们会试着在码头找到停好的车，然后掷硬币决定谁得把方向盘当枕头。在南德文郡度过一个“异乡之夜”后，我们总是很高兴能回到农场的安全地带。

罗杰·斯克鲁顿（Roger Scruton）本人也是英国乡村某个地区的后来者，他写道，他从乡村人们那里学到了“许多事物的价值：耐心与牺牲，根深蒂固的爱与稳定的习俗”。我也学到了这样的教训，通过结识像迈克尔这样的人——他或许是个 ，但却是德文郡男人的典型代表。

演讲撰写

地毯

大师级工艺修复

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无生活 劳埃德·埃文斯（Lloyd Evans）

一位邻居把我出卖给了她16岁的儿子。“劳埃德懂政治，”她告诉那个年轻人，“他能帮你写论文。”我被介绍给一个长满青春痘的少年，他透过一副模糊的NHS眼镜怀疑地打量着我。“论文关于什么？”我问。“政治，”他说。这似乎让讨论范围变得极其宽泛。“联系几位上议院议员，请他们列举自己最伟大的成就。”他点点头。“听起来不错，谢谢，”他带着一种不容置疑的语气说道，就像一个主厨要求新来的下属去扫地一样。我接受了失败。我原本打算从高处给他一个睿智的指导。“听着，孩子。

我猜测他的政治老师是个托洛茨基主义革命者，所以我将论点倾向于废除

永远要做自己的功课，否则你最终会帮别人做。”但他比我更明白这一点。

我联系了30位贵族议员，收到了六封回复。数量相当低。但也许令人欣慰的是，他们大多数人都太忙了，没时间回复来自随机选民的麻烦信件。诺曼·拉蒙特（Norman Lamont）表示，进入下议院是他最杰出的成就：“我29岁时首次当选，我至今仍记得在世界上最伟大的议会中就座时的激动心情。”

曾担任流行偶像阿尔文·斯塔达斯特（Alvin Stardust）经纪人的迈克尔·利维勋爵（Lord (Michael) Levy）提到了学院计划：“帮助将那些破旧的学校转变为拥有良好教育计划的优质建筑，为了我们孩子的未来。”

威廉·海格（William Hague）发送了一段打印在他个人信纸上的短文，大概是为了减轻财政部承担其通信费用的负担：“我认为我最伟大的成就是起草并推动通过议会的1995年《残疾歧视法案》。”

伊恩·博瑟姆（Ian Botham）写道：“板球很棒。”这项运动为他提供了一个平台，“通过我的慈善步行筹集巨额资金，以帮助对抗最常见的儿童白血病”。

尼尔·金诺克（Neil Kinnock）发送了一封冗长的两页回复，讲述了他担任工党领袖期间的经历，这“使党能够重建并繁荣，并为托尼·布莱尔在1997年的压倒性胜利奠定了基础”。他还添加了一个看起来极其具有时效性的脚注。作为欧盟委员，他引入了强制法国停止跨英吉利海峡渡海的规定：“根据强制执行的法律，不适航或船员配备不足的船只不得在欧洲沿岸和航道任何地方运行。如果它们不符合高标准，将被扣留在港口。”

埃斯特尔·莫里斯（Estelle Morris）在2001年至2002年期间担任教育大臣，她将当选进入下议院视为自己最辉煌的时刻：“能被人们信任，在议会中代表他们，是一项巨大的荣幸。”当她离开内阁时，曾因在辞职信中暗示自己缺乏领导该部门的能力而遭到嘲讽。她在给托尼·布莱尔的信中写道：“我觉得自己的工作成效没有达到应有的水平。”但在现代人看来，这像是一位国会议员将国家利益置于个人野心之上的、令人耳目一新的且有原则的自我牺牲行为。

我原以为一些贵族议员会提到他们修改立法的职责，因为这是他们的宪法角色，但或许这项工作在他们看来微不足道或无关紧要。我在一份“讨论议题”论文中加入了这一点，以帮助那个青春期且长了痘痘的少年在文章中形成连贯的思路。我猜测他的政治老师是一个受挫的托洛茨基主义革命者，因此我将论点倾向于废除制。

首先，欧盟议会是单院制，这表明上议院是多余的。其次，华盛顿仅凭535名国会议员就能运作，而我们的制度却支持1,450名议员（800名贵族议员和650名下议院议员），然而美国的经济规模却是我们的八倍。或许通过缩减我们臃肿的议会，我们可以扩大我们单薄的GDP。第三，贵族议员将上议院称为“伦敦最好的俱乐部”，这实际上是对议院的一种损害，仿佛它只是一个高端的

生活

就像在 Wetherspoons 酒馆里，成员们可以啜饮廉价葡萄酒并交换八卦。如果上议院仅仅是一个喝酒的地方，那么他们应该自筹资金。

目前，这个“俱乐部”是由那些被禁止享受其设施的非成员出钱维持的。委婉地说，这似乎不公平；不委婉地说，这就是抢劫。贵族们通过审查并完善下议院发送给他们的那些起草糟糕的法案来回报我们。但为什么我们必须资助两个总人数超过 1,400 人的议会，才能让我们的法律被正确地撰写？贵族们是睿智、富裕且经验极其丰富的灵魂，他们宝贵的建议应该免费提供给人民。也许他们需要发现志愿服务的乐趣。我个人的观点是，上议院应该继续存在，但需要一种新的机制来保护每个人免受伤害。比如“系绳贵族”：给上议院的成员系上弹性牵引绳，允许他们最远地游荡到皮姆利科（Pimlico），然后将他们安全地拉回威斯敏斯特宫。

我收集了贵族们的信件以及我的笔记，将这捆资料带到邻居家里。“太晚了，”那个长着痘痘的青少年在开门时说道，“你错过截止日期了。”就这样，对话结束。在某种程度上，他的告别之词是心理战的一绝。是我错过了截止日期，而不是他。他赢了。这全是我自己的错。

狗狗生活 Sophia Money-Coutts

你读过你的那本《Dogue》了吗？这已经成了一个年度项目：《Vogue》的狗狗特刊。这里没有穿着繁复服装、面色饥饿且不耐烦的模特，也没有关于耳垂在时尚上的重要性的文章，而全是狗。封面是一只狗，时尚人士在谈论他们的爱犬，旁边则是狗狗的“采访”。

恰如其分的是，《Dogue》的比赛获胜者兼封面之星看起来确实相当饥饿。他是一只（当然）很瘦的狗，名叫 Sir Spud，看起来像是一只伊比沙犬。在封面上使用一只伊比沙犬，非常有《Dogue》的风格。据说 Sir Spud 是由天主教修女命名的；如果拍一部关于他生活的电影，伊恩·麦克莱伦（Ian McKellen）将为他配音；他是个“彻头彻尾”的巨蟹座，并且喜欢腰果。

在本期的其他页面中，全球最顶尖的流行巨星 Bad Bunny 透露，他那只四岁的比格犬 Sansa 喜欢香蕉。莉娜·邓纳姆（Lena Dunham）说，她的无毛犬 Ingrid 显然喜欢在狐狸粪便中打滚，“到了我们必须深层清洗她耳道的程度”，而《怪奇物语》的明星米莉·波比·布朗（Millie Bobby Brown）则庄重地宣布，她的贵宾犬 Winnie 最优秀的品质是精通英语：“她完全能听懂句子。”

《Dogue》在《乡村生活》（Country Life）出版其自身的狗狗特刊几周后问世。“等等，难道《乡村生活》的每一期不都是狗狗特刊吗？”当我提起杂志变得—。

狗狗不能长时间单独留下，且在看起来要下雨时应穿外套

变得越来越以狗为中心。没错，《乡村生活》（Country Life）的封面经常出现稀有品种，而且女王的梗类犬 Bluebell 和 Beth 曾在“珍珠女孩”页面上出现，毛茸茸的脖子上戴着珍珠。但这本是其年度狗狗特刊，封面是名为 Peggy 的迷你牛头梗（“英国最调皮的狗狗”），内容包括礼仪指南以及一篇探讨狗在艺术中作用的文章。与此同时，据可靠消息， 《塔特勒》（Tatler）正考虑在明年五月，即纽约大都会艺术博物馆舞会（Met Gala）之后不久，举办一场宠物盛典。

听着，我说这些是基于我对狗狗最大的钦佩和热爱，但我们在对待四足伙伴这件事上，是不是可能有点失去理智了？在我打字时，Dennis 正仰面躺在厨房的沙发上，四肢张开。这不是一个优雅的姿势。实际上相当粗鲁；像是个在长时间激战后疲惫不堪的卡萨诺瓦。但我可以盯着他看好几个小时。当他醒来时，他会慢吞吞地走到他的玩具篮边，从 43 件物品中挑选一件，然后满怀希望地把它叼到我这里要求玩耍。我几乎肯定会放弃我的笔记本电脑并顺从他。随后在晚餐时间，他将享用晚餐派对剩下的牛菲力，外加一挤专门为狗制作的“苏格兰三文鱼油”，以及一颗益生菌咀嚼片——因为我被 Instagram 上一个承诺能平衡他酵母水平的广告给骗了。简而言之，我也失去了理智。但我们整体上是否需要稍微克制一下？

我正在阅读托尼·帕森斯（Tony Parsons）即将出版的精彩回忆录《男人与狗》（Man & Dog），讲述的是关于他的查理王小猎犬 Stan 的故事。在早期的章节中，他写到了自己在罗姆福德（Romford）附近长大，身边有一只名叫 Laddie 的杂种狗。“那时是另一个时代，狗在哈罗德山（Harold Hill）周围像猫一样自由地游荡。”Laddie 没有牵引绳，也没有项圈。帕森斯说，他完全不记得自己曾携带过拾便袋，或为了接种疫苗而去看兽医。两人像“威廉与詹布尔”（Just William and Jumble）一样在街头共同漫游：“对于孩子和狗来说，那是一种无需牵引的生活。”

这听起来和我母亲回忆在肯特郡农村长大时的情况很像，当时身边有好几只梗类犬。（一群梗类犬该怎么称呼？一队？一场恐怖？无论如何，总有几只在周围打转。）我的祖母在早晨只需打开门，那些梗类犬就会飞奔而出，直到晚餐时间才不一定能再次见到它们。

如今，狗狗被对待得像是在为牛津或剑桥大学做准备的孩子。它们必须佩戴特殊的胸背带，并被持续喂食零食，最好是无谷的。如果狗狗在室内排泄，不能对它们大吼大叫，也不能把它们的鼻子揉进排泄物里（在世界上某些人看来，这现在被视为虐待）。它们不能长时间单独留下，且在看起来要下雨时应穿外套。一大批专业人士应运而生，为我们这些疯狂到愿意付钱的人提供帮助：行为学家、营养学家、整骨师、针灸师、整体疗法师、摄影师等等。我的一位朋友最近给她的狗开了抗焦虑药物，试图解决它的分离焦虑（技术上来说，焦虑的是狗，尽管我的朋友也对这场折磨感到相当疲惫）。

现在，因为我们中如此多的人已经

为您收件箱精心策划的英国最佳写作，变得疯狂，出版物也在随之而行。已经存在狗狗杂志了（你没见过《你的狗》或《今日之狗》吗？），但这些狡猾的生物似乎正在渗透到更多主流刊物中。《旁观者》杂志在多久之后也会走这条路？查尔斯·摩尔（Charles Moore）探讨狗在精神上的重要性，蒂姆·希普曼（Tim Shipman）采访首相的比熊贵宾混血犬 Axel，而奥利维亚·波茨（Olivia Potts）提供可以在家烹饪的健康狗粮。而人们还说猫才是聪明的那一方。

静物 Catriona Olding

普罗旺斯

回想起来，除了今年的山火，普罗旺斯盛夏那令人窒息的酷热其实也没那么糟糕，只要你接受运动的时间必须是早上 6 点，而工作只能在正午之前以及傍晚之后进行。度假者和富人们有泳池可以跳入，有空调可以享受。但在下午，我们其余的人则几乎赤裸地躺在吊扇下的床上，百叶窗紧闭，脚趾甲上的“红黑”色指甲油在融化。我听说法国男人就穿着内裤看环法自行车赛。

大约五年前的一个这样的下午，杰里米和我正并排躺在嗡嗡作响的电风扇叶片下，身体僵硬不动，这时我们听到卧室窗下通常很安静的公共小径上传来了说话声。

在下午，我们其余的人则几乎赤裸地躺在吊扇下的床上，百叶窗紧闭

一名年长的男子正兴奋地向一名年轻女性讲述关于这座房子的事。他似乎比我对这个地方更了解，在石阶底部停留了很长时间，抬头望着正门。出于好奇，我套上一件连衣裙走了下去。

米歇尔来自马赛，20 世纪 50 年代中期小时候曾住在这一座洞穴屋里。他带着住在巴黎的女儿来这里给她看看。我邀请他们进来。米歇尔在看到客厅时眼中含泪。“我母亲曾睡在这里，”他指着那里说，“我和兄弟姐妹们睡在上面的卧室里。”他告诉我们，当时还没有用餐区，也没有浴室；那时没有自来水。20 世纪 70 年代，房子连接到了村庄的供水系统，当时的房主是一位来自布列塔尼的船长，他钻开了岩石，扩建了房产，使其变得舒适宜居。很快，我们四个人——米歇尔、他的女儿、杰里米和我——在露台上啜饮着桃红葡萄酒。

米歇尔继续讲述他的故事：“我的母亲很美但生活混乱，是个早期的嬉皮士。她从未与任何一个孩子的父亲

一两天后。我给自己倒了杯酒，点起了一根我希望是我人生中最后一根的香烟

她的五个孩子，但她善良且充满爱心——尽力照顾我们。但她没法强迫我去上学。我害怕在这里悬崖上筑巢的雕鸮，于是我没有去上课，而是和村里的男孩们一起野蛮生长。”我问他是否像帕尼奥尔《我父亲的荣耀》里的那个男孩一样，近距离遇到过“大公鸮”（le grand duc），但他不记得了。雕鸮体型巨大，身高 60-75 厘米，翼展 160-180 厘米。附近仍住着一家雕鸮，有时在夏日傍晚夜幕降临时，我能听到它们的声音；成年鸮在呼鸮，幼鸮在尖叫。如果运气好，我会看到幼鸮沿着灯光照亮的悬崖尝试第一次试飞，一边飞一边发出声音告知自己的位置。有一次，我看到一只成年鸮衔着一条 2 英尺长的草蛇飞回巢穴。

米歇尔告诉我们，当他那住在巴黎的父亲来访时，对他儿子的成长方式感到如此震惊，以至于把他带回了巴黎。八岁时，从未上过学的米歇尔被送到耶稣会那里接受教育。这对他来说是一次剧烈的变动，但他是个聪明的孩子，很快适应并表现出色。在新闻界取得成功后，他曾在密特朗总统的政府中担任顾问。

在热浪（canicule）期间，夜间温度依然居高不下，我睡觉时会将卧室的百叶窗和窗户全部打开。前几天凌晨 3 点左右，我听到一只雕鸮落在我的屋顶上，米歇尔的事情突然浮现在我的脑海中。我感到不安，起身准备关闭百叶窗，但当我探身出窗外时，那生物从屋顶纵身跃下，俯冲而下，随即又向上盘旋。它巨大翅膀产生的气流拍在了我的脸上。如果年幼的米歇尔见过这一幕，我能理解他为什么会吓坏。在漆黑的夜晚，它看起来就像个吸血鬼。

一两天后的晚上 10 点左右，我给自己倒了杯酒，坐在露台的桌边，点起了一根我希望是我人生中最后一根的香烟。猫咪马丁趴在我前方几英尺的矮墙上，心存怀疑地看着。不知从哪里飞来三只雕鸮，成阵地从我们上方飞过。“天呐！”我惊呼道，马丁的眼睛也跟着它们移动。很快，这些鸮飞回了悬崖方向，但最后一只突然停住，正好落在我的头顶上方，竹遮阳篷的边缘上。如果我站起来，就能触碰到它巨大的爪子和尚未脱落的绒毛。它的体型令人震惊。我从未如此近距离地见过这样的鸟，而且担心猫咪，我僵在了原地。马丁也一样。他的眼睛瞪得滚圆。整整一分钟，我们三个陷入僵局，形成了一个边长不足 4 英尺的正三角形。我无法呼吸，更不用说抽烟了。马丁会被像某种猫科版的伽尼美得一样被叼走吗？一只体型正常且健康的猫不会有危险，但像马丁这样发育迟缓且曾营养不良的猫可能会。

在感觉像过了很久之后，那只雕鸮失去了兴趣，起飞飞回了巢穴。为了寻求安慰，马丁走过来坐在我的膝盖上，蹭着我并发出呼噜声。“没事的，”我说，“你远没有漂亮到那个程度。”

快节奏生活 Tanya Gold

我一直在等待大众 Golf GTI，因为我在 1991 年喜欢上的那个男孩——称他为男人有点勉强——就有一辆。他经常开着他的 Golf GTI 带我在摄政公园周围转悠，尽管他就读于圣保罗男子学校且是一名虔诚的犹太人，但我当时觉得这让他显得很危险。那时我什么都不懂。在他那模棱两可的微笑背后，他的秘密是：他其实非常热爱数学。现在我姐姐也有一辆 。

是史上最畅销的欧洲车型。在全球范围内，只有丰田卡罗拉（紧凑型）和福特 F 系列（皮卡）超过了它：自 1974 年以来， 的销量已达 3700 万辆，这相当于波兰的每一个人，包括婴儿，都拥有一辆。它 52 岁了，和我一样：它是 X 世代好运与希望的标志性车型。 GTI——大旅行喷射（Grand Touring Injection，或意大利语“Gran Turismo Iniezione”，后者听起来更悦耳）——今年才 50 岁，所以这次是一次生日驾驶之旅。

我曾经拥有一辆古董大众 Polo，我很喜欢它，但没人能指责它速度快。在我买它的时候——我想应该是 2006 年的车牌——开起来就像在赶一只羊。GTI 的最高时速为 155 英里 / 小时——0 到 62 英里 / 小时加速仅需 5.6 秒——而它的官方定义仍然是小型家用车。这让我发笑，直到我想起它确实是一辆小型家用车：3700 万个波兰婴儿不会错；我姐姐也不会错。

它是一个美丽的物件，既干练又宽绰：亮白色，像我朋友理查德的牙齿一样。它有着迷人的姿态，透着一种等待与潜行的质感。这是 Clubsport 版本，意味着它比普通 GTI 更快、更火辣：搭载 2.0 升涡轮增压四缸发动机，拥有 296 匹马力。

在彭赞斯，它的表现很正常。在前五分钟里，我甚至觉得它有点迟钝。然后我把它开到莫里森超市附近的一段随机的双车道公路上——西康沃尔的双车道资源匮乏，所以看起来像一艘搁浅的航空母舰——猛踩油门，然后尖叫。那感觉就像当年《每日邮报》把我绑在轻型飞机的顶部一样，因为他们对女性的态度模棱两可——等我停止尖叫时，我已经身在云端。伦敦的情况我不好说，但它是一辆完美的乡村用车。我疾速驶入弯道，避开兔子——以及今年的银鸥；缺乏风让他们变得慵懒，飞行高度很低——而这辆车能轻松应对。花掉略高于 4 万英镑 的费用，这是一次美妙的驾驶体验。正如托尔金对路易斯所说：神话是真实的。

尽管如此，康沃尔的道路简直是地狱。我沿着 A30 公路从波特库诺返回，而不是走那条带有避让处的小路（游客根本不知道怎么使用避让处）：无论是 还是我，都不会在那些开露营车的人辱骂我们时，为了给他们让路而倒车进灌木丛。我朋友就遇到过这种情况。那感觉就像看着一辆 Winnebago 房车对着一辆三轮车大吼大叫，责备它太胖。“你根本不知道你的车有多大！”他尖叫道。其实她很清楚。相反，我们沿着 A30 疾驰，直到遇到一段狭窄的单行路段，然后，就像在噩梦中一样，两辆拖拉机向我们驶来。我想哭。我住在这里，我知道我的职责。我倒车进了灌木丛。第一辆拖拉机靠近了。我进一步倒车进灌木丛。我看着拖拉机，知道我们没法通过。那像我朋友理查德牙齿一样的车漆将无法在碰撞中幸存，尽管它必须幸存，而且不仅仅是因为它属于大众。这辆车内心是个男孩：一个埃塞克斯男孩。如果它有脸，它会洗脸。如果它有胸毛，它

这辆车内心是个男孩：一个埃塞克斯男孩。如果它有脸，它会洗脸。如果它有胸毛，它会刮掉它

会刮掉它。如果它有衬衫，它会熨平它。我做了一个决定。我走出 ，向拖拉机跑去。我尖叫道：“救救我！”

他是个红脸汉子。他是地道的康沃尔人，一个中小型巨人：也就是说，他看起来能轻而易举地掐死一头牛。他笑了。“不错的高尔夫，”他说。他下车检查了一下，抚摸着车漆，打量着大灯。我告诉了他两件事。第一，这不是我的车。（我不想思考为什么我会这么说，所以没想。）第二，我不是来自伦敦的。当然，我确实来自伦敦，而且我们心知肚明。我的意思是——我不是游客。我不是偶尔来这里激怒康沃尔当地人的：我一直都在这儿。他跳上拖拉机，把它开进他的灌木丛里——我们每人都有一片，康沃尔的灌木丛多得泛滥——在经过那辆高尔夫时没有发生任何碰撞。他挥手告别：向那辆高尔夫。

国际象棋 辛奎菲尔德杯 卢克·麦克谢恩

韦斯利·索（Wesley So）职业生涯第三次赢得了在圣路易斯举行的精英赛——辛奎菲尔德杯（Sinquefield Cup），这也是大棋赛巡回赛（Grand Chess Tour）的第五站，也是最后一站。他开局强势，首先在对阵乔登·范·福雷斯特（Jorden Van Foreest）时取得胜利，后者在一次本可和棋的车终局中失误；随后，他在下面展示的这场精彩的反击战中击败了夺冠热门卡鲁阿纳（Caruana）。

法比亚诺·卡鲁阿纳-韦斯利·索 辛奎菲尔德杯，2026年8月

白方走棋，14...h7-h6 之后的局面

1 d4 Nf6 2℃4 e6 3 Nc3 Bb4 4 a3 Bxc3+ 5 bxc3℃5 6 f3 Nc6 7 e4 d6 8 Ne2 O-O 9 Ng3 b6 10 Be2 Ba6 11 O-O Rc8 12 f4 cxd4 13 cxd4 Na5 14 f5 h6（见图） 15 e5 在后交换之后，黑方的局面变得更容易应对。15 Rf4!? 值得考虑，可以将车移至 h4 发起进攻。dxe5 16 dxe5 Qxd1 17 Rxd1 Nh7 18 Bd2 Nb3 19 Rab1 Nxd2 20 Rxd2 Bxc4 21 Bxc4 Rxc4 22 Rd7 Ra4 23 Rb4 卡鲁阿纳将希望寄托在王翼的诡计上，大概是判断 23 Rb3 Ng5 只会导致缓慢的失败，Rxa3 24 Rg4 Ra1+! 灵巧！ 25 Kf2 Ra5 26 f6 26 Nh5 Ng5 27 f6 g6 28 Nf4 Rxe5 29 h4 Ne4+! 展示了第 24 步精妙走法的一个优点，将王拖到了 f2。g5 27 Re4 Rc8 28 h4 Nf8 29 Rb7 Ng6 30 hxg5 Rc2+ 31 Kg1 Raa2 反击率先得手。 32 Rb8+ Kh7 33 Rb7 hxg5 34 Rxf7+ Kh6 35 Nf1 Rxg2+ 36 Kh1 Rgf2 37 Kg1 Nh4 白方认输

谜题第 914 号

白方走棋。沃伊塔谢克-尚克兰，鲁宾斯坦纪念赛，波拉尼察-兹德鲁伊，2026年。沃伊塔谢克的下一步走法促使尚克兰认输。他走的是哪一步？请在 8 月 31 日（周一）前将答案发送至 chess@spectator.co.uk。我们将从正确答案中随机抽取一名获奖者，奖品为一张 20 英镑的约翰刘易斯（John Lewis）代金券。请提供邮寄地址，奖品配送请预留六周时间。

上周答案 1 Ng3! 随后 1...Kxg3 2 Rxe3# 或 1...fxg3 2 Bg4# 或 1...e2 2 Qa3# 上周获奖者 约翰·达内什，剑桥

在那之后，他的表现极其高效。他将剩余的白方对局引导向死和，并表示：“我不以[这些和棋]为荣，但这是更大战略的一部分，而且奏效了。”执黑时，他耐心地防守以达成同样的结果，且从未显得陷入险境。在如此激烈的竞争中，他的两胜七平足以让他分享第一名的位置，与其并列的是拉梅什巴布·普拉格纳南达（Rameshbabu Praggnanandhaa），后者通过一条更具冒险精神的路径达到了相同的分数（+3, -1, =5）。

索在快棋附加赛中保持了这种保守策略，两局均以和棋收场，最终胜负由一场“末日”超快棋决定。普拉格纳南达执白，开局拥有额外时间，而索执黑并拥有和棋优势，但在中局陷入了绝境。

R. 普拉格纳南达-韦斯利·索 辛奎菲尔德杯附加赛，2026年8月

白方走棋，27...Qd6-c7 之后的局面

在图中，普拉格纳南达选择了自然的 28 e4 来保住象，这丢掉了大部分优势，而 28 Ne4!! 本可以立即获胜。例如，28...Bxd5 29 Nf6+ Kg7 30 Nxd7 Qxd7 31 Rxc5 获胜，或者 28...Qe5 29 Bxb7! 获胜（因为 Ne4 同时防守着 Rd2）。索在比赛后期也曾与失败擦肩而过，但双方在第 85 步达成和棋协议，而这正是他获得冠军所需要的。

针对维多利亚·莱恩的奥德赛竞赛

在这次以《奥德赛》为灵感的第 3464 号竞赛中，我们邀请您提交一段文字或一首诗，讲述一个现代男人（或女人！）在离开十年后试图回家，并需要寻找借口。在值得提及的参赛者中，有巴兹尔·兰索姆-戴维斯、鲍勃·纽曼、索菲亚·杰克逊、保罗·弗里曼和尼克·赛雷特，而奖项则授予以下作者。

请告诉我关于一个复杂男人的故事， 缪斯，波塞冬的愤怒如何将他抛向 一座荒凉、陌生的北方岛屿。在那里的漂泊 将他带到了克劳利，在那里他偶然发现 一座大批人群正热切进入的建筑。 一名奴隶索要黄金；奥德修斯将其杀死， 并潜入一个巨大的洞穴，阴森且黑暗， 唯有一块巨大的屏幕，其上 以生动的阴影显示着一段传奇； 那是通过闪回等技巧重新讲述的 他自己的生活，被感伤化了—— 他与卡吕普索七年的性爱狂欢 变成了一场心理治疗 session；他本人 被简化成了一个爱哭的受害者。 他大喊：“去他的！”，冲出门外，定好航向 返回伊萨卡，回到他的妻子和爱犬身边。 ——乔治·西默斯

邮轮怎么没把我弄丢，从“无人之岛”返回时的人数清点怎么会出那么大错——好吧，调查报告已经写了，而且你的保险赔付金额巨大。但那座岛并非无人居住（他们的宣传册里又撒了一个谎！）。“无人族”是一个羞涩纯真的种族，他们从地下洞穴中出现，将我奉为神明。至于宠爱：我该从哪里说起！无需动一根手指：他们发现了葡萄酒，且信奉多边恋爱。那么为什么无聊会让我也感到心痒？于是我造了一只猴面包树木筏，向东启航，直到被一艘中国集装箱船发现。当然，他们没有我能听懂的语言电话；他们把我扔在一个地狱般的港口，头顶上似乎有战争在轰鸣，于是我自愿加入了第一个提供食物的阵营。监狱还是军队：军队胜出（逃跑机会更大）。随后我转换了阵营，搭乘一架无人机，就这样来到了这里。抱歉，亲爱的：你想我了吗？

我的回家之旅持续了十年。或者看起来是这样，我已经有点记不清了。在这段时间里，我不断受到一个多头怪物的冷酷漠视及其卑劣后代——“完全不在乎女神”的考验。被她承诺能让我与爱人团聚的诱惑所吸引，我登上了她那破旧的船只，结果立即被转移并带到了一些几乎没有逃脱机会的地狱之所。现在我又被困住了，天知道在什么地方。然后我听到一个呼唤的声音，但说的话无法理解。我以前收到过这样的信息，我知道我的奥德赛之旅尚未结束。如果凭借某种极其渺小的可能性，我能再次与我深爱的佩妮联系上——据说在我不在的时候，她的精神状态正慢慢崩溃——至少我能为延迟回家准备一个现成的借口：“对不起我迟到了，亲爱的，你可以把这归咎于国家铁路公司（Network Rail）和阿万蒂西海岸铁路（Avanti West Coast）。” ——苏·皮卡德

亲爱的改革俱乐部成员们，你们问我环球航行为何花了十年才回来。不幸的是，我一直被护照管制延迟、安全检查以及关于……的指控所困扰

纵横字谜 2767：由 Doc 编写

……被指控为非法移民。Uber 的费用、繁琐的行政手续、在线表格和 GPS 导航都证明极具挑战性，而 Passepartout 在使用 Google 翻译和 Duolingo 时的挣扎，意味着我们现在可以用六种不同的语言辱骂他人。其他并发症还包括因新冠疫情导致的所有旅行中断、高昂的货币兑换率、腐败的官员、被黑客攻击的技术、恐怖袭击、抗议游行、天文数字般的燃料价格以及糟糕得令人震惊的交通。英国航空将我们的行李弄丢了 49 次。我与一位可爱的印度公主的婚姻引发了签证问题。顺便提一句，Passepartout 在家没关电灯，所以我们目前的电费超过了 100 万英镑。对于我的下一次赌注，我希望真的能离开英国。您忠实的，菲利亚斯·福格。 珍妮·比查姆

这里是地面控制中心，呼叫汤姆少校： 你的妻子在问你什么时候回家。 哔。告诉我的妻子我非常爱她—— 她知道。她只是需要你取得联系。 我不能，我的飞船已经飞过了月球； 我很快就不会在地球轨道上了—— 在火星发现了生命，而现在我被困住了—— 哔。离开地球将是一次剧痛—— 哔。少校，你究竟降落在哪里了？ 背景里那个说法语的人是谁？ 火星上的哪个地方有埃菲尔铁塔？ 信号在中断——我的飞船正在失去动力—— 你在哪里？你能听到我吗，汤姆少校？ 我知道你能听到我，汤姆少校…… 我就在这里，哔哔，漂浮在蓝色之中 在月球之上，我无能为力…… 大卫·西尔弗曼

办理护照或办理登机时我没遇到任何问题，所以我毫无延迟地登上了飞机。然后两个醉汉为了一个头顶行李箱打了起来，结果我们全部被要求下飞机，这让我损失了一天。接着，当我们起飞时，一座火山爆发了，机长宣布我们将前往拉合尔。由于空地通信中断，我们掉头再次回到了奥克兰。第三天我走了一条不同的路线，当时这看起来像是个聪明的策略，但总统乘坐空军一号前往洛杉矶，导致我们被分流降落在温哥华。在我飞往希思罗机场的航班上（票价真的很便宜），两架俄罗斯喷气式飞机飞得很近来观察。这就是为什么你看到我的机票上写着哥本哈根，因为我从 Huuk 出发在那里中转。 大卫·布莱基

十年了！感谢上帝，旅程即将结束，也许有一天，二十多本书能讲述我的故事。绕月飞行并非原计划，但现在我正搭乘英国铁路在途中。火车停了下来，让我脊背发凉，停电了！为了加剧我的恐惧，我听到沿线响起了紧急警报（大声到我不得不捂住耳朵），警告滚动车辆必须小心。一个独眼乘务员说：“坐回原位，放轻松，餐车已经开放了。”我会忍住不吃，提供的猪肉让我感到非常恶心。我还要被困在这个车站外多久，我还能否到达目的地？ 西尔维亚·费尔利

第 3467 号：回归

我们邀请您提交一段以经典校园故事风格撰写的文字，主题为新学期开始（最多 150 字）。请在 9 月 9 日前将参赛作品发送至 competition@spectator.co.uk。

未给出线索的灯（包括一对）属于同一类，当它们沿行顺序阅读时，位于黄色方格中（两个单词）。

横向

横向 1 马车中减轻的体重 (5) 4 拳击场上的战士困扰着德国猎犬 (5,4) 10 “杀死母亲”是文本地址的标题 (6,4) 11 处理神经的虚构医生 (6) 12 边境那边真诚的封建变革 (7) 14 无止境地观察底部，那是肥胖 (5) 15 教练达到完美的顶峰 (5) 16 更柔软且更光滑的增加。那是正确的 (6) 22 周期与党员围绕固定点移动 (8) 23 马戏团表演者很孤独，令人悲伤 (3,4) 24 一个开始在枫树中栖息 (4) 25 三只鸟和一只蛾 (4) 27 “宏伟的”法国宫殿远足不久将结束 (7) 29 音乐指令可能让 Glière 离开 (8) 32 像少年的故事杂志一样有吸引力 (6) 35 调整被包裹在木材中的威士忌 (5) 36 运行良好，早餐黄油可能被涂抹的地方 (2,1,4) 37 居住在 Dumfries 郊区的水疗中心 (6) 38 反思时，假设替代了客厅的特征 (10) 40 润色《绑架》的文本，看来如此 (5)

1 禁酒者审查酒单，在 Longdendale 谷的一个村庄里 (10) 2 来自 Penelope Radcliffe 的作品 (5) 5 Robin 排除 38 的配件 (3,7) 6 疫苗接种伤害了海牛 (7) 7 处于无知状态的少女不再提供资金 (1-4) 15 性情温和，但在格子呢中很冷 (6) 19 船上的入口尚待重建 (10) 20 掩护行动中的士兵获得尊重 (9) 21 波兰语言，据报道 (6) 26 在长凳上变得舒适 (7) 28 在禁食期之前管理食用坚果 (7) 30 我们一致认为这是一种恶习 (6) 31 在狭长的区域修剪草坪，几乎是数英里 (5) 33 一个凯尔特人组织了灿烂的展示 (5) 34 主要在加里东高地的湖泊 (4)

第一名奖品为 £30 的约翰刘易斯（John Lewis）代金券，两名亚军奖品为 £20 的代金券，将于 9 月 14 日开启首批正确答案的评选。请扫描或拍摄参赛作品，并将其（在主题栏中注明填字游戏编号）发送至 crosswords@spectator.co.uk，或邮寄至：Crossword 2767, The Spectator, 22 Old Queen Street, London SW1H 9HP.

2764题解答：地名

未给出线索的灯光（unclued lights）是既作为男孩 / 女孩名字又是地名的词汇。参见《钱伯斯词典》第13版，第1833页及其后。

一等奖：Sonny Waight，布里斯托 入围奖：Tom Lorimer，伦敦W12；Robert Cave，埃弗索普，布罗

美食 Sea sea HQ Angus Colwell

“预计大卫·卡梅伦会在那里。”这是在我前往康沃尔郡罗克镇的 Four Boys 餐厅之前被告知的最重要的一件事。当我抵达时，这便有了道理。这里是一个充满“卡梅伦风格”的地方，不仅仅是因为这里的每个男人看起来都有点像大卫·卡梅伦。

为什么？因为卡梅伦作为保守党党魁时的核心理念是使其现代化。“如果我们能拥抱穿连帽衫的人，并且在看到牛油果时能忍住不撇嘴，我们就能赢得选举。”Four Boys 餐厅对时尚的敏锐度也正是在做类似的事情。坐下时，我注意到菜单顶部写着：“我们建议分享我们的食物。”

什么？小盘菜？！分享？！我正试图远离东伦敦！然而，这一切都处理得恰到好处。菜单上的十项菜品中，有九项听起来像是来自十英里以内的地方：

什么？小盘菜？！分享？！我正试图远离东伦敦！

这里没有那些模糊地域特征的食材，没有 nduja（辣香肠），也没有蜂蜜辣椒酱。

这家店的理念在某种程度上是新鲜的。在过去的几十年里，康沃尔郡的高端餐饮界一直被一群传统主义“黑手党”掌控：Stein、Ainsworth 和 Outlaw 等名厨，他们互相竞争，看谁能对鳕鱼菲力做最少的加工。

Four Boys（以经营母亲餐厅的四个儿子命名）则更有活力。它敢于冒着被指责为矫揉造作或过度修饰的风险，但一切都在掌控之中，一切都很平和。我正在度假，这将是一顿愉快的午餐。大海就在眼前，服务员（男女都有！）全像模特一样。

谢天谢地，先上的是前菜：配有酸豆和迷迭香的意式金枪鱼酱牛肉（beef tonnato，£14）。烤牛肉冷食更好，且与迷迭香味浓郁的金枪鱼酱相得益彰。一份海鲈鱼薄片（sea bass crudo，£14）让我感到精力充沛且健康；配马萨拉酒的吐司鸡肝（£13）则没有，但我并不希望它那样。我非常喜欢他们处理鸡肝的方式。厨师通常将其切得很碎，甚至将其打成近乎泥状，让你觉得他们想向食客隐瞒这个内脏器官。而这里的鸡肝几乎没有切碎，是最好的前菜。但特价菜单上的油封金枪鱼（ey?）、白芸豆和番茄沙拉（£14）让我觉得是有某些金枪鱼需要处理掉。

主菜满足了食客对海滨的幻想，让人觉得所有食材都是当天早晨从海里捞出来的。线钓海鲈鱼、线钓比目鱼，当然，还有线钓红松鸡。是的，特价菜单上有一道配全套配菜的红松鸡（£35），我们无法抗拒这道经典的“海滨”菜肴。一如既往，配菜是最精彩的部分，尤其是吐司上的肝酱。我和一位朋友用力地切割红松鸡的肋骨，直到露出了气管和肺部，我们曾短暂考虑将其吃掉，但同伴们看起来快要吐了。

龙虾是以烩饭的形式呈现的（£30），是整餐中最出色的菜品：其中的龙虾分量表明 Four Boys 确实喜欢它的顾客。海鲈鱼（£26）配有贻贝和春葱，而比目鱼（£30）则与茴香和春葱一同烘烤：两道春葱菜品都很不错。提拉米苏（£9）和一道难以发音的雪莉樱桃三色甜点（£9）也很美味。卡梅伦没有出现，所以我 2015 年的竞选宣言没能获得签名。

康沃尔郡吸引那些在英国更具田园气息的乡村感到不安的人。给我海浪、悬崖和六品脱的 Rattler 苹果酒就好。但在 Four Boys，一切都如此静谧、安详，且在细微之处有着显著的不同。

Four Boys, Ferry Point, Rock, Cornwall; 电话：01208 640721。

亲爱的玛丽，你的问题解决了

问：我们与当地一个非常不受欢迎的男人成了朋友，想通过邀请其他人与他见面来打破关于他的种种传闻。背景是我们去年从伦敦搬到乡村，为了让孩子们能上一个像样的（免费）日校，因此我们的社交生活主要围绕着其他家长展开。但今年夏天，我们一直在接触我们的邻居——一位地主，他也是新搬来的，但我们之前被告知他是个极其难相处的人。

我们却发现他非常可爱！我丈夫很反感这样一种想法：如果我们邀请他参加晚餐派对，就必须先征得其他潜在客人的同意，就像在请求允许将他列入名单一样。但如果不提醒人们他会在场，当晚可能会出现尴尬局面。您有什么建议？ ——姓名与地址保密

答：乡村晚餐派对通常会有一个 WhatsApp 群组，以便受邀者协调接送和分担照顾孩子的工作。这些群组是在客人接受邀请后才建立的。为什么不直接在 WhatsApp 群组里发出邀请呢？这样所有拟邀请的客人都可以看到地主已被邀请，以及他是否接受。然后，他们可以选择通过假装很忙来继续保持偏见，或者过来看看他们是否也觉得他很可爱。

问：我是一名 32 岁的男性。最近我通过传统方式——控制饮食和增加运动——减轻了相当多的体重。然而，朋友们一直问我是否使用了 Mounjaro 或 Ozempic。这真的很令人恼火，因为我是通过艰苦努力才做到的。我该如何澄清事实？—— R.H.，威尔特郡，伍德伯勒

答：为什么不组织一次健身活动，比如 5 公里跑，跑完后再一起吃晚餐，并邀请那些最爱问这个问题的人？这样你既能展示自己全新的身体素质，又能让他们感到惭愧。

问：我在诺丁山用餐时，听到隔壁桌的一位女士说她大学读的是英语专业，她当时正在向另外三位女士讲解叶芝，并在她的诗歌“Ted talk”中穿插她最喜欢的诗句，这些诗句是从塑封页上读出来的。每次提到他的名字时，她都读作 Yeets，而不是 Yates。我应该介入吗？—— Mrs D.，伦敦 W11

答：确实应该。你可以伪装成一个“披着羊皮的狼”走上前去说：“请原谅我的打断，但我很高兴听到您将 Yates 读作 Yeets。这么多年来，我知道自己是对的，因为当然，我们把 John Keats 读作 John Keets，不是吗？但您不觉得很多 Yeets 的粉丝会反对您叫他 Yeets 吗，因为他本人及其家人一直自称 Yates？”

我非常喜欢我们与 Armit Wines 的合作优惠。他们总能提供迷人的葡萄酒，让我的生活变得有趣；而且他们总能提供诱人的折扣（本周最高 21%），让您的生活变得美好。

我准备独自品鉴 Armit 的最新推荐，可怜的雷女士在昨晚的书友会后感觉有些疲惫，但开瓶塞的砰砰声触发了她的“错失恐惧症”（Fomo），并足以振奋她的精神，让她加入我一起品尝红葡萄酒。

她对优质的黑皮诺（Pinot Noir）毫无抵抗力，wine 4 让她迅速恢复了状态。到 wine 6 时，她已经完全振作起来，以至于她坚持要回去重新审视那些白葡萄酒。“我只是想帮忙，”她傲慢地说，“你知道的，我本可以做其他事情的。”她真是个坚强的人。

这款 2024 Cantele Teresa Manara 夏多内 (1) 产自意大利“鞋跟”深处、布林迪西与莱切之间的普利亚大区 Cantele 家族葡萄园，是一款极具风格的葡萄酒。普利亚的葡萄酒产量高于意大利任何其他地区，正是奥古斯托·坎特莱（Augusto Cantele）率先在这里引种并用橡木桶陈酿夏多内（这里实际上是特雷比亚诺和菲亚诺的产区），而这款酒堪称瑰宝。口感丰满、成熟、浓郁且圆润，带有蜂蜜、坚果、香草和烤苹果的味道，工艺精湛且价格极佳。£17.05 down from £21.52.

我们去年推荐过 2024 年份的 Fattoria le Pupille Poggio Argentato (2)，而我更喜欢这次的版本。这是一款来自托斯卡纳马雷马（Maremma）地区，由长相思（Sauvignon Blanc）、小芒桑（Petit Manseng）、赛美蓉（Sémillon）和特拉米纳（Traminer）组成的奇异（且绝对独特）的混酿，但不知为何，它竟然如此和谐。它带有辛香、桃香、柑橘香、雪葩感和草本气息，是你所能找到的最美味且最古灵精怪的夏季葡萄酒之一。完全是我的菜。价格从 £23.38 降至 £18.58。

2023 年份的 Chablis Dauvissat ‘Les Brèches de Fyé’ (3) 则更为经典，是我多年来品尝过的 Chablis AOC 的最佳典范，尤其是在如此优惠的价格下（我在其他任何地方都没见过更低的价格）。这款酒由酒庄创始人 Didier 和 Agnès 的儿子 Florent Dauvissat 酿造，是教科书般的夏布利（Chablis）：生长在基梅里质（Kimmeridgian）土壤中，经过低温发酵、苹果酸-乳酸发酵，并在不锈钢桶中进行酒渣陈酿。它口感清脆、纯净，带有柑橘香气且清新，并伴有极轻微的蜂蜜甜味，十分美味。价格从 £26.58 降至 £21.25。

2023 年份的 Domaine Bart Marsannay (4) 来自金丘（Côte d'Or）的最北端，展现了黑皮诺（Pinot Noir）最迷人的一面。这款酒由第六代葡萄种植者 Pierre Bart 根据有机原则生产（尽管酒庄尚未获得官方认证），在多种橡木桶、大橡木桶（foudres）和半。

如果所有这个价位的勃艮第红酒都这么出色就好了

……桶，仅使用了极少量的全新橡木桶，充满了新鲜的草莓和樱桃果香，单宁柔和，并带有淡淡的香料味。如果所有这个价位的勃艮第红酒都这么出色就好了。价格从 £24.78 降至 £19.75。

2021 年的 Mendel 马尔贝克 (5) 在我们去年提供时大受欢迎，因此再次推荐无需道歉。事实上，您应该感激我，因为这款酒正处于绝佳状态，由一家优秀的精品酒庄生产，葡萄来自安第斯山麓海拔 1,000 米处、拥有 100 年历史的非嫁接古藤。它色泽深邃，风味浓郁，带有紫罗兰的香气；如果您正苦于寻找一款能搭配烤 T 骨牛排的酒，那么无需再找了，尤其是它的价格比建议零售价便宜了近 6 英镑。价格从 £29.60 降至 £23.83。

最后，来自强大 Sassicaia 之家 Tenuta San Guido 的 2024 年 Le Difese (6)，这是其第 22 个年份。它由庄园种植的赤霞珠和来源更广泛的桑娇维塞混酿而成，在橡木桶中陈酿 12 个月，在瓶中陈酿 3 个月后发布。它拥有超级托斯卡纳的所有星光魅力，在如此年轻时就具有极佳的可饮用性，且未来将陈酿得非常出色。我发现其浓郁的红色和深色果实风味、细腻的结构以及悠长的余韵令人无法抗拒。事实上，在雷女士（她已经喝掉了那瓶 Marsannay）的一点点帮助下，我轻松地喝光了这瓶酒。价格从 £30.72 降至 £24.72。

混合套装 (7) 包含每种葡萄酒两瓶，且一如既往地提供免费配送。

欲了解更多关于我们的酿酒师午餐会、大师班和葡萄酒之旅的信息，请访问 www.spectator.com / tastings。

订单表 《旁观者》葡萄酒优惠

www.armitwines.co.uk / spectator-2026

Armit Wines Ltd, The Triangle, 2nd Floor, 5-17 Hammersmith Grove, London W6 0LG 电话：020 7908 0600；电子邮件：web@armitwines.co.uk

表格中的价格为每箱 12 瓶，混合十二瓶套装除外< / td><>原价< / ><>会员价< / >< / tr><>< rowspan="3">白葡萄酒< / ><>1< / ><>2024 Cantele Teresa Manara Chardonnay, 13.5%< / ><>£258.24< / ><>£204.64< / >< / ><><>2< / ><>2024 Fattoria le Pupille Poggio Argentato, 13%< / ><>£280.59< / ><>£222.99< / >< / ><><>3< / ><>2023 Chablis Dauvissat ‘Les Brèches de Fyé’, 13%< / ><>£318.99< / ><>£254.99< / >< / ><>< rowspan="3">红葡萄酒< / ><>4< / ><>2023 Domaine Bart Marsannay, 13%< / ><>£297.39< / ><>£236.99< / >< / ><><>5< / ><>2021 Mendel Malbec, 14.5%< / ><>£355.15< / ><>£285.95< / >< / ><><>6< / ><>2024 Le Difese, 13.5%< / ><>£368.64< / ><>£296.64< / >< / ><><>混合< / ><>7< / ><>葡萄酒 1-6 每种两瓶< / ><>£313.16< / ><>£250.36< / >< / table>

价格包含增值税及英国本土配送费。本次优惠视库存情况而定，将于 2026 年 10 月 10 日截止。付款可通过电话或直接通过网站进行（详见上方详情或扫描右侧二维码）。完整列表请见 www.armitwines.co.uk / spectator-2026

MICHAEL HEATH

没有神圣不可侵犯之物：让特权阶层回归

托比·杨 (Toby Young)

对于杨氏家族来说，前往诺福克郡的维多利亚时代海滨小镇亨斯坦顿 (Hunstanton) 参加年度网球赛已成为一项夏季惯例。这里通常只是业余巡回赛中的一个次要站点，但由于草地球场的质量，今年早些时候被提升至该郡第三位。出于某种原因，这些球场受干旱的影响比大多数球场要小，尽管在我看来它们已经相当破旧了。此外，它们被英国网球协会 (LTA) 评为 5 / 6 级。

大约十年前，卡罗琳参加了女子双打，因为她的搭档是她的网球教练，所以赢得了一座奖杯。从那以后情况就开始走下坡路，随着年幼的杨家孩子们被迫参加更高年龄组的比赛，他们每年的进步越来越小。我不是一名球员——或者说，我是，但我无法忍受被某个八十多岁的老油条击败的耻辱——所以我的角色就是坐在场边，在孩子们首轮出局后向他们保证他们打得非常好。

人们很容易对亨斯坦顿嗤之以鼻——是指比赛而非小镇——我自己也曾这样做过。大多数年长的参与者开着路虎卫士 (Land Rover Defenders)，穿着酒红色背心，简直像是直接从《斯隆游侠手册》(The Sloane Ranger Handbook) 中走出来的一样；而他们的青少年子女则在夜晚酗酒并恐吓小镇居民，结果第二天一早出现在球场上，打出精美的网球。人们感觉到每个人都属于同一个社会阶层，都就读于私立学校，随后进入罗素大学集团 (Russell Group) 的大学。即使是就读于切尔滕纳姆女子学院 (Cheltenham Ladies’ College) 的卡罗琳，有时也会变得有点像“阶级斗士”。当一名五十多岁的男子讲述自己尽管忘了带护照，但仍被允许进入瑞士进行为期一周的滑雪活动时，她转向我对我说：“这就是白人特权。”（对此的背景是我一直主张根本不存在这种东西。）

但这个群体无疑拥有许多优点，我有时在想，如果他们仍然掌权，英国的情况可能会更好。首先，他们低调地热爱祖国，许多人为维护国家的制度结构尽一份力。周日，我参加了邻村霍姆-内克斯-德-西 (Holme-next-the-Sea) 一家教堂的晚祷，令我印象深刻的是，教区居民距离筹集 50 万英镑用于修复诺曼式塔楼仅差 1.6 万英镑。在赛后坐下来喝啤酒时，发现坐在你身边那个穿着红裤子、面色红润的男人是一家大型癌症慈善机构的主席，这并不罕见。像他这样的人已被赶出政坛，但他们找到了其他服务方式。在谈到孩子的职业规划时，当他们透露孩子要搬到澳大利亚时，你可以听到他们语气中的遗憾——不仅仅是因为距离太远。他们知道，在伯纳姆的英国，他们这类人不再被需要。

在观看一些由初学者与种子选手配对的双打比赛时，我尤其深刻地感受到这是一种怎样的损失。

有时，双方实力极其不均衡，其中一对搭档很容易通过不断地将球击向对方的初学者而获胜。但这很少发生。相反，经验丰富的球员会调整他们的击球力度，将快速球嗖嗖地击向球场的一半，而将轻柔得多的球击向另一半。强项球员在搭档丢分时也不会表达沮丧。世界上还有哪里会有如此行为的竞技网球爱好者？只有在亨斯坦顿。

也许我确实在将这个日渐式微的群体浪漫化，而且天知道他们也有自己的缺陷。在牛津大学，我被他们包围，当时我看到的只有他们的自满与封闭，并期待着一个新机遇时代的到来——届时，他们将被来自各行各业最优秀、最聪明的人所取代。但 40 年过去了，那个由精英治理的“新英国”之梦已经变质。我们那些戴着挂绳证件的统治者们，在继承特权方面与他们所取代的阶层一样深，只不过他们是那些低级公共部门管理人员和工党官僚的子嗣。驱动他们的并非公共责任感，而是代际间的积怨，而且他们似乎决心拆除那些传承给他们的传统与制度。他们的计划是将大不列颠及北爱尔兰转变为“Yookay”（英国的滑稽发音）——一个对曾经繁荣的君主立宪制的滑稽且糟糕的拙劣模仿——而他们已经完成了四分之三。如果你想知道他们如此厌恶旧体制的究竟是什么，去一次亨斯坦顿（Hunstanton）是个不错的选择。

Wiki Man：为什么约会软件行不通

罗里·萨瑟兰（Rory Sutherland）

我的父亲曾参加过一次 12 人的晚餐会，席间人们就如何分摊账单产生了激烈的争论。15 分钟后，双方达成了一个令人满意的折中方案，就在这时，一名比桌上其他所有人都要富有一个数量级的食客突然开口道：“但我没喝葡萄酒。”这是一个完美的例子，说明一个合理的考量因素如果在流程中完全错误的时间点被提出，会产生怎样的效果。

请记住这一点，因为我认为看待英国官僚主义僵化有一种乐观且相对温和的方式，而不需要把每个公共部门的雇员用他们自己的挂绳吊起来。

根据这种更温和的诊断，英国的官僚们并非天生无能或心怀恶意。简单来说，是为了维持客观的假象，从而防御批评或诉讼，机构们越来越多地选择躲在那些顺序混乱的流程背后。这些流程旨在看起来表面上合理，但最终结果却是愚蠢、缓慢或根本无法实施。

为什么 HS2 的速度是先确定的，而路线是后确定的？这两个因素显然是

只要 决策 过程 感觉 合理， 我们就 不会 注意到 它 剥夺了 我们的 潜在 机会

相互依赖的。从组织管理上看，提前精确定义你要优化什么可能显得很整洁，但在现实世界中，最佳解决方案通常是通过迭代探索而产生的，而非某种线性流程。

在医学中，这种路径依赖问题被称为“诊断惯性”——即患者最初获得的诊断会对随后的治疗产生不成比例的影响。如果你想象一家医院，每个患者首先都由皮肤科医生检查，你就能明白为什么这会产生问题。但似乎没有人注意到，在政府中，如果所有事情必须首先由财政部建模和审核，最终会导致决策过程中出现类似的扭曲。同样，在私营部门，人力资源、财务、合规或采购等职能也变得具有禁锢性。

通常，为了显得合理而将决策过程划分得越细，其效果就越差。我极力捍卫陪审团制度的原因之一，就是陪审团没有义务解释他们的裁决，这赋予了他们运用直觉能力的自由，而那些必须将决定合理化的人则被剥夺了这种自由。

沿着这个思路，两种被数百万人使用的决策工具可能存在巨大的缺陷。一种是约会软件，另一种是房产搜索网站。两者都模仿了智能决策过程，但实际上带有深刻的偏见。

进化心理学家保罗·伊斯特威克（Paul Eastwick）在《受进化纽带绑定》（Bonded by Evolution）一书中提供了大量的实证证据，表明人们在网上挑选浪漫伴侣时最初使用的标准，对于现实世界关系的价值或持续时间几乎没有任何预测价值。

例如，两名异性恋男性在看到两名女性的照片时，在谁更有吸引力这个问题上，75% 的时间会达成一致。然而，在与这些人进行社交接触后，这一数字下降到了 53%。

（我曾有一位非常聪明的美国同事，因为她喜欢夏威夷披萨而在 Tinder 上被拒绝约会。很少有人像我一样对披萨上放菠萝感到如此厌恶，但我认为这不应该是浪漫关系的决定性障碍。）

Rightmove 在某种程度上也是一种约会软件，它似乎也要求你根据一套狭窄且任意的标准来限制房产选择：地点、价格、卧室数量等等。然而，与真正重要的事情（比如是否靠近一家非常棒的酒吧）相比，这些标准在预测你从房产中获得持久享受方面的效果究竟如何？

然而，只要决策过程看起来是理性的，我们就不会注意到它剥夺了我们的哪些潜在机会。而在机构决策中，决策的结果并不如你能够证明自己是如何得出该结论的能力那样重要。人工智能在某种程度上可能会将我们从这种局面中解放出来，但这完全取决于谁来提出问题。

古典与现代：一场希腊悲剧

剑桥大学校长表示，该大学可以从“杰森·阿尔代（Jason Arday）悲剧”中汲取教训。好吧，你可以随意定义词义——古希腊人发明了 tragóidia 这个词，原意是“山羊之歌”——但用“悲剧”来形容阿尔代真的合适吗？

悲剧重新演绎了古代伟大英雄的命运，他们的死亡对于观看的观众而言具有高度的重要性和意义。这类戏剧通常具有一系列特征，可能包括预言、警告、对真实情况的无知（从而产生讽刺）、伴随自我欺骗的过度自信，以及在无法避免灾难时才意识到真相。英雄的陨落会引发同情，因为他通常是出于最好的意图而行动，当不可避免的结局发生时，会产生一种强烈的徒劳损失感，从而为观众创造一种连贯且在美学上令人满足的情感体验。

如果有人试图用这种定义来将阿尔代的故事写成悲剧，那得是个勇敢的人。但在一个技术层面上，他确实符合希腊舞台上悲剧演员的标准。阿尔代似乎花了大半辈子为自己塑造一个 persona。这是拉丁语中对舞台面具的称呼。希腊语则是 prosôpon，既指面具，也指戏剧中的角色或人物。戏剧之神狄俄尼索斯出现时从未不戴面具。在舞台上，人类演员佩戴面具是为了帮助他们重新塑造自己，从而能够令人信服地扮演新角色。

阿尔代对此做得如此成功，以至于他成为了 BBC 及其评论节目（如《道德迷宫》和《问题时间》）的常客，还担任过《今日》节目的客座编辑，并在多所地方大学获得了社会学教授席位。他的学术和教学记录并非格外辉煌，但凭借其“多样性”，他获得了剑桥大学的教授席位。随后，新闻界的天罚降临，关于他许多主张之真实性的毁灭性揭露随之而来。他的面具破碎了，他的世界随之崩塌，剑桥大学也随之受损，他本人亦然。—— 彼得·琼斯（Peter Jones）

其他见闻 我对梅根的同情 吉姆·格伦维尔（Jim Grenville）

正如《每日电讯报》所见，这标志着“愚蠢季节”（silly season）的结束，在这个季节里，我们这些自以为能以写作谋生的人只能在枯竭的素材库中勉强挖掘。于是我们又回到了萨塞克斯公爵夫人梅根·马克尔身上，这位点击率的驱动者，人们唤起心中的恶意，将其倾泻在她那些美国习惯上（打个冷颤）。

说实话，我并非天生反对她，部分原因是出于“传记上的共鸣”（raison d'biographie）。在第一次尝试进入剑桥失败后，我以研究两年制 MPhil 学位的研究生的身份潜入了进去。我走进中级公共休息室时，戴着一条借来的旧卡图西亚（Old Carthusian）领带，穿着一件过大的巴布尔（Barbour）外套（“亲爱的，那是卫队里一位叔叔的”），并虚构了一个与“奥姆尼姆公爵”的家族关系。

因此，我一直对我的冒险同僚梅根·马克尔——一个出人头地的洛杉矶女孩——怀有一种偷偷的喜爱。就像她一样，我曾认为我的晋升阶梯就落在

就像她一样，我曾认为我的晋升阶梯就落在一名头发蓬松的英国上层阶级后裔的裤兜里

一名头发蓬松的英国上层阶级后裔的裤兜里，他就像是个呆头呆脑的塞巴斯蒂安·弗莱特（Sebastian Flyte），而我则是狡黠的查尔斯·赖德（Charles Ryder）。那是一个金发青年，我在 2022 年那个漫长而幸福的夏天在祈祷所（Oratory）遇见了他。但和梅根一样，我的计划在那个像泼妇一样的祖母嗅出我贪婪的胃口并强行终止我的查尔丰特式（Chalfontian）阴谋时，彻底落空了。

因此，你不会听到我谴责一个同类投机分子。事实上，你可能会注意到，在阿尔代事件（l'affaire d'Arday）期间，尽管该事件涉及我的母校，但我依然克制了自己。正因如此，在“梅根反向离职”（reverse Meg-exit）即将到来之际，我无法让自己加入那阵针对萨塞克斯夫妇的谩骂之声。我对他们的感情，就像我对那些皈依基督教的阿富汗移民一样柔软——不管那些关于他们对当地人动手动脚的小报胡言乱语如何。所以，虽然我可以闭着眼睛写出 700 字的冷静文章，论述一个人不能在不承担责任的情况下享有皇室特权，但我的心并不在其中。

是我作为撰稿人的本能钝化了吗？在上周在伦敦举行的一次青年保守党活动上（组织者慷慨地将“青年”的定义扩大到了五十岁以下），我决定试探一些我信任其判断力的人。

“梅根不是掌权者。现在由我掌权，”凯米·巴德诺克说道——她本人在编造离奇故事方面也并非生手。“梅根需要停止说话。”

“她需要离开，安静一段时间。她试图发表评论，而我试图领导。保守党现在由新管理层接管。”

我重新斟满了一杯白葡萄酒，然后走向格兰特·夏普斯。自从 2024 年失去议席以来，他成了那些阴暗的保守党饮酒社交活动中的常客。他回避了我的问题，反而告诉我一个令人兴奋的商业机会：挨家挨户推销厨刀。

我最后一站是《电讯报》那位德高望重的“无畏舰”——布莱克沃特勋爵，也就是西蒙·赫弗。一如既往，在提到非白人时，布莱克沃特勋爵插话告知我，伊诺克·鲍威尔并非种族主义者，而且他本会成为马克尔夫人的坚定支持者。

我回到家，依然毫无收获。我端着一杯格雷伯爵茶，陷进我最喜欢的扶手椅里，屈尊地询问母亲对整个问题的看法。接下来的内容是一连串无法刊登的脏话（其中“好莱坞花瓶”的种族色彩最淡），导致我忠诚的爱犬柯勒律治惊慌地冲出了房间。

我苦涩地笑了。我们这些作家可以写晦涩深奥的论文来捍卫宪政安排，但一如既往，真正能激发民众心声（vox populi）的是《邮报》的侧栏。那些在一代人之前将乔治六世的画像挂在楼梯平台墙上的、购买银禧纪念茶具的人们。那些用无可置疑的民众主权来祝福查尔斯国王陛下的忠诚臣民大军。

注意你的语言：出租车（Taxi）

错误就像蚂蚁粘在针鼹的舌头上一样，死死地粘在“taxi”这个词上。十年前，我曾在这里写道，我听到一名出租车司机在无线电广播中解释说，taxi这个词源于其德国发明者，其名为图恩-塔克西斯（Thurn und Taxis）。这个错误在互联网上到处可见。一个版本这样写道：“在18世纪末，管理着数千辆马车和马匹用于分发邮件的图恩-塔克西斯家族决定多元化经营，利用其网络和车辆同时进行乘客运输……他们的姓氏Taxis可能启发了现代术语taxi……”但事实并非如此。图恩-塔克西斯家族确实在哈布斯堡王朝统治下经营国际邮政服务。他们的家族姓氏意为“塔楼”和“獾”，但这些词也不是他们发明的。

另一种错误的词源学说法是，taxi源自现代希腊语的taxidi，意为“旅程”。Taxidi源自同一个古希腊词汇，该词演变成了taxonomy（分类学）和taxidermy（标本制作），但并非taxi。另一种变体错误是将taxi推导自古希腊语的tachys，意为“迅速”。事实上，taxi最初是taximeter cab（计程车），源自德语Taxameter，这是一种在1890年获得专利的用于测量距离以计算车费的设备。此前在1877年于德国获得专利的一款设备被称为Taxanom。其中的tax元素是有意识地源自晚期拉丁语taxa，意为“关税 / 价目表”。Taximeter在英语中被用来指代这项德国创新，比1907年taximeter cab在英国出现早十年，随后被迅速缩写为taxi。当taximeter于1910年首次出现在《牛津英语词典》（OED）中时，重音落在第二个音节上：tack-scimitar。

我不知道我丈夫把它放哪儿了，但我确实拥有一本厚厚的红皮书，名为《伦敦马车车费与距离指南：提供近一万三千处以英里和码计算的距离》。在查令十字街四英里范围内的车费定价为每英里6便士。这本书可能会吸引布兰威尔·勃朗特，他在1853年第一版出版前五年去世。据传他无需前往伦敦就掌握了那里所有的偏僻小路。他可能会认为，地球上再也没有什么比这更具“车费”（fare，此处为双关，亦指风光 / 景象）的了。

—— 多特·沃兹沃思（Dot Wordsworth）

《旁观者》杂志：日程表

参与《旁观者》辩论会，与知名作家共度夜晚，或在《旁观者》董事会会议室举杯畅饮

辩论 财富税辩论： 拉弗 vs 巴斯塔尼 9月8日，星期二，晚上7:30 大英图书馆 伦敦

辩论 女性是否曾 如此之好？ 9月10日，星期四，晚上7点 旧女王街6号 伦敦

葡萄酒俱乐部 库梅河（Kumeu River） 9月16日，星期三，晚上7点 旧女王街

徒步 威斯敏斯特的政治故居 9月27日，星期日，下午3点 威斯敏斯特

尼克松的复兴 9月30日，星期三， 东部时间晚上7点（英国夏令时凌晨12点） 第五大道 纽约

葡萄酒俱乐部 圣丽塔特级庄园（Santa Rita Grand Cru） 10月29日，星期四，中午12:15 金丝雀码头博伊斯代尔（Boisdale Canary Wharf） 预订请访问

做一名猎手，而非追踪者。

在动荡的投资环境下，积极猎取利润（Profits）可能会带来回报。如果你仅仅追踪指数（Index），可能会发现利润中夹杂着一些令人不快的意外。这就是为什么我们的猎手始终选择筛选之路。依赖猎手的本能，而非追踪者的本能。您的资本面临风险。

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Over Budget

K eir Starmer once promised to ‘tread more lightly’ on voters’ lives. Yet he presided over a government that raised taxes faster than at any point since 1970. The bill has risen by £74.6 billion since the 2024 general election and there are still three years left of this parliament.

Upon entering Downing Street, Andy Burnham promised to do politics differently and ‘bring back hope’. Yet no amount of social media spin can wish away the constraints of the market. The new prime minister has so far avoided Liz Truss’s fate of a bond market panic but parliament has been in recess and Burnham’s plans remain vague. When MPs return on 1 September, he will face scrutiny; the countdown to John Healey’s first Budget, on 28 October, has begun.

Britain’s government may have changed, but our perilous fiscal position has not. Our new prime minister cannot avoid these facts. On his procession to the Labour leadership, Burnham made vast commitments on the fly, including a National Care Service, Thames Water’s nationalisation and ‘the biggest council house building programme since the postwar period’. Already, there are signs that he is curbing his ambitions; public control of the water industry has reportedly been postponed. But the urge to tax is all too apparent.

Healey was made chancellor just weeks after he resigned as defence secretary, citing the failure of Starmer and Reeves to properly fund our military commitments. It seems likely, then, that defence spending will rise. Such investment is needed, but how will it be paid for? Starmer's authority collapsed when Labour MPs refused to support even a £5 billion cut to welfare. Growth remains anaemic, borrowing is increasingly costly and further tax rises loom.

Burnham has refused to rule out adding to Starmer's record tax increases. While promising he would take a ‘careful approach’, he said he wouldn't be ‘unrealistic’ about the ‘challenging’ state of the economy. When asked about the commitments he has made so far – including capping bus fares at £2 and cutting VAT on electricity bills – Burnham suggested these could be funded with money reallocated from elsewhere. But there comes a point when shuffling the Titanic’s deck chairs can no longer distract from the damaged hull. Britain’s economy suffers from problems that no government has been willing to fundamentally address.

According to the TaxPayers' Alliance, the public debt has passed £3 trillion. Successive governments have proven unable to reverse this long-term trend. While the Conservative-led governments of the early 2010s

No amount of social media spin can wish away the constraints of the market

temporarily reduced spending, the crises of Covid and the Ukraine war led to a rapid expansion of the state, even before Labour re-entered office.

Rachel Reeves displayed all her party's worst instincts during her brief tenure in the Treasury. Hemmed in by manifesto commitments that ruled out increases to income tax, VAT and National Insurance, she turned instead on employers and entrepreneurs. This resulted in plummeting business confidence, a shrinking jobs market and the flight of higher earners abroad. The situation has been made only worse by a sharp increase in the minimum wage and Angela Rayner's Employment Rights Act.

Burnham is unlikely to see all this as a problem. On accepting the Labour leadership, he promised to reverse ‘neoliberalism’ and identified Thatcherism as the source of Britain’s ills. There are signs of continuity with the failed Starmer government too. Burnham has made Neil Amin-Smith, formerly Reeves’s top adviser, his economic policy chief. Jim O’Neill – a former Treasury minister who at one stage seemed likely to take up the role – was deterred by the Prime Minister’s partiality for wealth taxes.

Healey's appointment seemed reassuring; a rumoured Ed Miliband chancellorship would only have resulted in more private-sector punishment. But while Healey has a reputation for being levelheaded, his desire for more defence spending will encourage Burnham to impose higher taxes. Levies intended for defence could easily be turned to fund Burnham's more ideological projects.

Britain does indeed need to spend more on defence. But further tax rises are not the solution. Burnham and Healey should instead tackle welfare, which today costs £354 billion a year, a real-terms increase of 16 per cent since 2010. Meanwhile, a quarter of Britain's working-age population remain out of work.

Labour needs to confront matters it has so far avoided: the growth in sickness and disability benefits and the long-term cost of an ageing population. Fixing welfare is not simply an exercise in cutting government expenditure. It would also encourage those who can work to re-enter the workforce and therefore grow the tax base. On a point of simple principle, the lives of those who support themselves ought to be better than those they subsidise. Instead, it seems likely that Burnham will take more from workers to give yet more to those on welfare.

The last Chancellor Healey who failed to curb spending and taxation ended up prostrate before the IMF. That economic catastrophe led to the Thatcherite revolution that our current prime minister so despises. There are other lessons the Prime Minister could learn from history. Labour was once a party that believed in the dignity of work; so should Burnham, with his industrial northern roots, but there is little sign that he is interested in such old Labour values. Let us hope he can rediscover them in time for the October Budget.

Sticking point, p20

7 Diary I almost fainted when I met Donna Tartt Simon Sebag Montefiore

8 Politics Travelling light James Heale

13 Douglas Murray Harry and Meghan deserve a second chance

21 Lionel Shriver Going for broke

23 Barometer Running robots, cousin marriage and Eurostar numbers

25 Julie Burchill I’ve reclaimed the word ‘cripple’

27 Letters James Bond, the Church of England and wild swimming

28 Any other business Bessent should remember Thatcher: you really can't buck the market Martin Vander Weyer

Charles Moore is away.

Royal return, p13

10 School bullies Good teachers are under siege Michael Gove

12 Miss remembered Scotland's ‘bullying’ deputy first minister was my teacher Michael Simmons

14 Troubling developments Ireland is succumbing to a wave of ‘radical chic’ Eilis O’Hanlon

15 Law footing The Northern Ireland Troubles Bill only serves the IRA Al Carns

16 Presenter's notebook Piers Morgan, I'm coming for you Vanessa Feltz

18 My Prague awakening A visit in the 1970s cured me of my communist sympathies Peter Hitchens

20 Mail order Cut the price of stamps to save the Christmas card Sophia Money-Coutts

22 Ring cycle Tolkien knew the truth about power D.J. Taylor

26 'Easy in, easy out' Our universities are addicted to Chinese students Patrick Drury

What lies beneath, p38

30 Frances Wilson Last Night I Dreamt, by Paul de Zulueta

32 Philip Hensher The New Dark Ages, by James Marriott Caroline Moorehead Mussolini's Ghost, by Stephen Gundle

34 Emily Hill Too L.A., by Eve Babitz Derek Turner Creatures of Story and Song, by Lee Raye

35 Ian Thomson We Were Here, by Stephanie Phillips; Dub Revolution, by David Katz; Fire Inna Dancehall, by Derek A. Bardowell

36 Leyla Sanai Life of M, by Rachel Cusk

37 Harry Mount Church-Crawling, by Rachel Morley

38 Mark Cocker The World Beneath Our Feet, by Frank Ashwood Leaf Arbuthnot Cold Sunset, by William Boyd

Political wizardry, p22

ARTS 40 Robin Simon Don’t write off Renoir as sentimental

42 Cinema The Dog Stars Deborah Ross

43 Pop The Cure; Phoebe Bridgers Graeme Thomson Theatre How the Other Half Loves; Abigail's Party Lloyd Evans

46 Exhibitions Hilda Quick Hermione Eyre

47 Classical music The Galloping Cure; Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra/ Marsalis/Wang Richard Bratby Helen Farish ‘The Path in the Wheat’: a poem

48 Television Unconditional; The Terror: Devil in Silver James Delingpole

The gamer Marvel Tokon: Fighting Souls Sam Leith

Sunshine state, p40

LIFE 53 No life Lloyd Evans Dog's life Sophia Money-Coutts 54 Still life Catriona Olding 55 Fast life Tanya Gold

AND FINALLY ... 49 Notes on... Grockles Ruari Clark

56 Chess Luke McShane Competition Victoria Lane

57 Crossword Doc

58 Food Angus Colwell Your problems solved Mary Killen

59 Wine club Jonathan Ray

60 No sacred cows Toby Young Battle for Britain Michael Heath

61 The Wiki Man Rory Sutherland Ancient and modern Peter Jones

62 Seen elsewhere Jim Grenville Mind your language Dot Wordsworth

Dream on, p30

Sadly my mother is dead, but she was right about everything: from now on I am taking her advice. Simon Sebag Montefiore, p7

1968 was the year I joined a Trotskyist sect. It was the year I punched a man (in self defence). Peter Hitchens, p18

The film is based on a novel and takes place sometime after a flu epidemic has all but wiped out mankind and civilisation has been reduced to a succession of film sets. (You know the scenario.) Deborah Ross, p42

I once had a highly intelligent American colleague who was rejected for dates on Tinder because she liked Hawaiian pizza. Rory Sutherland, p61

CONTRIBUTORS

Eilis O'Hanlon says Ireland is succumbing to a new wave of radical chic on p14. She writes a weekly column for the Sunday Independent.

Al Carns, who resigned as armed forces minister in June, writes on p15 about the Northern Ireland Troubles Bill. He is a former Royal Marines Commando.

Frances Wilson, who writes about the du Maurier family on p30, is the author of several biographies including Electric Spark: The Enigma of Muriel Spark.

Emily Hill is a journalist and writer whose stories are collected in Bad Romance and Love in Late Capitalism. She writes about Eve Babitz on p34.

Leaf Arbuthnot, who reviews William Boyd's latest spy caper on p38, is the author of Looking for Eliza.

PORTRAIT OF THE WEEK

A NEW DAWN!

JENNY COULDN'T FIND A NEW BOY FRIEND. SO SHE BOUGHT A ROBOT INSTEAD/

Home

Andy Burnham made his first foreign trip as Prime Minister, to Kyiv. 'Despite Russia's outrageous threats to my country,' he said, 'we will continue our support for Ukraine.' He said he would supply information about British-made components of the Anglo-French Storm Shadow missiles to help Ukraine build its own version. Ukraine gave Britain a trove of secret battlefield intelligence. Andrey Kelin, the Russian ambassador to Britain, had, it was found, left in July and not been replaced. Iranian hackers shut down a British power station for four days. New 10p coins went into circulation, with the King's head and a capercaillie as tails.

Seven people were killed when a car carrying five young men went the wrong way down the dual carriageway of the A66 and crashed into a police car carrying two policemen near Middlesbrough. Four of the dead youngsters had 37 previous convictions between them. Seventeen people were arrested as part of the investigation into events before the crash. The rail operator CrossCountry cancelled almost all its services for a day after a power cut at its control centre. A scheme to confine serious sexual and violent offenders to areas a few miles wide after leaving prison will be launched in October, Alex Norris, the Justice Secretary, said. Leicestershire, Norfolk and Suffolk police confirmed they had issued more than one warrant card to officers who said they identified as both male and female. In one week, 250 migrants arrived in three boats.

The price that households pay for energy will rise by 4 per cent on average, from £1,663 to £1,723 a year from 1 October, even after the government's VAT cut on electricity. Mr Burnham refused to rule out tax rises in October's Budget. Mayors in England will be given powers to overrule local councils on planning decisions such as those on sites with more than 150 homes. The government would spend £1 billion a year on building 7,000 social or affordable houses a year for a decade. Peter Howell, the architectural historian, died aged 85. The mother, father and two daughters of the British Palestinian El-Khawas family from London died after getting into difficulty in the sea off Shoreham in West Sussex. Plans to turn Old College at Aberystwyth into a cultural hub and hotel in a £53 million renovation were halted pending a review. The Duke and Duchess of Sussex suddenly said they were returning to Britain and sending their children to school here. A cat called Ginge which went missing from Sunderland last year was found in a feral colony in Leeds.

Abroad

President Volodymyr Zelensky of Ukraine said that holding elections while the country was at war could destroy it. The proposal had been made by the sacked former defence minister Mykhailo Fedorov. A double-tap strike by two successive Russian drones killed 16 in a shopping centre in Kryvyi Rih, Ukraine. Ukraine said it had struck an oil refinery in Russia's Samara region. Ukraine hit logistics facilities belonging to Ozon,

Russia's second-largest online retailer, in the southern regions of Krasnodar, Dagestan, Stavropol and Adygea. John Ratcliffe, the head of the CIA, visited Moscow for unannounced talks. A British man, Bradley Townsend, 33, was found to have been killed in Ukraine in June while fighting for Russia.

The United States announced wider economic sanctions against Iran and its trading partners, including China. Scott Bessent, the US Treasury Secretary, called it ‘the single greatest financial offensive ever’ against Iran. Trade talks between the United States and Canada collapsed, with the United States saying it was imposing 50 per cent tariffs on various goods and Canada retaliating. Dolly Parton, the country singer, died aged 80.

The founder of Evergrande, the collapsed property giant, was sentenced in Shenzhen, the city bordering Hong Kong, to life in prison. The trial in Washington, DC, of Abu Agila Mas'ud Kheir Al-Marimi, accused of building the bomb that destroyed an airliner over Lockerbie in 1988, was postponed to January in light of new evidence. Three theme parks, one with a Manga theme, will be built near Paris through investment by Saudi Arabia, it was announced after a state visit to France by Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman. Gunmen attacked the villages of Dekara, Gidan Zana, Sabon Gida and Masaka in Niger State, Nigeria, and abducted perhaps 500 people. In Guinea, a mound of rubbish at a waste site collapsed onto houses in Conakry and killed at least 30. CSH

DIARY Simon Sebag Montefiore

I'm not a member of the Establishment, even though I'm writing this in what might be described as its literary organ. I know my voice will be correctly interpreted as that of a maverick outsider riding shotgun into the lair of privilege. The early weeks of Andy Burnham's First Lordship of the Treasury have been defined by clips using edible class indicators – baps, crisps, beer – to signal that, despite Cambridge and decades in Westminster, he is a contra-establishmentarian. But there's nothing new in this (except TikTok).

Walpole scoffed Norfolk apples in the House to garnish his backwoods-squire credentials; Lloyd George declared, ‘The day of the cottage-bred man dawns’, promoting his taste for bara brith. Even in Russia, Prince Potemkin signalled his contra-establishmentarianism by swaggering through Catherine the Great’s receptions, shirtless, wearing red bandanas and scrunching radishes.

Our epoch is solemnly puritanical. I am not suggesting a new premier should celebrate like Viscount Bolingbroke, ‘running naked’ through Hyde Park where his 1710 appointment (salary: £1,500) was celebrated by cavorting prostitutes singing: ‘1,500 a year for us!’ – but I wish that Burnham could enjoy reaching ‘the top of the greasy pole’ like Disraeli did.

I was once guilty of contra-establishmentarianism myself when I told an interviewer my Jewish family who escaped from Russia in 1903 were peasants with straw in their hair. When it was out, my mother phoned. ‘My father,’ she said passionately, ‘was descended from ten generations of scholars.’ ‘But they were poor!’ I insisted. ‘They escaped in a haycart!’ ‘There… was…. no… straw!’ she said. ‘Please correct this!’ I told my next interviewer that even in the shtetls of Lithuania, we were the Establishment.

My mother was always concerned by my over-ambitious projects: 'Writing Jerusalem is far too stressful for you! You need nourishing food and luxuriant sleep.' 'What do you suggest?' I said. 'GIVE THE MONEY BACK!' she said. In her view, my frailties qualified me only for the life of a hothouse valetudinarian. She wouldn't have approved of my new book, The Cauldron. 'Montefiore is walking on hot coals,' confirmed the Times reviewer, 'in this panoramic history of the Middle East.' Sadly my mother is dead, but she was right about everything: from now on I am taking her advice.

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My ancestor Moses Montefiore, a British magnate, knew everyone from sultans to tsars in the Victorian era. In the 1820s, he befriended Muhammad Ali, Turco-Albanian ruler of Egypt. When Mohammed Ali's son Said visited London, he stayed with Moses, thanking him with a monumental silver decoration (now in the V&A). Said later built the Suez Canal. Those were interesting times when Islamic rulers could send their sons to stay with Jewish friends. Nowadays, I admire how Moses coped with anti-Semitism. Attending a royal dinner, a bigot denounced him: 'I just visited Japan which I loved because Japan has no Jews and no pigs!' 'Then you and I should go to Japan together,' answered Montefiore. 'So they have one of each.'

It's wonderful that the Queen has made literacy her cause, creating her successful Queen's Reading Room. Her Clarence House parties are attended by writers who wouldn't turn up for anyone else. Last time, I met the elusive Donna Tartt and almost fainted: The Goldfinch is the masterpiece of the 21st century. Last October, the Queen kindly opened the Cliveden Literary Festival which I help organise. How do you follow that? Our best line-up so far – do come.

All history books should have soundtracks. I created a Spotify playlist of history songs for my recent books. The songs must either be about history (Billy Joel's 'We Didn't Start the Fire') or feature in history: Umm Kulthum's 'Wallah Zaman, Ya Silahi' ('It's Been a Long Time, O Weapon of Mine'). The greatest history song is the Rolling Stones' 'Sympathy for the Devil' though Boney M's 'Rasputin' is such a scholarly terpsichorean analysis of Romanov court favouritism, it should be on the GCSE history syllabus. I've added Village People's 'YMCA' because it's Donald Trump's anthem. When the US President visited Riyadh even the Saudis had to play 'YMCA' – not a song I imagine is often played there.

Simon Sebag Montefiore's The Cauldron: the Making of the Modern Middle East is out now.

POLITICS | JAMES HEALE

Travelling light

If Andy Burnham has a golden rule, it seems to be this: do the opposite of Keir Starmer. The new Prime Minister has made a habit of differentiating himself from his predecessor. He has backed away from assisted dying and changes to the jury system, purged Starmer loyalists and swapped Eeyoreish despair for Tiggerish hope.

Burnham's visit to Ukraine this week offered yet another example. While it took Starmer four days to make his first overseas visit as prime minister, Burnham waited four weeks. Both men are keen supporters of Kyiv – yet the new Labour leader clearly wants to do foreign policy differently. ‘I’d rather do my trips with a real reason behind them,’ he said. ‘I’m here for a reason.’

Within Team Burnham, there are plenty who believe that too much of Starmer's time was spent clocking up miles attending a cavalcade of summits, rather than driving through an agenda at home. At one point, a sixth of Starmer's time was spent abroad, as he totted up 49 trips in just two years. 'It was done to a good end,' remarks one Labour MP, 'but while Keir was travelling, he was losing the dressing room in Westminster.'

Burnham's schedule reflects a focus on domestic affairs. His conference speech on 29 September and then the Budget on 28 October are the two big dates in his diary. Next month's UN General Assembly, though, offers a chance for him to meet world leaders.

The Prime Minister resents talk that he is uninterested in foreign affairs, yet it is true that much of his political economy – devolution, civic pride and public control – does not translate naturally into the international arena. While Aukus, Britain’s defence deal with Australia and America, fits a ‘Burnhamite’ strategy, with submarines being built in the north of England, Chinese-made cars is a trickier topic for the ‘Makerfield Test’. Voters might like cheap electric vehicles today yet resent de-industrialised areas tomorrow.

Two ‘big beasts’ are currently filling the foreign policy vacuum. Jonathan Powell, Starmer’s National Security Adviser, remains in post. Ed Miliband meanwhile is enjoying the ‘Palace of Dreams’ on King Charles Street, revelling in his new status as Foreign Secretary. The two men’s respective books give some indication of how they see diplomacy. Powell’s The New Machiavelli is a clear-eyed account of how power is wielded in the modern world; Miliband’s Go Big: How to Fix Our World is a more cheery call to arms for progressives everywhere. The likely model for this government’s approach, then, is half-cynic, half-romantic.

On conference calls with staff, Miliband has talked of his desire to champion centre-left governments across the world. His early interventions have been on climate change and international aid: the kind of politics which enthused his mentor Gordon Brown. The Foreign Office is preparing to announce robust sanctions on Israeli settlements in the West Bank. 'There is a real desire from Andy to do more on this,' says one Miliband ally, 'which Ed, with his story, is in quite a good place to do.' Miliband argues our interests are served by our values, seeing himself as a hard-headed realist when it comes to emissions negotiations. Both he and Powell

Much of Burnham's political economy does not translate naturally into the international arena

believe that Britain's future relies on multilateralism: outside the EU, the country must work through the institutions which uphold the rules-based order. In a world of might, the two see themselves as fighting for right.

To do this, Miliband has assembled one of the better teams in Whitehall. His ministerial aides include Lord Wood, one of Brown's bright young thinkers, Kirsty McNeill, a Brownite who worked on 'Make Poverty History', and Hamish Falconer, who has impressed staff with tales of his days negotiating with the Taliban.

They inherit an institution reeling from both cuts and scandal: restoring morale is an obvious priority. Next week will see the final interviews for the post of Permanent Secretary, to replace Olly Robbins. The final two candidates are Dame Karen Pierce and Lindy Cameron, who embody different strands of their department's ethos. Pierce was ‘our woman in Washington’, a no-nonsense Foreign Office lifer; Cameron has a background in security and development, reflecting the 2020 merger with the aid department.

'My mob goes everywhere with me these days.'

The next 12 months offer a series of tests for this team. Iran is the most pressing. ‘Clusterfuck’ is one aide’s word to describe the economic consequences of the closure of the Strait of Hormuz. ‘You know that ship that got stuck in the Suez Canal?’ says another. ‘It’s going to be like that but on steroids.’ Britain will try to serve as a broker and defender of international waterways, amid fears that Iranian control will embolden piracy. Wes Streeting, the new Defence Secretary, has had a crash-course in diplomacy, after his US counterpart, Pete Hegseth, pressed him to join an American-led effort to secure the Strait. Talk of a Sandhurst summit between the two is yet to materialise.

Elsewhere, there is Chinese dominance in Europe's strategic industries. Officials are particularly worried about a looming trade war between Beijing and Brussels, as the government is trying to cultivate relations with both. Defence investment will be a theme throughout this parliament, with Burnham keen to see more ‘British-based’ procurement. Then there are the perennial headaches of summitry. Britain is due to host the G20 in Manchester next year and the G7 in London the year after, with the former offering the potential spectacle of Putin and Xi and their lackeys walking the streets of Salford.

For all the problems, though, there are opportunities too. Plenty of new alliances and trade deals are still there to be won. The past six years have seen seven foreign secretaries and five national security advisers. If Powell's services can be retained, a period of stability would likely do the government the world of good. ‘All foreign secretaries have to balance their proactive themes and the live files,’ remarks an aide. ‘We are in an era where Iran and Ukraine are so dominant.’

Already, Miliband's enemies are salivating at the chance to do battle. The Tories will portray his solar programme as tainted by Chinese forced labour and hammer Powell as the ‘real foreign secretary’, hell-bent on handing over the Chagos Islands. Reform, meanwhile, offers a different kind of critique, as it highlights Nigel Farage's personal ties to right-wing leaders, including J.D. Vance in America and Jordan Bardella in France.

For many in Labour, this government feels like the last chance to prove social democracy can work. It might be the last chance for a certain kind of internationalism, too.

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Revenge of the Blob

Good teachers are under siege

MICHAEL GOVE

Jolyon Maugham has a point. There is a need for an inquiry in the aftermath of Jason Arday's tragic death. But, not for the first time, the Good Law Project director has identified the wrong target.

It's not the press that needs to be investigated and held to account. If newspapers and magazines, including this one, err or fail, libel or traduce, then the courts can sanction and readers can desert.

We survive, to publish, by public demand. The real focus of inquiry – sustained and detailed – should be Cambridge University and, in particular, its Faculty of Education. They were Professor Arday's employers. Indeed, more than that, they were his champions and cheerleaders, beckoning the limelight to vaunt his appointment.

Arday's death is a cause of profound sadness. The reasons for it cannot yet be known. Professional physicians, and indeed the Samaritans, caution against attributing suicide to any single cause. A proper respect for his life, and indeed all those who may struggle with thoughts of self-harm, suggests that caution should be exercised before judging what led to his passing.

But the attention drawn to Cambridge's role in this affair is more than merited. The university's Faculty of Education, where Arday was professor of the sociology of education, is one of the most prestigious teacher-training institutions in the country, responsible for preparing thousands of graduates for classrooms in state schools across the country.

Its existence, and eminence, is underpinned by the taxpayer and guaranteed by the government. Support for tuition, and research, flows from your pockets. Those who graduate from the institution form the minds of the next generation. We all have an interest in how its funds are spent and how it shapes our children's learning.

I first raised concerns about what education faculties at our universities were doing more than a decade ago. I specifically questioned the priorities and ideological orientation of those in charge of teacher training in higher-education institutions such as Cambridge. I feared that, despite the noble idealism and genuine commitment of the overwhelming number of teachers in our classrooms, the academics preparing them for their vocation were letting them, and us, down. There was, I suggested, perhaps incautiously, a ‘blob’ of university professionals whose values, and approach, was inimical to educational excellence.

I was derided for daring to question their credentials and authority. One of those most vehement in their criticism was Hilary Cremin, the head of the Education Faculty. Professor Cremin was the individual who

Cremin rejects not just the need for discipline, knowledge and testing but the very idea of our schools themselves

praised Arday on his appointment as ‘the best in the world in terms of the research that you do’. Whatever her motivation for that encomium, a single sentence should not define a career. But Professor Cremin, helpfully for us all, has written at length recently on her own educational philosophy and world outlook. So we can judge her by her own, considered, thoughts.

The range of her thinking is laid out in her book, Rewilding Education. Charles Moore touched on its flaws in these pages last week. It would require more space than either Charles or I are allowed, and more tolerance on the part of our readers than we have a right to expect, to go through its idiocies.

The work actively rejects not just the need for discipline, knowledge and testing in schools but the very idea of our schools themselves. They are damned as embodiments of a failed neo-liberal notion of modernity built on the flawed principles of the Enlightenment. Michel Foucault is cited promiscuously and approvingly. Foucault was, to be fair, a stern and consistent critic of the Enlightenment. So consistent, he welcomed the Ayatollah Khomeini's Islamic Revolution and the theocratic bloodshed which followed. So there is that.

And indeed Cremin is nothing if not thorough in her disdain for Enlightenment principles – as we can see in her approach to questions of evidence, proof and logic. She is specifically sceptical of ‘empirical truth’, which she sees as ‘favouring a modern, urban, liberal, Western view of the World’. Instead of this ‘epistemology of the North’, Cremin argues that we might want to achieve ‘cognitive justice’ by ‘foregrounding the epistemology of the South which challenges the dominance of the Eurocentric thought of the global North’.

The book exhibits all the weaknesses of modern academia: solipsistic personal reminiscence is treated as ‘fieldwork’, spurious authority is sought by citing other works, themselves written in impenetrable jargon, statistics are deployed in an effort to prove a point but without any recognition that correlation does not equal causation.

Cremin cites some of her own work as ‘evidence’ for her assertions. Specifically, 11 of her own ‘poems’. These include stanzas such as this from a poem called ‘Postscript’:

Meet my eyes

Know my voice

I am

Researcher

Sharing songs

Walking with

Dancing through.

Should we not be persuaded by Professor Cremin's own verse as proof of her wisdom, we are also treated to a passage where she advertises the virtue of ‘rebellious research’ – specifically an ‘expressive dance’ with an MPhil student in a workshop. The rebellious researchers ‘danced our academic trajectories’ in ‘a form of embodied conversation… circling around each other, moving in and away, connecting and disconnecting… [as we] expressed our hopes and fears for the future of academia’.

Reading this dreck, I certainly found my body reacting in its own distinctive way, reflecting my own hopes and fears for the future of academia.

Professor Cremin is not a junior research fellow feeling her way to an understanding of her discipline; nor is she Titania McGrath's woker sister. She is the woman responsible for what those who are supposed to be our

Mossbourne Victoria Park has been targeted by teaching unions precisely because it is successful

best teachers are themselves taught. And yet in her major published work she doesn't just display ignorance, she flaunts and celebrates it. By dancing on the grave of learning.

Professor Cremin is not an isolated example. Certainly not in Cambridge, anyway. As Andrew Gilligan has reported for The Spectator's website, one of the other Education Faculty academics, Farah Ahmed, has denounced ‘western education’ as a ‘threat’ to Muslims but has encouraged her co-religionists to make an exception for engineering ‘to produce advanced weaponry for Jihad’.

The screaming tragedy of this affair is that while Cambridge – and other university education faculties – are peddling this toxic nonsense, there are examples of how genuinely to transform the opportunities of working-class and ethnic minority children across the country which Cambridge and much of the rest of the educational establishment deride or ignore.

This month we have been able to compare the performance of schools across England, at A-level and GCSE. We can discern which schools are doing well. Those you might think it would be wise for institutions like Cambridge to celebrate and learn from.

There is a rich diet of data from which to draw. But perhaps the best single reference point is a measure known as Progress 8. It is the brainchild of the wonderful Lib Dem former schools minister David Laws and it analyses how much the educational performance of children has improved while in school – in crude terms, the value added. It looks at the level children have reached on entry to secondary school – their scores in tests at the end of primary school – and then records the progress of that cohort at age 16, after GCSEs have been taken.

It is fairer than looking just at A-level performance because many secondary schools have no sixth forms. And it is fairer than looking at GCSE results on their own, because it takes full account of the prior attainment of students. So schools with less well-educated or disadvantaged intakes have that challenge factored into the overall judgment.

It's worth noting that we have this measure, and thus the ability to identify the best state schools in the country, only because we have Sats at the end of primary school and GCSE exams at age 16, both interventions which Professor Cremin and her allies in the teaching unions hate.

The school in England which performs best in Progress 8 measures is a state comprehensive in Wembley: the Michaela Community School. It is followed closely by Mercia School, another comprehensive in a working-class area of Sheffield, modelled directly on Michaela. Also in the top ten are sister comprehensives in Hackney: Mossbourne Victoria Park Academy and Mossbourne Community Academy. All serve poorer, multi-ethnic communities. All are non-selective in who they admit. All transform lives with performance at GCSE which transcends what many fee-paying independent schools are capable of.

One might hope that these schools and their leaders would be celebrated by professional associations, lauded by a left-wing government for the opportunities they are extending to working-class children and held up by the university education departments which train our teachers as the models to emulate.

But instead they are stigmatised, shamed and shunned. The teaching unions and school leader bodies which are supposed to fight for better educational outcomes are either scornful or embarrassed by these schools. Labour ministers mock or belittle. Those in higher education sneer and denounce. The achievements of Michaela's headteacher, the inspirational Katharine Birbalsingh, are derided and attributed either to selection (which the school does not and cannot practise) or statistical legerdemain. Mossbourne Victoria Park has been targeted by teaching unions and left-wing activists precisely because it is successful, with anger directed in particular at its strict behaviour policy.

A calm and purposeful environment in which teachers can teach and pupils learn might seem a curious educational feature to find objectionable in a school. But that would be to misunderstand what drives the ideologues within our university education departments and their union allies. What unites so many of the schools which do best in the Progress 8 measurement is their belief in formal uniform, high standards of behaviour, academic rigour, regular testing, direct instruction with a didactic approach from teachers and an avoidance of the ‘group-based’ or ‘child-centred’ learning which the university teacher trainers believe in.

'I failed my A-levels.'

The success of these schools is a ringing, powerful, empirically sound and uncontestable refutation of all the theory and ideology to which Professor Cremin and her allies have devoted their careers. They hate these schools as the Magisterium hated Galileo – all their pretended authority is undone by the hard truth of proven evidence.

What makes this lesson urgent is that the cause which Professor Cremin and her allies affect to believe in – the liberation of the poorest and the marginalised – is advanced by the schools whose methods they abjure and whose leaders they scorn.

There is nothing base or ignoble, indeed there is an idealism and compassion, in wishing to give young people from communities scarred by prejudice additional help to succeed. There is everything to be said for asking how we might better help children living with autism or other disabilities get the best opportunities to flourish. It is both economically enlightened and ethically admirable to want to give students from our poorest backgrounds the best possible edu-

A calm and purposeful environment might seem a curious feature to find objectionable in a school

cational experience. That is what Katharine Birbalsingh does at Michaela, what happens at Mercia School and what they ensure occurs at both Mossbourne Academies. It is what the free schools, academies and other comprehensives do when they embrace traditional teaching methods, rigour in the curriculum and regular testing.

If we want to ensure that more young people from ethnic minorities, poor backgrounds or living with disabilities succeed then we need more schools like these. And if the government wants to know where to find the money, then I have a suggestion. Perhaps, when any future inquiry inevitably concludes that the Cambridge Education Faculty should be closed down, the funds liberated thereby could help?

Miss remembered

Scotland's ‘bullying’ deputy first minister was my teacher

MICHAEL SIMMONS

When I heard that a civil service insider had made bullying allegations against Scotland's deputy first minister, Jenny Gilruth, I was not surprised. I've been at the receiving end of her ire myself. Gilruth taught modern studies – politics mixed with sociology – at my Edinburgh comprehensive school. She had a reputation for being a bit of a meanie and not someone you wanted to disappoint; she was certainly a disciplinarian. Those traits seem to have stayed with her as she climbed Edinburgh's greasy public-sector pole, leaving teaching after a stint at Education Scotland before becoming an MSP and eventually John Swinney's deputy.

This weekend it emerged that, among other things, she allegedly sent a ‘cruel’ email which ‘named and shamed’ useless officials she’d inherited from her predecessor. The email was ‘mistakenly’ sent to everyone in the department – including the useless officials – resulting in great ‘fury and upset’. ‘Everybody is terrified of her – because she’s a bully. She was bad before this, but she is even worse now,’ one source told the Scottish Sun.

Gilruth's hit list – the existence of which is denied by the Scottish government – allegedly included each member of the civil service team she'd inherited from the previous DFM, Kate Forbes, along with reasons why she didn't like them. When she was told that civil service managers make staffing decisions, rather than her, she ‘went into a huff’.

And, boy, can she huff. My first brush with her fearsome temper came during an amateur theatre production she was helping to supervise. As a lowly stagehand I had been tasked with ordering a load of Domino's pizzas. When Miss Gilruth, as I knew her, chowed down on hers, the red mist descended. 'You've got me the wrong stuffed crust,' she exploded. 'You're useless.' It was unsettling and bizarre; like the Edinburgh civil servants, I felt a mixture of fury and upset.

A year or so later, she gave a pep talk to the school hockey team. ‘Look, it’s quite simple,’ she explained, ‘just go for their ankles.’ I took that as a joke though others were more taken aback.

So it doesn't surprise me that her abrasive style has continued into high Scottish office. But let's be clear: the stuffed crust and the ankle incidents do not add up to bullying, and nor, on the evidence so far at least, does shouting about the quality of your staff. Yet these accusations seem to have become the go-to resort of a mandarin class allergic to high standards.

Gilruth is by no means the first minister to discover this. In 2022, when stories appeared in the media that Britain's deputy prime minister Dominic Raab had allegedly thrown a piece of tomato across a room, a KC-led inquiry was launched, more than 60 interviews were conducted and Raab was booted out of government – the second minister under Rishi Sunak to lose his job for this kind of offence within six months.

Gordon Brown, another temperamental Scot, was also rumoured to have been shouty and weary, leading the National Bullying

She gave a pep talk to the school hockey team. 'Look, it's quite simple,' she said, 'just go for their ankles'

Helpline to breach all sorts of confidentiality and publicly claim that three members of Brown's team had phoned them for advice.

But what Brown, Raab and Gilruth really had in common was that they demanded rigour. Adam Tolley, the KC who led the investigation into Raab, pointed out in his report that ‘legitimate, reasonable and constructive criticism’ of performance is not bullying. This is an important distinction. Serving the public should not be seen as an ordinary career – at times it will be tense and exacting. The civil service doesn’t want that.

If Gilruth is to be criticised, it should be on her record. Her main function as DFM seems to be to stand menacingly behind Swinney as he lectures the Holyrood press pack like a petulant headmaster flanked by a glaring head girl. Her previous ministerial postings did not deliver much. Ironically for such a disciplinarian, as education secretary she told schools in the middle of a violence epidemic that she did not support ‘more punitive approaches’. Incidents of aggression in Scottish schools had surged. When she was asked on television about a report into the most serious incidents, she admitted she hadn’t read it.

I'm in no doubt that part of our underperforming state is a result of civil service overcorrection, though. In 2020, Dave Penman, general secretary of the First Division Association – the union for senior civil servants – claimed around 30 staff across at least five ministerial offices had raised bullying complaints. He said that was extraordinary compared with the rest of the UK civil service. The SNP did not like it.

Before journalism, I worked for a brief time as a civil servant in an arm's-length Scottish government body; ‘wellbeing’ was at its core. Everything the then government did was focused on ‘wellbeing’ for the nation as well as ‘wellbeing’ for the ever-growing numbers of public-sector staff. It’s no wonder you can’t say boo to a goose now. In fact, so much of my time was spent at ‘weekly catch-ups’, ‘check-ins’, ‘appraisals’ and ‘informal wellbeing updates’ that barely any real work got done.

Wellbeing seems to be catching on south of the border too. A recent post on Instagram went viral when one girlboss influencer boasted that the civil service was a great career path for those who fancied working from home – or Rome. And a civil servant I crossed paths with recently became visibly upset when someone suggested a privatised funding model might be better than the NHS.

This doesn't mean bullying is a better alternative. Brown was unable to shout himself to an election victory. Raab's alleged tomato-slinging didn't avert the prisons crisis. And Gilruth's 'cruel' email will not necessarily improve her department either. But when public-service productivity has failed to return to its pre-Covid level, when some Scottish government offices record core staff occupancy as low as 8 per cent and failures are mounting up, we can perhaps forgive the odd burst of ministerial frustration.

Scotland's deputy first minister may be a meanie, but we should be a lot more worried about whether she's any good at her job.

DOUGLAS MURRAY

Harry and Meghan deserve a second chance

A little while back I came across a copy of Ted Hughes's Laureate poems which had an inscription to some friends. Inside was an unpublished squib by the late poet laureate which read: 'The Royalist/ Is afraid/ The Queen's a pin/ In a hand-grenade.' If I understand the poet's meaning correctly then I count myself such a royalist.

I dislike criticism of the royal family, especially of the monarch. When it happens it feels too much like people hammering at something fundamental – far more fundamental than the critic appreciates. If criticism is to be made it seems to me that it should be done privately, so as not to disturb the fragile equilibrium of the rather magical arrangement we have on these islands.

Obviously not everyone agrees with this view. A while back I got into a row with an American producer over a play depicting a member of the royal family. I told him how disgraceful I thought it was. He observed that I had strong views about a play I hadn't even seen. I had to explain that I have strong views about all sorts and whether I have seen a thing or not is neither here nor there. After a certain amount of back and forth I put forward my foundational belief that I think it quite wrong to portray members of the royal family on stage. My interlocutor dismissed this as a ridiculously anachronistic view – a point he thought was a winner until he noticed how flattered I looked.

I say all this only because something must be said about the case of the Sussexes.

Obviously Prince Harry's bean-spilling is hard to forgive. Clearly the bomb that his wife tried to throw about a nonexistent act of racism in the royal family was even harder to forgive – though I tend to put that down to a cultural barrier. I suspect that Meghan has no idea how obsessed we are in Britain as to whether or not a child is going to turn out ginger. But I digress.

The point is that the return of the Sussexes is the sort of thing I'd normally do anything to swerve. Yet there is something important that needs noting.

I loathe the rewriting of history, let alone the rewriting of very recent history. Most of us are old enough to remember the royal wedding at Windsor in 2018. I don't know the happy couple so was unmiffed when I didn't receive an invitation, though when I discovered how many people had received an invitation who also didn't know the couple, some hurt did register. In any case, like most of the rest of the nation I watched the ceremony on television with a sense of quiet pride and joy.

If the monarchy was to adapt, as it always has, here was a very happy adaptation. With no fuss and widespread joy two things had happened. First a prince who had clearly been lost at times in his youth had turned his life around. Prince Harry's

I suspect Meghan has no idea how obsessed we are here as to whether or not a child is going to turn out ginger

stint in the army had transformed him from a slightly errant spare into someone the nation could admire and feel proud of. On top of the existing goodwill, he had provided a pretty exemplary demonstration of how young men in particular, who find themselves lost at some point early in their lives, can reset and change their path. Second, by falling in love with the woman he did, and with her being accepted so fulsomely by his family and country, a choppy set of waters that the whole country had been charting looked as if it might be shown an example of how to settle.

Then the inevitable happened. The Sussexes swiftly decided to racialise any criticism – as though the only explanation for not loving Meghan and Harry unquestioningly must be racism. So it was the nation, not the couple, which found itself misrepresented.

'Actually I don't mind migrants – as long as those ghastly Sussexes don't move in...'

Lest anyone forgets just how deranged that period became, the actor Laurence Fox lost his career because he said on national television something that was manifestly true: that Britain is not a racist country.

How the racist ‘anti-racists’ hated that. So the Sussexes upped and left, and even poor Prince Harry popped up throughout the ensuing years making statements about implicit bias and similar 2020 hogwash.

The couple then proceeded to make as much money as they could, largely by telling various media companies that they would have ‘ideas’ which could be turned into ‘content’. Alas the realm of ideas turned out not to be the couple’s specialism.

What they had were the same half-baked presumptions that almost every other celebrity was emitting around the same time. Around these matters the couple talked about the amount of good they wanted to do in the world and the amount of ‘change’ they wanted to bring about.

Here is where the actual lesson about the Sussexes comes along: which is that ‘change’ and ‘influence’ are not things you talk about but rather something you do. Had the couple stayed in the UK, they would have been able to do more good in a day than they could do on a thousand podcasts.

They could have set about the usual, generally tedious, royal routine of opening school sports halls and village fêtes but done so to a genuinely excited public. They might have set up a charity to help other young people turn their lives around. By just getting on and doing such things, they might have actually changed the lives of people – especially young people – and done an amount of good impossible to put a price on. Instead they decided to put a price on everything – and charge the highest price imaginable.

Now even California has seen through them and they are returning to the UK. For the sake of the monarchy, the country and themselves, I hope they will recognise the wrong turn they took and turn their lives around again. Some silence will be required of them, of course. But a degree of grace will also be required of the commenting class. Having made which observation, I will now return to my anachronistic and monkish silence on the matter.

Troubles ahead

Ireland is succumbing to a wave of ‘radical chic’

EILIS O'HANLON

When a law student from Co. Kildare was stopped this summer on suspicion of transporting a bomb across the Irish border for use by dissident republicans, her solicitor said she had not been aware of what was in the bag and that she had been ‘manipulated’. Yet the 25-year-old’s arrest highlighted an alarming revival in Irish republicanism – and the role being played by a younger, well-educated, middle-class generation.

During the Troubles, much of Ireland mercifully avoided the pull of radicalism. There was always a certain degree of quiet sympathy for the IRA in predictable sections of the media and academia, but popular support for Sinn Fein, the Irish Republican party, in the 26-county Republic remained negligible throughout the worst years of terrorism.

Today, however, modern disaffection across Ireland is re-igniting bygone tensions. In Dublin, where a housing crisis has left many people unable to afford their own homes, anti-Establishment frustration is growing. As a result, Ireland seems to be succumbing to a wave of ‘radical chic’.

It has led to a green-tinted revisionism of the Troubles. A new generation sees nothing wrong with Michelle O'Neill – Sinn Fein's Northern leader and self-styled 'First Minister for all' at Stormont – attending a memorial for the IRA hunger striker Thomas McElwee, who burned to death a 26-year-old mother of three, Yvonne Dunlop, after fire-bombing her father's shop in 1976. It might as well be ancient history to them. Young people glibly chant 'ooh aah up the 'Ra' (IRA) at music festivals, while folk memories are being irresponsibly conjured up with no thought for where they might lead.

Decades after the Belfast Agreement recognised Northern Ireland as part of the UK for as long as a majority wished it to remain so, Irish dissident republicanism is stirring once more. But this time it is driven by social media and a general sense that to be Irish is to be part of some grand anti-colonialist global struggle. What's more, Irish republicanism has found a potent new accelerant in the form of pro-Palestinian activism.

The Belfast rap group Kneecap draw explicit parallels between Northern Ireland and Gaza and are lauded by cultural and political institutions. Ireland's past troubles are romanticised and then linked to Palestine's present: historical paramilitary campaigns are recast as liberation movements; the IRA and Hamas presented as freedom fighters. On the International Wall in Belfast, a large mural displays the bond between Ireland and Gaza's causes, with two hands

Ireland's past troubles are romanticised and then linked to Palestine's present

clasped through prison bars, one arm draped in the tricolour, the other in the Palestinian flag. It reads: ‘Solidarity POWs’.

These ideological beliefs extend deep into Irish sporting and cultural life. Protests are expected when Ireland play Israel at football in the Nations League next month. Sinn Fein and the Social Democrats both tabled motions to stop the fixture. 'We will not tolerate the green jersey against Israel,' said Sinn Fein leader Mary Lou McDonald. Protestors targeted a frisbee tournament in Limerick for allowing an Israeli team to compete.

By contrast, when Ireland's cricket team recently played Afghanistan in a One Day International series (the Irish were beaten 4-0) there was strikingly little criticism, despite other nations, including England, refusing to play the country outside international tournaments because of the Taliban's persecution of women.

It served to highlight the Irish political and media establishment's obsession with Israel. Noting the silence of Irish human rights and women's groups over the Afghanistan match, and the absence of ‘journalistic outrage’, the former justice minister Alan Shatter, himself Jewish, came to the conclusion that without a convenient Jew to ‘blame or demonise’, his fellow Irish citizens are simply not interested.

Shatter's religion and beliefs have been used as a tool to dismiss his criticism of Irish nationalism. When he condemned Sinn Fein for praising the terrorist bombmaker Rose Dugdale terrorist bombmaker Rose Dugdale upon her death in 2024, the response from the republican party was: ‘Alan Shatter has been cheerleading a genocide [in Gaza] for the last five months. His comments don’t merit a response.’

Cultural institutions are increasingly bowing to pressure from middle-class Irish activism. Last summer, Trinity College Dublin became the first Irish university to sever ties with Israeli institutions. Not only has it divested from companies with links to the Israel Defence Forces, but it has cut all research projects involving Israeli universities and even refused to allow Israeli students to attend Ireland's oldest university as part of long-standing exchange programmes. This was hailed in Dublin as a great triumph for human rights.

One well-known Trinity College graduate, the Irish novelist Sally Rooney, has barred her novels from being translated into Hebrew by Israeli publishers. She, too, draws links between Ireland and Gaza: ‘Israeli settler colonialist techniques have been inherited and refined from the practices of British and European imperialism,’ she said. She openly supports Palestine Action and has stated that if it makes her ‘a “supporter of terror” under UK law, so be it’. Ireland has not proscribed the group as a terrorist organisation.

Even Eurovision has found itself a victim of this new Irish radicalism. Ireland refused to enter the song contest in May in protest at the participation of Israel, and the Irish state broadcaster chose not to televise the event. Micheal Martin, the Taoiseach, backed the boycott.

Then came the deliciously plausible claim that a new government jet would struggle to land in fog because it had not been fitted with an Israeli-designed safety system. Regardless of whether the claim quite stands up to scrutiny, it has been striking how many commentators in Ireland have not hesitated to defend the decision.

This growing alignment of pro-Palestinian activism with Irish republican sentiment does not just affect foreign policy; it damages what the writer and strategist Eoghan Harris calls ‘the decent pluralism of Middle Ireland’. It is helping to revive political beliefs that left thousands dead and were thought to have been laid to rest.

While Sinn Fein is not benefiting electorally from this phenomenon as much as it might wish, its core messages and slogans are increasingly normalised. And as those with real memories of the violence grow older, a younger generation is being encouraged to sentimentalise the past. Everyone is entitled to remember their dead; the danger,

Far from standing firm, politicians from all parties are flirting with this radical drift to help secure votes

though, is that Irish republicans are simultaneously seeking to erase everyone else's dead from the narrative, whether victims of 7 October or of IRA terror.

In this febrile environment, there are growing demands for an Irish unity poll, despite the destabilising effect this would have in Northern Ireland. Sinn Fein recently pressed the new Northern Ireland Secretary, Chris Bryant, for an ‘orderly transition into a unity referendum and constitutional change’, presenting it as if it were a done deal. The implication was that only the final, finer points of detail remained to be sketched out. Some commentators now even suggest that Sinn Fein should boycott the devolved assembly unless the UK agrees to a border poll. Bryant’s response – ‘I am not starting the poll now, or this week, or this month, or, I will suggest, this year’ – will only encourage Sinn Fein to push the matter further.

As for the other political parties in Ireland, far from standing firm against this radical drift, many are flirting with these new forces to help secure votes. Politicians involved with Fine Gael and Fianna Fail, parties which had historically built hard constitutional bulwarks against republican violence, have also been guilty of peddling anti-Israel rhetoric. It has pushed the centre of gravity further to the left and accelerated the very radicalism these parties once sought to contain. What could possibly go wrong? Everything, if the allegations facing that young woman at the border are any guide.

Law footing

The Northern Ireland Troubles Bill only serves the IRA

AL CARNS

More British military personnel were killed during the Troubles than in Iraq and Afghanistan combined. As well as soldiers, innocent members of the public, MPs, police officers and the royal family were all targets. The Good Friday Agreement ended the armed campaign, but the fight to rewrite how the Troubles are remembered has continued. Warfare has become lawfare.

When I resigned as armed forces minister in June, defence funding dominated the headlines, but the Northern Ireland Troubles Bill was the other reason I stood down. The Good Friday Agreement was a defining Labour achievement. Mo Mowlam walked into the Maze to talk to people most of the country would not have stomached sharing a room with. Peace required everyone to do things that were politically excruciating. The genius of 1998 was that everyone accepted an imperfect settlement and gave something up in exchange for something back.

The new Northern Ireland Troubles Bill breaks that symmetry. On one side, a single independent body, the Independent Commission for Reconciliation and Information Recovery (ICRIR), with more access to redacted intelligence than any public inquiry has ever had. On the other, a legacy unit inside the Irish police, with a growing queue of inquests and civil cases brought by families on each side of the conflict, but especially by aggrieved family members of the IRA.

Most IRA family members do not want closure, they want leverage. They want the British state in the dock, judged on terms written by those who blew up pubs and shot policemen in front of their families. The Bill, as drafted, hands them what they want: a legal framework that runs in one direction only.

The British state's archive is open, the soldiers' names are known, and so are the rules of engagement. The IRA kept no comparable archive and if records ever existed, they have been destroyed. If only one participant kept records of warfare, you can guess which side will come out worse. This is a hierarchy of truth. In government,

I urged the then Northern Ireland secretary, Hilary Benn, to get a line into the Bill stating there is no equivalence between a member of HM Armed Forces and a member of the IRA. To his credit, he said this at the despatch box more than once, but the words are not in the Bill. The statute in Northern Ireland from 1967 made everyone equal in law, and those drafting the Bill could not find a workaround.

Every legacy case should, without exception, go to ICRIR. It has the powers and the access, and it can refer where the evidence justifies it, whether that means prosecution or an inquest.

The previous Conservative government's Legacy Act offered conditional immunity for veterans, but the courts found it incompatible with the ECHR, and Labour was left to clean up the mess. More than 30 inquests and inquiries sit on the Solicitor General's desk. The Bloody Sunday inquiry cost around £200 million and delivered no convictions. A public inquiry at the low end costs about £20 million. If the Bill passes as drafted, we are looking at a string of inquests costing hundreds of millions of pounds of public money and probably no prosecutions.

Veterans' groups are not asking for immunity. They agree that anyone who broke the law should answer for it. But this is a choice between a process that grinds on and delivers neither truth nor accountability, and one that could deliver both. We are ceding the narrative to those who would reduce a complex conflict into a simple story: that the British state was the aggressor and those who served it were complicit. The Republican movement wants to punish the veterans, punish the British state and rewrite the history of the Troubles.

I believe the Prime Minister and the new government can build on the work of Tony Blair and Mowlam and get this right. Get it wrong and we hand Reform the veterans, Sinn Fein the constitution and the Tories the satisfaction of watching us fail at something they could not do themselves. Make the ICRIR the route to truth, reconciliation and justice, and finish this. There is still time.

PRESENTER'S NOTEBOOK

Vanessa Feltz

I'm keen on a Plan B. My father, Norman the Knicker King, reared us in trembling terror of ending up ‘on Carey Street’ (erstwhile home of the bankruptcy court). So when Channel 5's sparkling Vanessa succumbed to the noxious pestilence imperilling terrestrial TV, I blithely announced a rapid renaissance. I would simply launch a spanking-new show, At Home with Vanessa, on YouTube – a territory already staked out by telly titans Piers Morgan, Ant and Dec and Holly Willoughby. Speedily, I whisked up the notion of converting my living room into a studio, marshalling the punchiest TV peeps I know into a team, conjuring a format from thin air and plunging in.

Cousin Beverley recommended the crack building squad whose arcane arts imbued her Mill Hill semi with a Rotherhithe warehouse vibe. Igor and I shook hands. His chaps took pickaxes to my ceiling. I stood, Aeneas-like, among the rubble wondering if I should have said 'Yes' to I'm A Celebrity?

For nearly six and a half decades I've stifled entrepreneurial urges. Watching my dad keening over boxes of unsold peach nylon baby-doll nighties annihilated any desire to risk a penny of my own hard-earned dosh. I've always been a piece worker. I present. I get paid. I don't have to worry about broken cameras, green-room comestibles, insurance or carpark spaces. Suddenly, I was shelling out for edit suites, sound technicians, hundreds of bottles of water, a VANESSA sign that flashes cerulean, magenta and jaundice at the flick of a proverbial, canned cocktails, printers, make-up artists, tripods, accountants, chocolate digestives (to calm my nerves) and all the stuff the bosses at assorted alma maters – ITV, BBC, Channel 4 – funded while I exchanged carefree aperçus on the congestion charge.

I've formed a company: Lady V Productions is kosher and registered.

Who do I think I am? Lew Grade? Louis B. Mayer? Louis Walsh? I am pillaging the Feltz Fortune. Might the punchline be chopping the Chippendale up for firewood and sending the grandchildren up the chimney? Visions of the Marshalsea throb through my dreams, interrupted with hot flushes so tropical that the Hades heatwave feels chilly.

What do you do when you booked a family holiday in 2025, before your metamorphosis into YouTube mogul was even mooted? If you cancel, your adored descendants will be disconsolate. If you don't, you'll be tethered to technology, ordering loo roll, texting heated debate topics from a sand dune and touching down at City airport a mere 24 hours before kickoff on your first ever filming day.

Naturally, we wended our merry way – daughters, sons-in-law and my four genius Boucher-esque putti aged 12, ten, seven and three – to Valle dell’Erica, a resort so assiduously understated it nestles imperceptibly into the craggy landscape invisible to the untrained eye. We feasted on green figs and crackling pane carasau. Our calves were sharply nibbled by shoals of saddled seabream. We were snapped into shape at ‘postural wellness’ classes. I apologise for having jolted recumbent sun worshippers awake, yelling: ‘Have we booked Calum Best?’, ‘Janet Street-Porter is a bed not a bagel’ and ‘No, we can’t provide gluten-free granola.’

Filming Day One was a blast. Oscar winner Christine Lahti, Janet Street-

Porter, Danniella Westbrook, Kaye Adams and the gentleman from Hunsnet (280,000 Instagram followers) reclined upon my bona fide bed in my bona fide bedroom centimetres from my Marie Antoinette wallpaper. Umpiring the Big Bagel Challenge – build yourself in bagel form – alongside Nick of Pumpernick’s Kosher Bakery evoked more moist-eyed emotion than Proust squeezed from his desiccated madeleine. The green room – conservatory in real life – fizzed with cocktail party chatter. One intrepid cameraman rugby-tackled a paparazzo. I had to exhume the un-scenic toaster I’d carefully concealed behind the sieve. ‘Guess Who’s in the Bath?’ generated unexpected porcelain-based pathos when the comedian James Barr hauntingly described the love, hope and fear that immured him in what he called ‘a relationship of dommy V’ (domestic violence). If host is going to weep all over guest, tiles make perfect sense.

Empathy erupted in my soul for the beleaguered villagers of Bourton-on-the-Water. So genteel are these denizens of the Cotswolds' most decorative village that they protested against the unbearable onslaught of marauding tourists at dawn to minimise inconvenience. I live mere yards from Abbey Road Studios, which is fine because I don't have to pay the fellow who nightly paints over garish squiggles of fresh international graffiti. Think about it and you'll work out I also live agonisingly near that zebra crossing – the one to which fans make a pilgrimage to be photographed with chums traversing the stripes in John, Paul, George and Ringo formation. To them, it's the Taj Mahal and traffic must halt as their grandma snaps the vista. To me, it's a working bit of road and they should be at the British Museum gawping at the goddamn Rosetta Stone. (N.B: Sir Paul is a neighbour and once said, 'Hello Vanessa' as I dined with chums at Café Med in Loudoun Road. Grateful thanks to the Almighty for providing witnesses.)

Blue Book.

Selling remarkable homes.

Discover Redlap House.

My Prague awakening

A visit in the 1970s cured me of my communist sympathies

PETER HITCHENS

Peter Hitchens in Prague in 1978

Proust can keep his soggy madeleine. For me the word ‘Prague’ is a trigger of memory like no other. It stirs me up like some plaintive half-heard tune, or the faint scent of lavender in sheets left folded for years.

Evil news from Prague, in another stuffy August long ago, turned my world over completely. This was 1968, a year of wonders, none of them very nice, which will not easily leave my recollection. It was the year I joined a Trotskyist sect. It was the year I punched a man (in self defence). It was the year I attended my first violent raucous demonstration, against the war in Vietnam, with the police horses thundering through the March mud in Grosvenor Square. A few weeks later Paris was full of tear gas and flying cobblestones, and how I wished I was there. It was an age when, if your head was not hot, you weren't thinking or fully alive. I was on the wrong side – and I was on the right side. I will never be able to unscramble the messy omelette of opinions I then held, to separate the good from the bad.

Then came Prague, and the Soviet tanks flattening a brief flowering of freedom, just about this time of year. I knew, or thought I knew, that revolutionary socialism did not need to lead to the cement-headed repression of the USSR. I despised that as a tyranny and a failure. Freedom under communism was like fire under water. But what was this mysterious city, Prague?

My geography lessons had been traditional, about the Empire or the Home Islands, so that I knew much of the Western Ghats or the Carse of Gowrie, and nothing of the Dan-

It was the year I joined a Trotskyist sect. It was the year I punched a man (in self defence)

ube or the Carpathians. Now I was learning about a part of Europe I had never previously considered, and beginning to understand that it might be important in my life. And like a grey haze just behind the modern headlines, I could also see another Prague and another Czech crisis, in another stifling late summer then (amazingly) only 30 years before.

In 1968, the Munich crisis was about as distant in time as Princess Diana's divorce from the present King is now. I imagined Prague's baroque towers in a dark bend of the river Vltava, but what we saw on our TV screens was a jazzy city mainly of the 1930s, lots of glass and concrete, streamlined yet old-fashioned, and now full of stupid violence and righteous anger. Film of a tank smashing into a barricade of trams, as if it were made of biscuit tins, made me realise for the first time what a terrifying thing a tank must be. I had never before seen shameless power being exercised in plain sight.

In Vietnam you saw the bombs going off in the distance and heard the crackle of gun-fire, but here people in civilian clothes, much like us, were being intimidated by iron-faced men in armoured vehicles, while their leaders were carted off in manacles to Moscow. We were all outraged. I remember fiddling late one evening with our elderly wireless, which had one of those illuminated dials promising transmissions from Kalundborg, Hil-versum, Athlone, Droitwich, Königsberg... and Prague. I hoped absurdly to pick up a last whisper of protest on the night airwaves. Shocked and distressed as we were, we knew that our government would do nothing, because at Yalta we had promised to stay out. We hated what was happening, but our anger was empty and so rather shameful.

Partly for that reason, I never forgot it, and ten years later, when the chance came to go to Prague itself, I had to go. I really owe the journey to Evelyn Jones, wife of the once-mighty trade union leader Jack, and a friend of my wife's parents. Evelyn had been a courier for the Comintern in the 1930s, carrying messages to Moscow from western communists and bringing gold back. She said: 'You must go to Prague. Nowhere else still has the spirit of Europe between the wars. It is utterly beautiful and surprisingly easy to get to.' As I was by then a Fleet Street journalist, my visa took some weeks to arrive, while the Czech secret police dismantled, photocopied and reassembled my passport. As we planned our railway journey (Paris, Heidelberg, Nuremberg) we noticed that the official map stopped at the Iron Curtain – from Nuremberg there was just an arrow pointing to 'Praha'.

So, on an early spring day our train crossed from dozy Franconia into the evil empire, through a web of barbed wire, and if I had not thought this was an evil empire before, I certainly did then. The country was a sort of prison. Men in grey uniforms swarmed over, through and under the carriages, searching every corner of the train and every pocket and bag of the passengers. The seats were hard plastic. The compartments were decorated with a large Red Star. The cities we passed through were smoke-

'Welcome to our tennis club.'

It reeked of oppression. We learned for the first time what it was like to be afraid to say what you think

blackened and hung with red-and-white propaganda banners. Our fellow passengers had stainless-steel teeth.

As we ran into the outskirts of Prague, we began to see Soviet railway carriages marked with the hammer and sickle, and to feel as if we were being pulled into the orbit of a darker sun. As we rode the tram from Wenceslas Square to our hotel, we were approached and befriended by the first secret police spy I have knowingly met. Later we would meet all kinds of other people, one of them almost in tears about the comfort the BBC World Service brought him, another an Anglophile black Cuban comrade on an exchange, anxious to share his splendid rum. (We did so. The rum broke several language barriers at once.)

Beyond all this lay the city, oddly reminiscent of Oxford with its crooked, narrow streets, bells and spires, best seen from the hill above, much of it black and held up only by ancient scaffolding. The communists did not treasure it. There were no tourists. The staple diet seemed to be dumplings. It reeked of oppression. We learned for the first time what it is like to be afraid to say what you think. And it did indeed whisper from its towers the last enchantments of the 1930s, as Evelyn Jones had promised. History, the real, dangerous sort that frightens and unsettles you, came rushing into my mind – and all this in the middle of one of the most movingly beautiful places I had ever seen. I am sorry, but you cannot go there now. The modern world has scrubbed it clean of the past. But we will always have Prague, the greatest history lesson I ever experienced.

Peter Hitchens is a columnist for the Mail on Sunday.

Mail order

Cut the price of stamps to save the Christmas card

SOPHIA MONEY-COUTTS

Readers with a nervous disposition should turn the page because I'm going to be sprinkling the C-word across the next few paragraphs. It's still August and clearly much too early to be discussing Christmas, but a campaign has been launched that requires attention now.

First, a quick quiz. How much is a first-class stamp? Bzzzzz, time's up. It's now £1.80, which means a book of six is more than a tenner. Madness. I've taken to queuing in my local post office and buying stamps only when I require them, one at a time. If you knew the queue there as intimately as I do, you would appreciate this is a major sacrifice. Although I imagine your post office queue is probably much the same – young women with multiple Asos and Shein returns; someone sending an immensely complicated parcel to Melbourne; a nervous traveller trying to arrange their holiday money and so on. But stamps have become too expensive to buy in bulk, so I wearily stand behind them.

I send fewer letters and cards as a result. As for the idea of sending dozens of Christmas cards? Forget it. I'm not a hedge-funder.

Enter four sisters who have launched a petition urging Royal Mail to drop the price of stamps for a month before Christmas to encourage us all back to the habit. A festive 50p stamp, says Charlotte Graham, ringleader of these sisters, would support the charities that sell Christmas cards, as well as helping to combat the isolation and loneliness often felt by many at that time of the year, especially by those who are less tech-savvy and can’t simply send or receive a chirpy Christmas WhatsApp or email. Such cards can also become precious keepsakes, says Charlotte, ‘preserving messages of affection, friendship and family history’.

Charlotte feels particularly fond of Christmas post, because she and her three sisters – Johanna, Isobel and Veronica – are the descendants of the chap who invented the

Christmas card. Sir Henry Cole was a busy Victorian, a civil servant who would go on to be credited with persuading Prince Albert to launch the Great Exhibition and the founding of the Victoria & Albert Museum. But in 1843, he was too fizzing with ideas to sit down and write festive letters to his acquaintances, such was the Victorian custom.

Instead, Cole came up with the wheeze of sending an illustrated card with a jolly picture and a short message. He commissioned an artist pal to knock a card up, featuring

It would be cheaper to hop on a flight to Albania and post 100 Christmas cards there than use Royal Mail

three generations of the Cole family, several lifting glasses of claret, with ‘A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you’ written underneath. It’s a more cheerful sight than some of the offerings you’ll find in Scribbler. ‘Have a cracking Christmas,’ said one card I received last year, featuring a mooning Father Christmas.

Cole's Christmas card wasn't an immediate hit. He had 1,000 printed, sent dozens to family and friends and tried to sell the rest. It took a decade or so, with advances in printing techniques and the development of the Victorians' Christmas fetish, for the card to become more mainstream. But his was the very first. And now? Only the most dedicated bother, given that a stamp may cost more than the card itself.

Two years ago, it was revealed that it would be cheaper to hop on a flight to Albania and post 100 Christmas cards there than use Royal Mail. Even if you do shell out for expensive British stamps, there's no guarantee your cards will arrive in time. I received several Christmas cards in January this year, which was lovely and thoughtful of the sender, but the gloss has slightly come off Christmas by the New Year, hasn't it?

There is precedent for cheaper Christmas stamps. The Australian, Finnish and Dutch postal services flog ‘seasonal’ stamps for a discount in November and December. In Australia, Christmas stamps are under half the price of normal ones and last year’s featured both religious scenes (Mary and babe), and less religious scenes (a penguin in a Father Christmas hat) to keep everyone happy.

The four sisters’ ‘Save Christmas Cards’ petition has amassed nearly 30,000 signatures since its launch in May, but Charlotte believes they need closer to 100,000 names for Royal Mail to take them seriously. So the pressure’s on, even though we’re still enjoying the last days of summer. She and her sister Veronica have had one Zoom call with a Royal Mail communications manager, but it ‘was really just an opportunity for [them] to ask us what we were doing, and we have not heard anything since’.

Sadly, only a dozen or so of Sir Henry's original cards survive and none of the sisters has inherited one. In 2001, one was sold at auction for £22,000, going for nearly double its estimate to an anonymous bidder, which is quite the price hike given they were sold for a shilling each in 1843. Royal Mail would doubtless approve of such inflation.

LIONEL SHRIVER

Going for broke

In my mid-twenties, my one-bedroom in Astoria, Queens, developed a roach problem. I don't mean the odd single scurry disappearing irretrievably beneath the fridge, either. Oh, it started that way. But I didn't take measures when the situation was manageable because roaches gave me the creeps, and so many activities beckoned that were much more fun.

Between a small shelf and the kitchen wall I stored spare brown paper bags – from which I began to detect a rustling. At some point, the bags began to move. Beside them, the wall gathered an undulating shadow that I trained myself never to look at directly; like Faye Dunaway in Little Big Man, I would ‘avert my eyes at the necessary moment’. One night a friend came to dinner and stared at that wall in frank revulsion. Why didn’t I do something? I looked at him blankly. About what? He was desperate to leave.

Finally, having turned my flat into a low-budget horror film, I faced the music. I was single, and no man would save me. Though it was summer, I donned jeans, long sleeves, gloves and boots. I tied a bandana over my mouth and nose like a bank robber in Gunsmoke. I clutched my six-shooters: an economy-size spray can of insecticide in each hand. At last, I focused on the hundreds if not thousands of insects climbing atop each other and breeding more. I hit the mass with both barrels. They exploded everywhere. I probably stomped more of the bastards than I poisoned. I’ve seldom felt so proud of myself.

Yet I've also seldom felt so disgusted with myself – for ignoring a pressing problem and allowing it to get out of hand. Which, in however roundabout a fashion, brings us to the biggest immediate threat to the stability of the United States, of the UK and other western powers and of the whole world as we currently understand it. That's not a modestly rising average global temperature or even nuclear war. It's debt.

America’s national debt just crossed the signal threshold of \$40 trillion. In 2000, the US owed \$5.7 trillion – a sum that in 25 years multiplied by seven times. Like that unconfronted roach infestation, the debt gets only worse. On the current trajectory, we’ll hit \$50 trillion in six years or less. It was ‘only’ \$20 trillion ten years ago.

Why, then, is the nation's whopping IOU not an electoral issue? Why is it playing no noticeable part in either party's campaigns for the midterms? Why did it play no real part in America's 2024 presidential election? Lest foreign gawkers relish their schadenfreude, why didn't reducing a UK debt nearing 100 per cent of GDP feature in 2024's poll? Before next year's elections in France, why is every party already competing over who promises to spend more borrowed money?

Theories? Sovereign debt is a drag. Address of this matter makes no sector of the electorate happy. Higher taxes, fewer benefits – what's to like? Politicians foolish

That 40 trillion milestone made me feel a little sick, but for most people digits don't pack an emotional punch

enough to campaign even on merely reducing the deficit, thus keeping the roach nest roughly the same seething size, will lose. STOMP THE ROACH NEST isn't a beguiling bumper sticker.

Next, abstraction. This is about numbers, and much of the average electorate is borderline innumerate. A million is a lot, a billion is a whole lot, a trillion is literally inconceivable – which is why, rhetorically, punters and commentators alike often get the M-words, B-words and T-words mixed up. Numerical issues seem dry and intangible. That 40 trillion milestone made me feel a little sick, but for most people mere digits don’t pack an emotional punch.

Then there's the ownership problem. Electorates don't recognise all this money owed as their debt. For lower earners, progressive taxation encourages the ‘nothin’ to do with me, guv’ disclaimer. Forty per cent of American households pay no federal income tax, and 50 per cent of adults pay only 3 per cent of the tax’s total take. More than a third of British adults (down from 43 per cent, due to bracket creep) also pay no income tax. When government isn’t taking your money, it also doesn’t seem to be borrowing on your personal behalf. Given the other half of the country already pays for pretty much everything, surely the same half of the country will contend with the debt – assuming the less well-off think about the debt at all, and they probably don’t, because practically no one does.

Updated multiple times per second, the dizzying national debt clock in midtown Manhattan was manually modified in 2008 to accommodate the tens of trillions by which its creator never imagined the feds would ever overspend. Attempting to counter taxpayer alienation from reality, the LED readout displays how much each American household owes (currently \$295,500, or £216,500). Yet few tourists take the horrifying statistic to heart.

Lastly, perching on the edge of your chair for too long gives you a ridge in the bum. National debts keep going up and up, they seem more and more perilous, and then: nothing happens. Supposedly this reckless borrowing is unsustainable, but anything truly unsustainable is not sustained, and we're sustaining our hearts out. Er, until recently – look at Japan!

You can sometimes do something stupid for yonks, and then suddenly you can't. Most economists concur that rampant sovereign borrowing ends in 1) bankruptcy, when investors refuse to lend to governments or demand such high yields that national budgets are overwhelmed by payments on the debt; 2) runaway inflation, reducing debt to chump change but devastating pensions, portfolios and ordinary people; 3) a dramatic, perhaps global, default that zeroes debt but also destroys wealth on such a scale that it likely kicks off what we politely term ‘civil unrest’. But nobody knows when the buck stops.

A memorable 1979 Smithsonian exhibit glued 130,000 freeze-dried roaches all over a model kitchen – the result of one pair of insects in ideal conditions over three breeding cycles, or about 18 months. It was grotesque. That could have been my Astoria kitchen. It could also have been an exhibit about interest payments.

SPECTATOR.COM/LIONELSHRIVER The debate continues online.

Ring cycle

Tolkien knew the truth about power

D.J. TAYLOR

One route into the thorny question of J.R.R. Tolkien's politics comes courtesy of Giorgia Meloni. Scarcely a profile of the Italian Prime Minister hits the newsstands these days without the Tolkien references piling up like so many windfall apples: The Hobbit plays put on with fellow-members of the Movimento Sociale Italiano (MSI) youth group back in the 1990s; the fixation on the Ringbearer's sidekick Sam Gamgee ('Much more useful than Frodo'); the annual birthday tribute to a man who ‘brought up so many of us with his stories’. Here, clearly is a Middle-earth obsessive, Tolkien’s work a direct prompt for political action.

Head a thousand miles north into the Scandinavian forests and the hard-right tocsin clangs even louder. To a generation of Norwegian black metal bands, who gave themselves names robbed from Tolkien's back-catalogue ('Gorgoroth', 'Darkthrone' etc), The Lord of the Rings books seemed at times to read like a white supremacist's almanac. Here, for example, is Varg Vikernes of Burzum (Orc-speak for 'darkness'): 'We were drawn to Sauron and his lot, not the hobbits, those stupid little dwarves. The elves are fair, but typically Jewish...' Vikernes, by the way, spent several years in prison for the murder of one of his musical associates.

All this adds up, to the point where many a left-liberal, imagining the blond-haired, blue-eyed Riders of Rohan trampling their dark-skinned goblin-enemies into the dirt, diagnoses a bad case of (albeit cunningly disguised) fascism. Which, of course, is nonsense.

Tolkien was a Catholic and a reactionary and a royalist, but he was not a fascist. He deplored apartheid, detested racism, told his publishers that a German translation of The Hobbit could ‘go hang’ when questions were asked about his Aryanism, and disliked cultural imperialists: informed that an eighth of the planet's population spoke English he remarked that it was a ‘damn shame’.

All the same, there is no getting away from Tolkien's deep-dyed conservatism, for it hangs over his world like sea-fret. Beyond his work, he was a man who positively gloried in his backward-looking opinions. 'Pro-

He was a man who gloried in his backward-looking opinions. 'Progress' was bad. Statism was worse

gress' was bad. Statism was worse. The two combined were a virtual guarantee of disaster. If the foregoing makes him seem hide-bound to the point of caricature, then, on the other hand, this was an idiosyncratic brand of conservatism, always capable of veering off in unexpected directions and sometimes producing attitudes that sit oddly alongside the more celebrated patrician utterances, such as: 'Touching your cap to the squire may be damn bad for the squire, but it's damn good for you.'

Inevitably, Tolkien's politics were rooted in upbringing. As a late-Victorian child of the lower middle classes he believed that the bourgeoisie were stuck between a rock and a

hard place, organised labour on one side of them, the stratospherically well-off on the other, with a vengeful government trying to undermine them with punitive rates of taxation. The expressions of caste solidarity he allowed himself were always thoroughly middle class. A wartime scandal about tobacco shortages in which suppliers were thought to have privileged certain of their customers found him expostulating: 'They ought to be in quod. But at the upper and lower levels of the social scale the Govt. still has kid gloves. It is the poor old Middle Classes (as usual) that get put through it! [...] Commercialism is a swine at heart.'

This may sound odd coming from the grandson of two small provincial tradesmen, but by ‘commercialism’ Tolkien means high-end corporatism. Had he lived in 1950s France he would doubtless have been a Pou-jadist. To a tenacious support for middle-class interests could be added a distaste of technology, the materialism it abetted and the political ends to which it could be harnessed. Tolkien doesn’t seem to have read the American political philosopher James Burnham’s The Managerial Revolution (1941), but he would have agreed with Burnham’s argument that in the future the world would be run not by tyrants and generals, but by managers, administrators and technocrats, their deliberations at all times aided by machinery.

All this has an echo in The Lord of the Rings, where the slave states of Mordor and Isengard are technology-driven and the Ring itself may be regarded, at any rate mythologically, as the supreme machine. The materialism he so disliked was a bad thing for several reasons. Its surface manifestations might only extend to unwanted noise and clutter, but its effect was to demoralise the people it caught up in its grasp. It

HIGHEST

is not just that the modern world is a swindle, there to bemuse and degrade its inhabitants, but that it is a dangerous and delimiting swindle whose incremental advance will rob people of one of their most precious qualities – a sense of self.

So politics, to Tolkien, is ultimately about individual and collective liberty. But what did he think this consisted of? After a conversation with his friend Charles Williams about ‘the difficulties of discovering what common factors if any existed in the notions of freedom, as used as present’, Tolkien declared that there weren’t any, that like so many abstract nouns the word had been so overused that it was now ‘a mere emotional dose for generating heat’.

As for freedom's defenders, there was no point in putting your trust in individual politicians for their motives would always be suspect. Scanning press photographs of the Allied leaders at the Tehran Conference in November 1943, he maintained that Winston Churchill ‘actually looked the biggest ruffian present’.

There were other ways in which Tolkien, although an avid reader of the Daily Telegraph, differed from the majority of its readers. If he supported Franco in the Spanish Civil War, it was on religious grounds – the

Tolkien once confessed that his political opinions ‘lean more and more to Anarchy’

pious horror of a Roman Catholic appalled by reports of church-burnings and the murder of priests. The obliteration of Hiroshima terrified him ('So horrifying one is stunned'). Significantly, his hostility to post-war calls for retribution against the Germans had a grounding in class: 'The Vulgar and Ignorant Cad is not yet a boss with power; but he is a very great deal nearer to becoming one in this green and pleasant isle than he was.' The common man, alas, was increasingly tending toward the commonplace.

At bottom, Tolkien seems to have carried into his views about politics the moral attitudes of the boys' school story, drawn from a landscape of fair play and shared values, peopled by heroes, cads and gutter-boys, in which right defeated might and the underdog invariably had a chance and yet traditional hierarchies always came out on top. His ideal world is, effectively, the landscape of G.K. Chesterton's mock-medieval ‘distributism’, with cows and smallholdings all round but squire still ruling the roost and existing class distinctions mostly preserved. Equally, his great fear remained the kind of society prophesied by Hayek's The Road to Serfdom (1944), a polemic arguing that socialism leads to despotism, which he would certainly have read about in right-wing newspapers.

The result, you suspect, was a kind of

Tory anarchism, in which a love of the past combined with a reluctance to be ordered about, the presumption of social superiority was resented and the suspicion that ordinary people were getting above themselves roundly deplored. Tolkien once confessed that his political opinions ‘lean more and more to Anarchy’. He would, he cheerfully continued, execute anyone who uses the word ‘state’ other than with reference to the inanimate realm of England and its inhabitants.

How did these attitudes translate to The Lord of the Rings? Or did they translate at all? The Tolkien critic Patrick Curry once characterised the political arrangements of Middle-earth as a ‘messy pluralism’. After all, the War of the Ring brings together a city state (Minas Tirith), a feudal kingdom (Rohan), two dictatorial war-lords (Saruman and Sauron), a Hobbit republic, a wood full of trees (the Ents) organised along gerontocratic lines, a dwarf fiefdom with a mercantile underpinning in design and precious metals, a maritime mercenary army (the Corsairs of Umbar), an Oriental caliphate (the Haradrim) and several more highly ambiguous entities.

What, though, are all these individual and collective units, fighting for? On one level, clearly, the man-dwarf-elf-ent-hobbit alliance is a way of ensuring that good defeats evil. But good can only triumph by acquiring and exercising authority, an abstract noun whose value throughout The Lord of the Rings is highly contested, if only because its whole driving force is resolutely anti-heroic. Heroes are not to be trusted: we are encouraged to admire Gandalf, Aragon and Galadriel because when offered power they decline it. And if none of them wants, or can be trusted, with the power of the Ring, then the responsibility is the hobbits.'

Interestingly, this takes us back to Meloni, who once remarked: 'Above all, Tolkien has given me this understanding that power is not a conquest but an enemy, a problem that you must keep under control, on a leash.'

Meanwhile, there is evidence that Tolkien was interested in specifics as much as generalisations. One of his most intriguing minor works, the short story ‘Leaf by Niggle’, first published in 1945, and featuring an artist of whom it is said that ‘the laws in his country were rather strict’, is usually interpreted as a fable of the creative process. Yet the constant references to rules and inspectors and workhouses insist that is a projection of the feelings that many a Conservative harboured towards the British state machine of the 1940s, as much a product of its time as, say, Evelyn Waugh’s dystopian Love Among the Ruins (1953) or the Larkin stories of H.E. Bates.

Sauron aside, the real enemy is Clement Attlee.

D.J. Taylor's The King Under the Mountain: In Search of J.R.R. Tolkien is out next month.

BAROMETER

Made to run

A robot at the Robotic Olympiad in Beijing bettered Usain Bolt's 100 metres record by 0.19 seconds.

– It has taken a century, however, for reality to catch up with fiction. The term ‘robot’ comes from a play, R.U.R., written by the Czech writer Karel Capek. The title stood for Rossum’s Universal Robots, a company which manufactured machines to replace humans in factory production. It was derived from Robotnik, a Czech term from a slave or drudge.

Channel passengers

Virgin Trains won permission from the Office of Rail and Road to run up to 20 services through the Channel Tunnel, taking on the current monopoly operator Eurostar. How have Eurostar passengers numbers changed over the years?

— Before the Channel Tunnel opened, London and Continental Railways predicted that it would see 21.4m passengers a year by 2004.

– In 1995, its first full year of operation, Eurostar carried 3m passengers. That rose to 7m in 2000 but fell back to 6.3m in 2003. In 2004, after the partial opening of the high-speed link through Kent, that increased to 7.3m and carried on rising to reach 11m in 2018 and 2019. By 2023, it had not yet recovered from Covid, carrying 10.7m passengers.

– For 2025, Eurostar claimed 20m passengers. However, this includes services it took over from Thalys, which ran trains between Paris, Brussels and Amsterdam, as well as trains through the Channel Tunnel.

Cousin marriage

A Sudanese migrant won the right to remain in Britain on the strength of her marriage to her first cousin (a practice which remains legal in Britain). Which countries are estimated to have the highest and lowest rates of consanguineous marriages (anything closer than second cousins) in the world? % of all marriages

Pakistan	61.2%
Kuwait	54.3%
Qatar	54.0%
UAE	50.5%
Sudan	50%

Czech Republic, Netherlands, Slovakia, Sweden, Peru, US....0.1% Australia, Belgium....0.2% Argentina....0.4% Hungary....0.5% The UK is estimated to have a rate of 1.1%. Source: World Population Review

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JULIE BURCHILL

I've reclaimed the word 'cripple'

In case you missed it (well done, if so), last week Will Self wrote an extraordinary rant on Substack attacking various journalists for how they wrote about Jason Arday and demanding they be held responsible for his death. It reminded me of one of those dogs in a pub that starts barking at some imagined threat to its owner, then gets carried away with the excitement of its own barking until it totally loses its mind and has to be taken outside to calm down.

There was a passage where the loquacious one went after the excellent Melissa Kite: 'J'accuse Melissa Kite of turning Arday into a lovable conman, an entertainment through whom the supposed obsessions of contemporary education with minorities and disability could themselves be mocked... I wonder if she also enjoys meeting her readers: getting together so they can all make each other laugh about "cripples" and n—s: it doesn't seem remotely implausible to me.'

Melissa was understandably appalled at this puzzling bit of mind-reading on the part of Self, responding on The Spectator's website: 'I absolutely have never laughed about "cripples" or ever used that word. So why is it in direct quotes? And I have never used the n-word so why is he saying it is plausible I have?'

I would never use the n-word in a million years, but I don't see it as in any way comparable to the word ‘cripple’, which I'm sure Melissa wouldn't use either. I, however, often describe myself as a cripple. It's a much better word than a ‘paraplegic’ (too medical) or a ‘wheelchair-user’ (implies some level of voluntary behaviour – a hobby, even). The Disability Unit of gov.uk advises:

Avoid phrases like ‘suffers from’ or ‘confined to’ (for example, a wheelchair) which suggest discomfort or constant pain. Use neutral, factual language such as ‘has’ (for example, an impairment) or ‘uses’ (for example, a wheelchair). Avoid passive words which portray disabled people as victims. Use language that respects disabled people as active individuals with control over their own lives.

But often we disabled people don't have control over our own lives. We are frequently at the behest of others and we are in discomfort a lot of the time.

I like the harshness of ‘cripple’. For me, for whom a spinal operation was the only alternative to dying, it conjures up the feeling of having one’s legs kicked away from under one with no warning, of feeling like a broken doll, made of different parts from different dolls which a cruel child has forced together. (Illogically, though, I can’t stand ‘lame’ – another ancient word for not being able to walk – with its connotations of giving a poor performance.)

When I don't use ‘cripple’, it's out of deference to other people of a less brutalist disposition, such as when I have to describe myself on the telephone to the community nursing service. They tended to gasp when I used the c-word, so now I simply say: ‘I'm

Being a paraplegic is a harsh, effortful business. We have to work twice as hard to be half a person

in a wheelchair.' A friend who works with disabled people says: 'I often ponder the language I use at work. I think the therapist's job is essentially to help someone cope with a new reality. Sometimes that means drawing attention to it, and other times it means trying to make them forget it. It's a balancing act that's different for everyone. I guess words like "cripple" just feel like they're drawing a bit too much attention to the reality.'

I also love the old Cockney rhyming slang for disabilities, rough and affectionate. I am a ‘raspberry’ (ripple). Then we have ‘Canary Wharf’ (dwarf), ‘bacon rind’ (blind), ‘Diet

'I'm fed up of always having picky bits.'

Pepsi' (epilepsy) and the magnificent 'Bennie and the Jets' (Tourette's). I prefer all of these supposedly 'abusive' names to the stiff, condescending ones such as 'differently abled' or, even worse, that catch-all 'vulnerable' which, as Spiked's Ella Whelan has pointed out, seeks to remove all agency from the disabled and reduce them to a childlike state of dependency.

Words can never hurt me, but I am made cross by that small but growing band of weirdos who see disability as fashionable and want in. There are the straight-out kinky beggars such as ‘One-Hand Jason’ of Canada, who achieved his lifetime’s ambition to be disabled by cutting off his right arm with ‘a very sharp power tool’. But there are also the sneaky part-time ones, who turn up with their blue fringes at marches for Palestine or trans rights with more walking aids than surely reflects the national average – the victim-cosplay class whose mental afflictions lead them to identify as physically handicapped. My friend saw a wheelchair chained up with a row of bikes recently. If you can treat your precious chariot like that then you’re using it as a prop, and you’re probably one of that breed we cripples have cheeky slurs for: ‘shelf-reachers’ ‘thumbs’ and ‘Tabs’ – temporarily able-bodied.

Cripples come in all shapes and sizes; some were born crippled and some had crippledom forced upon them. Some feel sad and isolated by their condition; some are on top of it and do exceptional things. Most of us feel happy and sad, at various times, just like bipeds.

But by cleaning up the words for it, it's as if people believe that they can clean up the problem. Being a paraplegic is a harsh, effortful business. We have to work twice as hard to be half a person. The way I see it, calling oneself a cripple, just for a moment, forces those lucky swine who live in fully working bodies to face the reality of disabled lives. That's why it doesn't offend me – even if I believed for a moment that Melissa ever uses it, which I don't. So Self can quit his barking.

'Easy in, easy out'

Our universities are addicted to Chinese students

PATRICK DRURY

Shanghaiing, the practice of drugging and kidnapping men on the US West Coast for service on ships bound for China, was made a federal offence in 1915, but every summer the university where I teach draws reverse inspiration from it when the Dean flies to China to round up students. Though it's unlikely that he cruises the teen hangouts of Yichang or Xingtai, slipping laudanum into school leavers' bubble teas, the demand for Chinese freshers is such that the use of press gangs by British universities would be neither unexpected nor much out of character.

More than one in 20 students in Britain are Chinese. They contribute billions to the UK economy annually and without them several universities would go bankrupt and most would struggle. The real earners are MAs, with fees of more than £30,000 for some one-year courses. University administrators secretly wish that all students were Chinese and on MA courses. Chinese students pay punctually, rarely complain and generally seem to go along with the ‘we pretend to teach and they pretend to learn’ model that is favoured by university management.

Chinese students are much like any others. Most are lively, cheerful and surprisingly funny, knowing about their own society and its discontents, while also sometimes being very acute about their hosts. But the language and cultural differences are wide, many vastly exaggerate their ability to speak and understand English, and there is little incentive to learn.

Outside of teaching, there is no real need to speak more than a few words of English. The city where I teach has Chinese restaurants, supermarkets, hairdressers, student accommodation and more. Translation apps fill the gaps. It’s not the students’ fault, but it results in trying to teach people who often don’t understand at least 80 per cent of what they’re hearing.

It's probably lucky that I teach filmmaking. Until boredom can kill, unleashing a few more incompetent filmmakers on the world will not have life or death consequences. But sometimes I wonder about courses like medicine or nuclear engineering.

In filmmaking, seminars begin with me working out which student speaks the best English. I then deliver the key information to them and they explain to the others, or so I hope. They could be saying anything: 'Just keep nodding and smiling at the stupid Englishman, tonight we film the air base.' In truth, the topics of their films suggest most are very lukewarm supporters of the Chinese system. Corruption and the CCP manipulating everything from education through to jobs and housing are frequent topics for scripts, in spite of writers knowing that some of their colleagues are probably party informants.

The scripts are almost invariably written in Mandarin and then run through a translation app, but they give a better idea of the concept than the excruciating verbal pitches students are forced to do. There are many

Grade inflation is rampant and both plagiarism and use of AI are largely overlooked

films about relationships, though mainly intergenerational ones. While British student filmmakers massacre fictional parents in car crashes and then write about themselves, Chinese parents and grandparents are all too present and demanding. There are always scenes involving food. Sex is rare, and what sex there is leans towards coming out but is occasionally deeply bizarre. I once had to explain to a student with almost no English why he could not film a scene where a child was abused by a man dressed as a sheep. Luckily, miming handcuffs instantly bridges cultural gaps.

Mime, sign language and Google Translate are essential – John Woo DVDs with

'I wouldn't go in there after dark!'

Mandarin dialogue and English subtitles are there when all else fails. Some teaching is done but only for a minority, and every now and then a great script results. There are other compensations. The miscommunication and typos can be very funny: ‘Alarm sounds, Mary wake from sleep suddenly. She gasp for breath. She reaches for nearby cock.’

Assessment is designed to flatter, deceive and recruit. Reports that Chinese students refer to UK courses as ‘easy in, easy out’ are not unexpected. It is very difficult to fail. Grade inflation is rampant and both plagiarism and use of AI are largely overlooked. Ironically, plagiarism is becoming less of a problem because AI cheats more effectively. It is still easy to spot as monoglot students suddenly write perfect English, but challenging it means an academic misconduct case, which takes time and effort and might not succeed. What if the lawyers get involved – and if you feel that strongly why don’t you just knock 10 per cent off their final mark?

University authorities know all this but are trapped by finance. In David Lodge's Nice Work, Vic Wilcox, a businessman, warns the university that you can't play at capitalism; but the universities don't listen and now market logic has them in thrall. If they enforced realistic grading, paper exams and expulsions for use of AI, students would go to universities that didn't. What we are really selling is the remnants of our national integrity. At times you feel like some corrupt imperial functionary handing out colonial sinecures in return for bribes: this certificate bears His Majesty's head. BACs or cheque?

There is little chance of change. Chinese students may be difficult to teach and losing their illusions about the value of British qualifications, but there is no substitute. Our future demographics are terrifying and universities collapsing would bring down towns and cities with them, so academics will continue to be censored, security guards set on campaigners for Chinese democracy and blatant cheating ignored. Our universities are addicted to Chinese students and – like most junkies – can’t even begin to think of life without the hit. It has taken almost 200 years, but the gods are just and the Opium Wars have come back to bite us.

People power

Sir: Quentin Letts's article ('Plastic parsons', 22 August) underlines the dire state of the Church of England today. How can the Church grow when its leaders are more and more removed from its flock?

The problem is in the way the Church is managed. When confronted with increasing costs and lower revenue, dioceses cut the number of vicars and force parishes to merge to form benefices of ten or more parishes, each overseen by one or two salaried priests.

Instead, perhaps we lay members of parishes should push back. Every diocese has many ordained clergy among its ranks. Each diocese should be required to allocate these ordained clergy to parish churches where they can continue to perform their diocesan duties as well as being a parish vicar. The administrative functions of dioceses should be merged, releasing significant cost savings in both people and buildings. It goes without saying that reparation funds would be off the table.

Perhaps then we might avoid the fate that Letts highlights, for a few more years anyway. Julian Knott Rolvenden, Kent

Have faith

Sir: Quentin Letts's piece makes very depressing reading, especially so because he hits the bull's-eye so effectively. Three current realities are of special note: first, the type of new ‘oversight’ completely undermines the values and practices of the ordinal (the priest's job description); second, agendas have replaced faith as the sine qua non for ordination and ‘preferment’; and, third, an inflated and suicidally inefficient Anglican hierarchy refuses to listen to the Save the Parish ‘ginger group’ of lay professionals and clerics with proven track records in all aspects of running and growing large institutions. And yet… where there’s a will, there’s a way. The Revd R.C. Paget Marcham, Oxon

Bond rating

Sir: I do not agree with Madeline Grant that there is no room for a period series of James Bond films ('Bond's identity crisis mirrors Britain's', 22 August). Fleming was a very modern writer, but it's difficult to see where Bond can go after TV's excellent The Agency, where Michael Fassbender effectively plays Bond, crossed with the Le Carré world. Most of the original books

LETTERS

have never been filmed properly. There is no secret rocket pad volcano in Fleming's You Only Live Twice; instead, there is the marvellously sinister image of Blofeld clamping around his poison garden in medieval Samurai armour, encouraging Japanese pilgrims to commit suicide. To my mind, the most exciting Bond book is Moonraker, which is almost entirely set near Dover – although I admit it would be difficult for the big screen to get across the excitement of its pivotal game of bridge. Tim Adler London E2

Sweet revenge

Sir: Lord Moore enquires (Notes, 22 August) whether other readers have received syrupy invitations to address members of book clubs via Zoom.

I have received two such invitations by email in the past month. The first informed me that ‘your cozy debut novel requires infrastructure’. As soon as I noted the spelling of ‘cozy’ I deleted it.

The second was from a lady who appeared to represent an organisation called ‘The Chapter Map’, clearly also transatlantic and of a similar nature to the book club that approached Lord Moore. I decided that this was a gift horse that required a full dental check and forwarded the email to the Society of Authors, which sent me a standard warning note about fraudulent publicity offers.

I take encouragement from the fact that, firstly, someone in the US appears to have at least glanced at one of my books, and secondly that they think my work might be worth exploiting. D.M. Quillman Hemel Hempstead, Herts

Wild supposition

Sir: Charles Moore is wrong to conflate wild swimming and wild camping (Notes, 22 August). Wild swimming is simply bathing in lakes, rivers or the sea, something which people have done for time immemorial, repackaged as something altogether new and radical. There is no connotation of doing it in places one is not meant to be. Now swimming in a sewage works or a ball pit: that would be genuinely wild. Alexander Pelling-Bruce Blairgowrie, Perthshire

Please advise

Sir: Mary's solutions in last week's issue (Dear Mary, 22 August) were at once ingenious (on repulsive nose-blowing), off-the-wall (on reducing a neighbour's wildfire risk) and surprisingly racy (on enticing a potential partner). It would be interesting to learn whether any of them achieved the desired results. Jeff Green Bath

Luncheon voucher

Sir: Harry Mount deplores the current state of the dinner party ('Whine and dine', 22 August). I largely agree. Much better is the lunch party, which can also vary in character depending on the time of year.

Lunch also allows for something that has no equivalent at the dinner party – sobremesa, the languid period spent relaxing and talking when the meal is over. I highly recommend the bible of lunch, Keith Waterhouse’s The Theory and Practice of Lunch. Rick Sareen London NW11

The berry on the cake

Sir: As a fellow mulberry-picking addict, can I recommend to Freddie Heffer the mulberries at the National Trust property the Vyne, where my daughters and I have spent happy summers foraging ('Notes on... mulberries', 22 August). Recently, I was aghast to discover that my father-in-law, an Old Hamptonian, could not remember the prominent mulberry tree that has stood in the cloisters of the school for more than 80 years – my fear is that picking was not actively encouraged. I commend the National Trust on its foraging policy: they 'welcome sustainable picking' and note its role in helping us to 'appreciate nature'. Catherine Finniear Guildford, Surrey

Hairy decision

Sir: Nigel Jones is mistaken in saying that Prince Albert wore a beard ('Notes on... shaving', 15 August). He preferred a clean-shaven look with a small moustache. His fellow European heirs and princes did, though, wear full heavy beards as symbols of marital dominance and manly authority. Unusually, the Austrian Archduke Maximilian favoured a forked beard, which, when emperor of Mexico, he refused to cut off to disguise himself to avoid capture, saying it would destroy his dignity. He wore it at his execution. Malcolm Watson Ryde, Isle of Wight

WRITE TO US letters@spectator.co.uk

ANY OTHER BUSINESS | MARTIN VANDER WEYER

Bessent should remember Thatcher: you really can't buck the market

Margaret Thatcher famously told the Commons in 1988 that ‘there is no way in which one can buck the market’. She meant that it would have been pointless to deploy policy tools to try to quell the pound’s then strength against the deutschmark, but she has never been proved wrong in a broader sense. One cannot even tell the market what to think, someone might have added for the benefit of US Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent, before he said that yields on American government bonds ‘don’t reflect the underlying fundamentals’.

What yields reflect is what markets collectively think about fundamentals – and what traders do next impacts every aspect of economic life. Global bond investors currently think the Trump regime is borrowing excessively to spend beyond its means, not least on the conflict with Iran. Washington's total debt has passed the unimaginable milepost of \$40 trillion for the first time, while its fiscal deficit heads towards 6 per cent of GDP against a 50-year average of 3.8 per cent. American companies are also piling on debt to fund huge investment in AI, making them ultra-sensitive to the higher interest rates which reflect rising bond yields.

All a bit technical and all very American, you're thinking: but let me explain why it's also a threat to you and me. Those global investors have been selling US Treasury bonds, pushing yields upwards – and selling the dollar downwards – to reflect the increased risk they perceive of the sort of debt crisis-cum-stock market dive that tends to happen in October and ripple across the Atlantic. And if your savings are held in a managed ‘global portfolio’, you'll find 40 per cent of it or more is made up of US investments, weighted towards tech stocks that are most vulnerable to a fall.

So what Bessent does next is by no means a purely American problem. His Canute-like declaration last week that he will double regular buybacks of long-term Treasury bonds to hold yields down (raising funds to do so by selling more volatile short-term government paper) was dismissed as a signal of desperation rather than strength. It followed his bizarre intervention to prop up the Japanese yen, also interpreted as a roundabout bid to deter investors from selling Treasuries, driving up interest rates and shaking share prices. This week, well outside his conventional brief, he announced an ‘economic onslaught’ against trading partners of Iran.

When Bessent was named for the Treasury in late 2024, he was seen as a relatively sane and market-savvy deficit-reduction hawk. Now he's starting to look like the hapless stooge of an economically illiterate tyrant who shuns fiscal discipline but demands showy gestures that are largely designed to prop up the stock market, which the presidential coterie regard as the only indicator that matters. Maybe one cannot buck Trump if one owes him one's job; but Bessent might be wise to resign before he is made to carry the can for an autumn market meltdown.

Be thankful for mavericks

Last week I praised the retail tycoon Mike Ashley for rescuing Harvey Nichols, the ailing department store chain. This week, I'll stick my neck out to salute another corporate pariah. Sir Jim Ratcliffe's Ineos chemicals group has stepped in to save an industrial complex at Runcorn which produces 98 per cent of the chlorine used in UK drinking water treatment and is the last producer on these shores of ethylene dichloride, an ingredient in everything from pharmaceuticals to PVC plastics for auto parts and drainpipes. The plant also processes salt for industrial use which despite historic reserves nearby would otherwise have to be imported.

Monaco-resident Ratcliffe is hated by the left for facing down unions at the Grange-mouth refinery in Scotland; he's unloved by fans of Manchester United, of which he's a co-owner, and was castigated by Downing Street earlier this year for saying the UK is being ‘colonised by immigrants’.

Like Ashley, he's a PR disaster but he's not bothered. Unlike Ashley, whose highstreet interventions indicate optimism as much as opportunism, Ratcliffe is consistently downbeat about the future of British industry under the ‘utter madness’ of punitive energy costs and green constraints. And yet his hard-edged realism and appetite for risk have made Ineos by a distance the most expansive and successful UK-based multinational built up in this century.

If it weren't for maverick entrepreneurs like Ratcliffe and Ashley – and let's also give a wave to Sir Richard Branson, still a rebel at 76, who has just won track access for a cross-Channel rail service to compete against Eurostar – what sort of derelict economic landscape would we have left?

Surrey for the Sussexes?

The return of the Sussexes is an opportunity both to explore the top end of the residential rental market and to check the odds on which county they'll choose to settle in, albeit perhaps not for very long. William Hill has been offering 3-1 on Oxfordshire or Gloucestershire, where large Cotswold farmhouses with tennis courts and old English plumbing can be had for a relatively modest £12,000 a month. But is that really Meghan's scene? I'd be more tempted by a 12-1 flutter on Surrey – because I think she'd be happier in the nearest England can offer to the exclusivity of Montecito, which is the gated 964-acre estate of St George's Hill, Weybridge.

Home to multinational bankers, golfers, celebs and exiles, this pap-free wooded enclave is 15 minutes from an American international school at Cobham and less than half an hour from a swift escape through Heathrow's VIP lounge. The best house currently available is an elegant new-build called Treetops with every luxury, advertised by Sotheby's International Realty (with an eye to would-be tenants from the US) at \$40,894 per month. That's £360,000 a year to you and me, but this dream home has been on the market since last November so take my advice, Harry: when times are hard, a low-ball offer can win the prize.

BOOKS& ARTS

Caroline Moorehead finds many Italians still smitten with Mussolini Harry Mount revels in the pursuit of ‘church-crawling’ Mark Cocker convinces us that we should stop treating soil like dirt Hermione Eyre chances upon a wonderful but almost completely unknown artist on the Isles of Scilly Richard Bratby sees signs that the Edinburgh International Festival has regained its mojo Deborah Ross classifies Ridley Scott’s latest movie as a ‘hang on, what?’ film

HARVARD ARTS MUSEUM/FOGG MUSEUM

BOOKS

Mischief and melancholy

Frances Wilson examines the dark side of the du Maurier family

Last Night I Dreamt: A Personal History of the du Mauriers by Paul de Zulueta Virago, £25, pp. 368

‘We can never go back again,’ wrote Daphne du Maurier in her bestselling novel Rebecca (1938). ‘The past is still too close to us.’ Yet back she went, in book after book, to the past of her remarkable family. In 1934, six months after the death of her father, the matinée idol Gerald du Maurier, Daphne wrote his biography, portraying him as a spoilt man-baby with a ‘stable’ of mistresses. Gerald’s own father, George du Maurier, was the celebrated book illustrator and Punch cartoonist whose creation of characters such as Mrs Ponsonby de Tomkyns and Lady Gatheremail skewered the Victorian nouveaux riches. A friend of Henry James, he also wrote Trilby, the bestselling novel of the 1890s, in which Svengali, the demonic manipulator, transforms a tone-deaf young laundress into a world-class diva.

It was George, said Daphne, who ‘started it all, the family’s creative and dark imagination’, but the spirit can be seen in his grandmother, Mary Anne Clarke, Regency courtesan to the Duke of York, who ran a lucrative side hustle selling commissions to the army. Mary Anne, wrote Daphne in her family biography, was

a woman without morals, without honour, without virtue, a woman who had known exactly what she wanted at 15 years of age and, gutter-born and gutter-bred, treading on sensibility and courtesy with her exquisite feet, had achieved it all laughing – her thumb to her nose.

Mary Anne's daughter Ellen married Louis-Mathurin Busson du Maurier, a failed inventor, and it was his father, Robert Busson, who might actually be said to have started it all. A glass-blower and convicted fraudster, he added ‘du Maurier’ to the family name and allowed his descendants to believe they had the blood of the ancien régime coursing through their veins. When George mocked middle-class aspirations, he knew, deep down, that his own lineage was a fiction.

The du Maurier line is now ended, which is one reason why Paul de Zulueta, Daphne's eldest grandson, was inspired to write this poignant ‘farewell’ to his forebears. But Last Night I Dreamt is more than another family biography. It is de Zulueta's attempt to understand the du Maurier character, a medley of mischief and melancholy, with a preternatural capacity for tapping into the collective unconscious. George, Gerald and Daphne, he writes, ‘were like surfers in the steepest part of an unbroken wave. They knew where the energy lay and had an uncanny feel for what the public wanted.’ Success came instantly to all three, before they had time to prepare themselves, and they each found it difficult to adjust to the limelight.

The response to George's bestseller was known as ‘Trilby-mania’: there were Trilby parties, Trilby sausages, Trilby ice cream sundaes and, of course, the Trilby hat. Daphne reflected:

When a novel can affect the human heart in such a way, it seems to me to mean one thing only: not that the tale is exceptional in itself, but that the writer has so projected his personality on to the printed page that the reader either identifies with that personality or becomes fascinated by it, and in a sense near hypnotised.

EDWARD GOOCH COLLECTION/GETTY IMAGES

It is a striking image, given that the subject of Trilby is itself hypnosis, while mind control of the kind Mrs Danvers practises on the young Mrs de Winter is a repeated theme in Daphne's own writing. The mesmeric appeal of Rebecca, a novel which similarly embedded itself in the popular imagination, begins with its rhythmic opening line, an example, as de Zulueta points out, of the iambic hexameter: 'Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.'

Daphne, a bisexual Jungian with a deep interest in doubles, described having a divided self. There was Self One, full of courtesy and humour, and Self Two, who wanted to 'bash everyone's face in'. De Zulueta moves between both selves as he unravels her complexities, while also suggesting that she did not consider herself an individual at all but a channel for the family ghosts: 'She was only too aware that she possessed feelings, emotions and a mind and a body passed on to her by people long dead.'

It was not only their genetic code that was transmitted. The du Mauriers communicated in a linguistic code impossible for anyone else to understand. Begun by George, embellished by Gerald and enriched by Daphne, it was so much a part of their history that de Zulueta has included a codebreaker at the start of the book. ‘Cairo’ was sexual intercourse, ‘Venetian’ was lesbian, to ‘have your feet up the chimney’ referred to homosexuality, a ‘menace’ was an attractive person, and to be ‘menaced’ was to be sexually attracted; ‘see-me’ meant being vain or self-absorbed, and a ‘tell-him’ was a boring story about oneself. Princess Margaret, said Daphne, was a major see-me. Even now, de Zulueta admits: ‘I catch myself if I find myself meandering on about something which others might look upon as a tell-him.’

There is nothing tell-him or see-me about de Zulueta in these pages, as he gets to know his remote and forbidding grandmother, who dressed ‘like a woman operative in the French Resistance’ and died when he was in his thirties. What is most striking about his style is its honesty, modesty and lack of pretension. He did not read Rebecca, he reveals, until he was in his forties, and it was only in preparation for this book that he discovered the bulk of his grandmother’s short stories, which include ‘The Birds’ and ‘Don’t Look Now’. The freshness of his reaction to Daphne’s writing can be felt on every page.

GETTY IMAGES

Bestselling novelists: Daphne and her grandfather George du Maurier

The see-me of the family was Gerald, whose need for attention was such that he could not even keep his affairs a secret. He wrote to his wife: 'My sweet, my love, beside loving you terribly – I have fallen desperately in love with a girl I met down at Portsmouth on Sunday. – I'm ashamed to say we stayed at a hotel.' Aside from his infidelities, Gerald's love for Daphne was so possessive that de Zulueta 'harboured the idea that their relationship was even incestuous'. While nothing in his research dislodges this suggestion, he is unexpectedly moved by what he learns of his great-grandfather. ‘Before I wrote this book,’ he says, ‘I was ambivalent about Gerald, as many in the family are today, but the more I looked into his life and career, the more I grew in admiration and sympathy.’ At times, as de Zulueta goes through the family letters, he finds himself in tears, particularly when he discovers the depth of the postwar trauma

Daphne, a bisexual Jungian with a deep interest in doubles, described having a divided self

suffered by his grandfather, Lieutenant-General Sir Frederick ‘Boy’ Browning (also known as ‘Tommy’), who married Daphne in 1932.

In 1948, Browning became treasurer in the office of the Duke of Edinburgh, a man Daphne described as ‘an absolute dear’, and in 1952 the Brownings were invited to the Coronation. Daphne complained to her close friend Ellen Doubleday:

The Coronation is bitching up everybody's summer. I have to be in Westminster Abbey at 5 a.m., what about if I have ‘Robert’ and where does one ‘nim’ or ‘pal’ for that matter. Tommy in cocked hat and plumes and I have to wear an ankle-length frock and veil like a hospital nurse. Let’s fly east together and meet me in Budapest.

A quick look at the code-breaker explains that ‘Robert’ means menstruation, ‘nim’ and ‘pal’ refer to the call of nature, and Budapest is ‘fantasising’.

Last Night I Dreamt is packed to the rafters with delicious details like this, but the book's finest chapter, for me, is the one in which de Zulueta goes back to his own past. It was Easter 1968, he was 12, and his parents were getting divorced. Daphne, aged 60, suggested that she and the unhappy schoolboy take a walk together after lunch; this would be the first and last time that they were ever alone. Their shy silences were broken by sudden bursts in which Daphne talked about her new book, The House on the Strand, her recently deceased husband and an oil spill that had damaged the local bird life. The divorce itself was not mentioned. 'I am sure she would have preferred to have been by herself with her own thoughts,' de Zulueta reflects. 'It was her way of saying she cared.'

Screen time Philip Hensher

The New Dark Ages: The End of Reading and the Dawn of a Post-Literate Society

by James Marriott Bodley Head, £12.99, pp. 128

Anyone proposing to publish a polemic between hard covers about the decline of literacy and reading will, of course, find themselves preaching to the choir. If you read books, you will agree with this one; if you don't, your negligence will not be touched by its fervour. I won't say that it is a useless object; merely how unhelpful it would be simply to agree with its main point.

The decline of reading practices is quite convincingly demonstrated in surveys. Fewer and fewer people in the US and Britain read habitually, by their own admission. In one celebrated case, an entire cohort of English literature academics in America was unable to make anything at all of the first page of Bleak House. The trend seems to correspond with a decline in general intellectual ability, as reported in IQ tests. The explanation for this is given as the rise of smartphones and online distractions, which may have accelerated a process already observable since the introduction of screens of all sorts. In a fascinating, puckish study cited by James Marriott, the slow roll-out of cable TV across Norway's challenging terrain is shown to correspond exactly to a small but measurable fall in IQ in each location.

The impact has been marked, not just on consumers but on many forms of entertainment and information. In brief: even the junk is getting worse. Netflix movies oblige their characters repeatedly to explain what's happening. Pop music is becoming more rudimentary. I think I first noticed this when Beyoncé's colossal hit 'Single Ladies' attained its global triumph on the back of a tune sung by eight-year-old girls playing a clapping game. Studies have laboriously demonstrated that both melodies and lyrics have grown simpler over the past 50 years. But if you go into a cool-ish bar or coffee shop, the music playing is more likely to come from the 1970s than the 2020s. And the most challenging music of the time seems to be holding up pretty well. Never mind Joni Mitchell; you can sell out a concert hall with an all-Ligeti programme. The enthusiasm for the dumbed-down may not be as universal as we worry it is. People long for complexity, in parts.

But even if this book doesn't quite convince in its tone of catastrophe, there is no doubt that a decline in reading in large parts of the population is happening, and it brings some terrible implications. Marriott emphasises the threat to truth and the flourishing of mad fantasies. A public that won't go near books or print newspapers and gets everything from online sources will erode standards. You only have to look at the opprobrium heaped on those trying to find objective truth in the history of a questionable academic appointment, who were told that they must only believe and respect individual feelings, to see what that will do in the end.

Marriott is a Times columnist, and this is his debut book. He has a proposal to sell, and the style throughout is journalistic. The Iliad is ‘Homer’s famous epic poem about the Trojan War’, and no name appears without its defining adjectival cluster. You may find this newspaper habit annoying or merely otiose and inelegant, giving off the impression of nervousness. ‘The novelist H.G. Wells’, ‘the novelist Victor Hugo’ and ‘the Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky’ follow hot on each other’s trail. Even the most banal observation needs backing up with a named authority and a quote: when near universal literacy was achieved in society, ‘as the historian Robert Darnton puts it, this was a “turning point”’.

Montaigne, early astronomy, correspondence between philosophers, Dr Johnson's reading habits, the Industrial Revolution and revolutionary feminism are swept through in six not entirely coherent pages. Marriott is excellent, however, on the forces which he thinks are affecting our habits of reading. If classic fiction is only referred to briefly, loving attention is paid to the evolution of the smartphone; and some pages dwell on the online output of someone called Mr Beast, and even stranger algorithmic entertainments:

AI-generated animated characters with fruit for heads enact brief soap-operative (and sometimes faintly pornographic) emotional dramas. The curvaceous Mrs Strawberry-head has an affair with the handsome and expensively suited Mr Banana-head.

‘This junk content is so irresistible,’ Marriott says. Well, I don’t know about that. It seems fairly resistible to me. I quite enjoyed ‘Single Ladies’ when it came out, for about ten days. On the other hand, the Eroica Symphony’s pleasures were appreciated, after a little effort, 50 years ago, and are still going strong. If you think that sounds snobbish, then you're part of the problem. The issue which Marriott doesn't quite address is that the habit of reading is becoming a class-based one. Fifty years ago, a child like me at a state school had access to excellent libraries, an ambitious curriculum and a literary culture of bold tendencies and a willingness to entertain. (I well remember the eruption of Anthony Burgess's novel Earthly Powers.) All those public resources have receded somewhat. No one at a Sheffield comprehensive has been told to read Madame Bovary in French for decades. In recent years, the bookish child is much more likely to emerge from private education and a professional family background. If the habit of reading is going to be something largely ensured by social status, then social standing is going to harden, and life for all of us is going to grow worse. There is, however, no real prospect that reading is going to disappear from the most successful parts of society.

The New Dark Ages is a usefully cautionary contribution to the argument – though I did feel that it had a slight seat-of-the-pants feel to it, and my recurrent response was: 'Oh, come off it.' Maybe this was a book that should have been written by someone with a large store of experience at the end of a long intellectual career. That said, there is value in hearing from someone who has, as Marriott says, a foot in both camps – who has been affected by screens and games and streaming and social media in ways that will always remain somewhat mysterious to the older generation. If 'Charlie bit me' is a more widely recognised phrase than 'Reader, I married him', then we are going to have consequences to face which can't only be analysed from outside.

The cult of the Duce Caroline Moorehead

Mussolini's Ghost: The Afterlife of a Dictator by Stephen Gundle OUP, £25, pp. 352

You do not have to travel far in Italy to encounter the remains of Mussolini's dreams of architectural splendour. From the sparkling marble and travertine palaces of the Esposizione Universale Roma (EUR) district, to the immense statues of athletes in Rome's sports forum and the new town of Laterina in the south, the Duce's creations are clearly visible. When the Allies had finished liberating Italy in the spring of 1945, they thought to erase all traces of fascism, but there were simply too many. So they settled on removing only the most ‘unaesthetic’. As with the civil servants, the judiciary and the leading industrialists who had collaborated with 20 years of fascism, all slated to be epurato – purged – but quickly amnestied, they were too deeply entrenched in the fabric of Italy itself. They were left, as Stephen Gundle writes, to become part of Mussolini's ghostly legacy.

Wine available in a Predappio souvenir shop

In the 80 years since the end of the second world war, Mussolini's reputation has never quite settled, fluctuating with generations of historians and politicians. Examining every facet of the dictator's image, from posters to sculpture to film, and borrowing from the work of psychoanalysts on mourning and memory, Gundle describes how Mussolini's ‘extraordinary posthumous vitality’ has resonated down the decades. It is a fascinating story. The source notes alone make the book invaluable to students of the period.

The celebration of Mussolini is often said to be the first modern personality cult. As fascism settled over Italy in the early 1920s, his image and his sayings went up on the walls of public buildings, offices, classrooms and waiting rooms. Newsreels showed him fencing, riding, driving with a lion cub by his side, declaiming, in uniform or bare-chested, his jaw jutting out, his eyes glaring. As a popular slogan put it, Il Duce ha sempre ragione (the Duce is always right). When his lover, Margherita Sarfatti, wrote Dux, she portrayed him as a modern Roman, an ‘aristocratic plebeian’ deeply attuned to the needs of his people. Nor, of course, was it only in Italy that Mussolini was admired. He appeared on the cover of Time magazine eight times in the 1930s, credited with saving his country from Bolshevism and revolution. (Hitler appeared once.)

However, as Gundle rightly notes, the speed with which he fell in 1943 was remarkable. Neither his ‘M’ battalions nor the fascist militia did anything to save him. When King Victor Emmanuel III removed him from office overnight, the jubilation that followed saw symbols and busts destroyed, party cards torn up and eulogising graffiti defaced.

Mussolini's family home is now a shrine, complete with his uniforms, violin and bicycle

In Bologna, a vast bronze equestrian statue was smashed and the dictator's head dragged through the streets. The crowd behaved, wrote one journalist, ‘like an animal freed from a cage’. And 18 months later, when Mussolini was shot by partisans and his body, together with that of his lover, Clara Petacci, was displayed in a macabre hanging in Milan, fury against him and the fascists exploded once more.

But the rage did not last. There never was, as had been planned, an Italian Nuremberg Tribunal. No political party wanted to see 20 years of fascism in the dock, with its slavish devotion to Mussolini. In any case, Cold War politics shifted perspectives and alliances. It was not long before Italians cast themselves as victims rather than as perpetrators of the long years of violence, led astray by a small number of criminals. Gundle points out the contrast with Germany, and the way that guilt was never given the same importance in Italy. Fascism disappeared by collective will.

Gradually, with another swing of the pendulum, Mussolini was rehabilitated and his afterlife as a ghost began. Some of this stemmed from the writings of his wife Rachele, who, conveniently overlooking his many affairs, described him as a loving, albeit flawed, husband and father. Some of it was also provided by the historian Renzo de Felice, who in the 1970s and 1980s produced an eight-volume biography showing Mussolini as a social reformer and statesman as well as an autocrat, and the Italians as ‘good’, as opposed to the ‘bad’ Germans. It was not until the 1990s, when academics started documenting the atrocities committed in Italy’s colonies, as well as the violence carried out by the Blackshirts, that Mussolini’s reputation took a new dip. Antonio Scurati’s series of novels set in an Italy consumed by fascist violence have proved extremely popular.

Gundle writes well about some of the more peculiar current representations of the Mussolini years, such as the wax figure of the dictator standing between Hitler and Trump in a museum in Rome. What is lacking perhaps is a more detailed analysis of Mussolini's political legacy, from the rise of the neo-fascist Movimento Sociale

Italiano (MSI) immediately after the war through to Silvio Berlusconi's inclusion of the far right in his coalition. Though Giorgia Meloni was quick to distance herself from any taint of fascism, she cut her political teeth as a 15-year-old in the MSI's youth wing. Several of Mussolini's grandchildren, not seeing the need to change their names, have been able to forge political careers.

The anniversary of Mussolini's march on Rome in 1922 is celebrated every year with much fanfare on 28 October, nowhere more so than in Predappio, the dictator's birthplace in Emilia-Romagna, where his mother's school-room is open to the public and his nearby family home has become a shrine and a museum, complete with his uniforms, his violin and his bicycle. In the town's gift shops, fascist memorabilia is widely available. One cannot imagine the same thing happening in Germany. Many of Mussolini's modernist buildings are now regarded as an integral part of Italy's cultural heritage. Fendi, the fashion house, has opened its main office in one of EUR's more spectacular buildings.

As Gundle clearly demonstrates, Mussolini continues to fascinate Italians, not least because there never has been a proper reckoning with fascism. They regard him much as Hindus see the afterlife of their gurus, wrapped in ‘a strange and irrational aura’. With so powerful an ability to appeal, casting off his ghost is hard. But, Gundle warns, it is as well to be vigilant: such legacies have the unnerving potential to act on the present.

All about Eve Emily Hill

Too L.A.: Letters Never Sent (But Some Were) by Eve Babitz, edited by Lili Anolik Atlantic, £16.99, pp. 448

'I regard Too L.A. as Eve's second masterpiece – her first being, of course, Slow Days, Fast Company – and her most consequential work,' is how the editor Lili Anolik introduces the book she concocted out of the late Eve Babitz's sent and unsent letters. 'It's a West Coast, late 20th-century Room of One's Own, a feminist cri de coeur.' This is Anolik's third book all about Eve. She is Babitz's Boswell. But Too L.A. reminds me of Helen Fielding more than Virginia Woolf.

In masterpieces of her own devising, Eve Babitz (persona) is a bona fide sex goddess with Jim Morrison between her thighs. In her private correspondence, Eve Babitz (person) is Bridget Jones on acid. She measures her days in pounds and cigarettes: 'I'm trying to get back to weighing 130lb again. I nearly always weigh 135 and I won't feel I've really conquered the smoking thing until I weigh 125lb.' She's neurotic about her body: 'My ass is still the worst one there is.'

The men she meets are awful: ‘Peter Canter is a leg squeezer and not very charming.’ And they appreciate her most when she seems half-witted. Marty from Jefferson Airplane ‘seemed to like me best when I did dumb things like ask what “all those lights were” in reference to the Golden Gate Bridge’. Mr Darcy turns up, imperilling planned spinsterhood. But (plot twist) he’s gay. Our heroine takes too much acid. Also too much coke. Also too much booze. In 1982, she joins AA and quits writing letters. The End.

‘The Eve who survives the Seventies as a person, doesn’t survive the Seventies as a writer,’ Anolik concludes, quoting Eve’s cousin as saying: ‘Eve’s existence was just

I can't say I didn't relish this book, but by the midpoint I started to feel downright uncomfortable reading it

so unhinged. She believed it had to be that way for her to be a writer.' Babitz's existence may have been unhinged, but if sobriety ruined her writing, who wrote Black Swans and I Used To Be Charming?

I can't say I didn't relish Too L.A., but by the midpoint I'd started to feel downright uncomfortable reading it. It felt like rum-maging through a dead woman's underwear drawer. If a few of these letters had been sifted out and packaged up to form a book the size of one of those Penguin Little Black Classics I'd agree that Anolik had midwifed a masterpiece. The letter Babitz wrote to Joseph Heller thanking him for a jacket puff is one of them:

In your little quote you say that I make ‘even the shoddiest character interesting and attractive and even the dreariest of relationships fascinating and exciting’. But, Joe, I don’t think anyone’s shoddy. I find what other people regard as worthwhile dread prisons and what people usually regard as crummy, I sometimes can’t even blink I’m so enchanted.

She then quotes Laurie Colwin as telling her agent:

Someone should give the author [of Slow Days, Fast Company] a good spanking if this is the sort of life she actually leads. Although if some jerk lived this way, it would strike me as extremely squalid, Miss Babitz makes it sound extremely romantic.

The letter to Heller is what Anolik is referring to when she says Too L.A. consists of a ‘feminist cri de coeur’ on female fitness for the literary canon. It reads more like a cry for better book reviews to me. She goes on:

What I want to know is, if I tell everyone about my disease, and about my Granma dying of cancer next door, and the cat kicking the bucket in my closet, and how horrible it is being in love with a man who supposedly prefers men and how ghastly it is watching my mother succumb to everyone dying around her... then do you think people will like me better?'

The letter is especially special. In it, Babitz is explicit about what most writers conceal: exactly what she intends to achieve as an artist. She tells Heller:

See, I can't even put my nose to the typewriter unless my creatures slink around in platinum lamé pyjamas... I am the character. I keep feeling as though nobody knows about a person like me and that I'm original.

After reading the book three times, I think I understand Anolik's claim at the start of this review. Too L.A. is Slow Days, Fast Company with its starlet stripped of her platinum lamé pyjamas. That's all well and good, but I'm not sure Babitz wanted anyone to see her like that.

As a reader, and a fan of both Babitz and Anolik, am I glad this book exists? Yes. If I'd written the material in Too L.A., would I have wanted it published? No. Like Byron, Nabokov and Larkin, I'd have wanted it burnt.

Animal spirits Derek Turner

Creatures of Story and Song: Tracing Britain's Lost Species

by Lee Raye

Reaktion, £16.95, pp. 312

In 2023, the State of Nature Report announced that Britain was one of the world's most nature-depleted countries. This can have been scarcely surprising to anyone conscious of the ever-emptier countryside, and perhaps even expected for a small island that gave birth to the Industrial Revolution. But Lee Raye's many sources reveal that the process has long predated the steam engine, with far-reaching effects not just on the natural world but on national psychology.

The 14 species featured in this book once bulked large in the British consciousness – as living beings and also as metaphors, morals, similes and symbols. They gradually vanished from view, impoverishing both the environment and our imaginations, and we now long for them: as amputees suffer ghost pains in their missing limbs, we feel the loss of animals once central to our culture.

Such absences have usually resulted from our own actions – extirpations, over-exploitations and collateral damage as we increasingly devastate our demi-Eden. But Raye knows human needs must be considered when seeking to restore nature, to avoid ‘environmental colonialism’, when arrogant outsiders impose unjust or unrealistic notions on established communities and landscapes.

The Great Auk (English School)

The grey whale was familiar enough to the Romano-British for its bones to be carved by soldiers garrisoning Hadrian's Wall. Whales also feature in Celtic Christianity (St Columba warned of one lurking off Iona, and St Brendan landed on another, believing it to be an island), while one Old English epithet for the sea was 'whale's home'. For centuries, whales were terrifying Leviathans or wonders of creation, before less poetic ages began to see them as sources of lamp oil or corset stays, to destructive and dislocating effect. By the 19th century, grey whales had been eliminated from the Atlantic – though they still persist in the Pacific.

The great auk – possibly the original ‘penguin’, from Welsh words for ‘white’ and ‘head’ – reputedly became extinct in 1844, when the last birds were killed on an islet off Iceland. They were flightless, and therefore supremely vulnerable to hungry humans, while their beautiful eggs were eagerly sought by oologists. No sooner had they gone than they were mourned; in Charles Kingsley’s The Water Babies (1863), the chimneysweep Tom meets the sole survivor, a ‘grand old lady’ sitting on ‘Allalonestone', who tells him of their extinction and then weeps tears of oil. In another tradition, the last auk was killed as a witch by the St Kildans. In Ruthven Todd's surreal 1943 novel The Lost Traveller, the hero seeks the last auk, only to become the poor bird just as the frightened fisherman's bludgeon descends.

Eagles, too, could shapeshift, as in the Mabinogion, when Blodeuwedd's husband Lleu is magically transformed into an eagle at the moment of his murder, to become human again through the power of poetry. They were simultaneously snatchers of lambs and symbols of kingship, like Tolkien's Gwaihir the Windlord, who saves Frodo from Mount Doom.

The wolf was regarded as a menace to livestock, the devourer of battlefield dead and even a demon – but Wulf was also popular as a name connoting chivalric warriorhood, as in Beowulf or St Wulfram, and one wolf was said to have guarded the severed head of St Edmund. Wild swine could damage crops, but they were also worthy quarry for the likes of Sir Gawain, and spirit guides for churchmen siting monasteries. Beavers were hunted for fur and their secretion castoreum, but according to legend, St Felix of Dunwich made one a bishop after it saved him from shipwreck.

Raye relieves stories of man's inhumanity to animals by turning the view point around, so we see through a ‘lens of animality’. In a 16th-century poem, ‘Marchan Wood’,

According to legend, St Felix of Dunwich made a beaver a bishop after it saved him from shipwreck

red squirrels travel from Wales to London to scold the Elizabethan English for cutting down Walian woods, while in the 1611 ballad ‘The Powte’s Complaint’, ‘powtes’ (a regional name for burbots and other similar fish) bewail the draining of the Fens.

Britain still suffers losses, with nearly one in six of all species threatened with extinction. But some of the animals in this book are returning to claim their own, such as cranes, great bustards and wild boar; and beavers are starting to refashion the thirsting land in an older image. With luck (and assistance), sturgeons may one day again surge up into the Humber and lynxes slink in to deal with our deer and satisfy a yearning for big cats beyond the Beast of Bodmin. In looking back at our old co-existence with such creatures, Raye helps us look forward to such times.

From blues to rap Ian Thomson

We Were Here: A History of Black People and Alternative Music by Stephanie Phillips Faber, £20, pp. 351

Dub Revolution: Jamaica's Sonic Inventors and the Birth of Remix Culture by David Katz White Rabbit, £25, pp. 376

Fire Inna Dancehall: A Legacy of Sound, Style and Struggle by Derek A. Bardowell John Murray, £22, pp. 368

In the boiling August of 1919, a 27-piece African-American jazz outfit called the Southern Syncopated Orchestra was summoned to play at Buckingham Palace as part of a royal command concert. The orchestra was Britain's first introduction to black music. Their hothouse syncopations and Mississippi washboard rhythms were a balm after the first world war, and they went down a storm on the concert circuit.

A decade or so later, in the swing era of the 1930s, the clarinettist Benny Goodman adapted jazz for white tastes, toning it down and cleaning it up – much as Elvis Presley would do for the postwar generation with black rock 'n' roll. By the time Miles Davis arrived in the 1950s, jazz was an increasingly white enthusiasm. He became a fashion icon for blue-eyed Mods and white soul brothers of one kind or another. Even today style magazines exalt the photograph of him on the cover of his 1958 Milestones album. What louche insouciance of dress. (Yes, Miles was way past cool.)

We Were Here, Stephanie Phillips's thoughtful survey of a century's worth of black alternative music from the blues to hip-hop via jazz and black heavy metal, has its own agenda to push. Phillips is not the first to point out that western popular music would not exist without a black precedent, but she does so with verve and argues that black musicians and singers have been purposely ‘left out of the story’. The Rolling Stones (as Mick would be the first to admit) stole many a riff from the Louisiana swamp blues maestro Slim Harpo; the screaming ‘woos’ of the Beatles in their mop-top incarnation imitated the on-stage yelps of their hero Little Richard.

Phillips is the singer and guitarist for the British black punk band Big Joanie. From an early age she was drawn to ‘black weirdo’ (as she puts it) music figures. In a fascinating chapter, ‘Back to the Root’, she considers the life of rock ’n’ roll’s godmother Rosetta Tharpe, who may have been bisexual or queer. Her high-energy guitar rhythms and gospel delivery were channelled by Elvis in his early, hip-swivelling performances. Though Tharpe was omitted from standard music history for decades, she has now been rediscovered by a younger generation.

Los Angeles would have to wait until the 1980s for a uniquely black music: rap. Before rap there had been, briefly and gloriously in the early 1970s, the multiracial funk outfit Sly and the Family Stone, whose single ‘Don’t Call Me ***, Whitey’ used blunt racial slurs to counter prejudice. Phillips writes engagingly on Sly and is good, too, on the mixed-race LA band Love, whose astonishing 1967 album Forever Changes combined baroque folksiness with spooky allusions to blood transfusions and a sickness in the city.

The author has an eclectic taste in music and some of the black pop-punkers, grunge and new wave singers under her review were lost on me (the Bolokos – the only punk band in Guadeloupe?). However, many older readers will remember Poly Styrene of X-Ray Spex, whose rousing single ‘Oh Bondage! Up Yours!’ was a hit in the UK in 1977. Joan Armatrading and Prince, of course, need no introduction. We Were Here, a thoroughly enjoyable cultural history, captures the excitement and daring of a music that changed the world for good.

In Jamaica, music influences every aspect of life, from dress to speech and food. Old-school reggae, with its righteous pre-slave ship spirituality, offered hope of deliverance to ‘down-pressed’ Jamaicans and encouraged a generation of British-born black Caribbean citizens to embrace a part of their heritage – Africa – that their parents had often shunned. Dub reggae, in David Katz’s estimation ‘the most playful and confounding of reggae subgenres’, is a form of electronic music with a heavy bass underlay. The great dub albums of the 1970s – Keith Hudson’s Pick a Dub, Garvey’s Ghost by Burning Spear – have a hymnal, incantatory quality. They are mostly instrumental. Jamaican sound engineers, such as King Tubby and Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, experimented at the mixing board by removing the vocals from existing tracks and emphasising the drum and bass component. They called it dub music.

Katz is an old Jamaica hand. His oral history of reggae, Solid Foundation, is one of the great music books. Dub Revolution, its sequel, relies heavily on interviews he conducted more than 30 years ago with dub and reggae practitioners in Jamaica and the UK. King Tubby was not among his interviewees as he was murdered by a lone gunman outside his home in Kingston in 1989. Having studied electronics at Kingston Technical College, King Tubby (real name Osbourne Ruddock) began his career by building voltage adapters and repairing televisions. With not much more than a soldering iron and pliers he went on to create abstract dub soundscapes dense with reverb, echo and delay.

Jamaican dancehall, an offshoot of reggae, is a digital, DJ-led music often called 'ragga'. Much of it is generated from preset drum-machine rhythms and computerised keyboards. The British music journalist Derek A. Bardowell regards dancehall as a misunderstood genre. In Fire Inna Dancehall, he traces its origins to the sound-system culture of 1950s and 1960s Kingston, where DJs talked and scatted over records ('toasting', Jamaicans call it) while energising the dance floor. At neighbourhood dancehall jams, or 'bashments', a skilled DJ was required to chant in time with the beat and spin witty nursery-rhyme phrases and nonsense lyrics ('Aba-shanti, boom-shaka-lacka. Skiddly-iddley. Biddy biddy bong'). Over its 40-odd years of existence, dancehall has developed a louche jargon, 'dancehallese', as vivid as any 18th-century thieves' cant. Bardowell is disappointed by the homophobia expressed by dancehall singers such as Elephant Man and Beenie Man, but he exalts the vernacular patwa in which they sing as a salty language all its own.

Beauty and truth Leyla Sanai

Life of M

by Rachel Cusk Faber, £18.99, pp. 192

The twin themes of Rachel Cusk's latest novel are truth and fame. In fact it's not quite accurate to call it a 'novel': there are two main characters, but there is no plot; and although you start to understand each woman, it's through observation of their behaviour in a series of vignettes rather than a conventional story.

The titular ‘M’ is an actress of beauty and renown, reportedly based on Natalie Portman. Her friend, the unnamed narrator, wants to write her biography. ‘Would you just make it up?’ M suggests airily, giving us a notion of how fabrication is sewn into her life. The narrator, who (as in Cusk’s Outline trilogy) seems partly based on the author herself, feels battered by the ‘random violence of insignificance’ – from which her friend is protected by fame. She senses that she was unloved by her parents (Cusk wrote about her mother in Coventry); and let down by people she has loved (Cusk’s divorce book, Aftermath, was savage about her ex). She also feels as if she can’t be her true self with M.

Though M claims to shun the privileges of fame, she actually enjoys them. A table in a hotel garden closes for the season; those permitted to sit next to her are carefully curated by the management. We learn that she has been affected by attempts to sexualise her as a child actress – plans vehemently blocked by her mother. M wants to be genuine, but is aware that she is acting all the time. The world feels malleable to her, as it is to those with power. She can't feel emotion or empathy, although she can mimic these sentiments convincingly. Truth is frequently elided by those around her. When shown around the estate of a man whose mistress she will be playing, she discovers it is not his estate at all: his possessions have been moved there to simulate his home. And reality is further distorted. A friend complains about depression – and, not being on antidepressants, insists she is the only one seeing the world accurately. But this dubious moral advantage is lost if antidepressants are ubiquitous in recycled water supplies.

Early on, the narrator's partner is hospitalised. Cusk's description of the long walk there is reminiscent of the hypnotic rhythm of T.S. Eliot's 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock': 'Prosperous stretches giving way to rougher ones and then becoming prosperous again, like a perpetual argument or a struggle for victory.' Although its not explicitly stated, this loss of control over her life contrasts with M's serene glide through hers.

M strives to live normally – taking her children to school, preferring to talk to the low-paid nannies than the upmarket mothers – but the special treatment she invariably receives makes this impossible. The film world is full of artifice. A literary salon is run by a designer. M, an avid reader, is invited, but so is a model, who enthuses about the books despite not having read them. People delude themselves about their ridiculous lies. Yet the thought of not being recognised terrifies M. She can pretend to eschew fame, but she needs it.

Truth is explored in numerous, often contradictory, ways. The narrator doesn't enjoy watching films, because she doesn't want her head filled with memories which are not her own true experiences. But she is not such a stickler for the truth when trying to jazz up her own factual writing. She explains that embellishing herself is exhilarating, giving her the chance to retain the parts of her life that she likes and discarding the rest.

Mystifyingly, she sometimes resorts to the word ‘we’. The other person is presumably a different part of herself, as though, through constant self-fictionalisation, she has become multiple people. She rejects some aspects of her personality and has become disillusioned with others. She can’t imagine being crazily in love. At one point she talks about a man who loved her and then hated her (shades of Aftermath again). Yet she loves and needs her ill partner, a dependency she fears.

The ending is enigmatic. Is M finally challenging the narrator to make a choice? This novel is Cusk pushing the boundaries of fiction even further than she did in the Outline trilogy. It is clever, sharply insightful, and – in the ending – infuriating.

The central section of the 15th-century Doom painting at Holy Trinity Church, Coventry

The edge of doom Harry Mount

Church-Crawling: The Lost Lives and Hidden Stories of England's Churches by Rachel Morley Bodley Head, £22, pp. 320

John Betjeman, the patron saint of the English parish church, invented the term ‘church-crawler’ in 1948. Rachel Morley acknowledges his genius in this charming guide. But by her own admission she stands at one remove from similar church addicts. Yes, she’s fully qualified, as the director of the marvellous organisation Friends of Friendless Churches, founded in 1957. But she is in fact Irish, born and bred in Cork.

She's learnt about England through its parish churches and makes a convincing argument that they are the key to English art, architecture, the national character and even the language. The name of the 7th-century Ely nun St Etheldreda mutated into St Audrey, which gave us the word ‘tawdry’ to describe the cheap fripperies sold on St Etheldreda’s feast days.

It's no wonder the church is so steeped in the English character and landscape. The parish system was established in the 10th century. One Sussex church, Bosham, appears in the Bayeux tapestry, because King Harold visited it before sailing to Normandy in 1064. It has changed quite a bit in the intervening years, but the Saxon chancel arch is still much as it appears in the tapestry: the height, proportions, triple-moulded capitals and thick stumps at the column bases, which Nikolaus Pevsner likened to millstones.

It’s these connections, leaping across centuries, that turn us church-crawlers into addicts, ‘randy for antique’, as Philip Larkin put it in his poem ‘Church Going’. We get a hit from the smallest particular, such as the dark grey colour in stained glass formed by burning and grinding willow twigs, or ‘bone black’, the pigment made from burnt and crushed animal bones.

Morley has a fine eye for the out-of-reach details. Church bells are often inscribed with mottoes: 'I call the quick to church and dead to grave' in Calstock, Cornwall, from 1773; and the Terminator-like 'Prepare to die', in Croft, Lincolnshire, from 1716. Bell-ringers were a thirsty lot. From the 17th to the mid-19th century they were issued with 'gotches' – big ceramic pots for ale with a hole for a tap or spout. Some held 32 pints.

There's so much wonder in an ancient parish church that it's amazing we church-crawlers are thought eccentric. Who couldn't be gripped by, say, Bewcastle Church, Cumbria, tucked inside a Roman fort on a Bronze Age settlement? The earliest Saxon sundial in England survives there, built into a high cross carved with vines and flowers. Pevsner described it as ‘the greatest achievement of that date in the whole of Europe’. That was the 660s. Again and again, the earliest surviving things are found in churches. The mechanical clock in Salisbury Cathedral, dating from 1386, is one of the oldest in the world. Age – and the memories it brings – explains why we keep on returning to churches. Their size means that they can literally store memories – like the plough parked under the war memorial in Salle, Norfolk, a memento of the farming dead.

‘So many dead lie around,’ writes Larkin in ‘Church Going’ – one of the reasons he finds a church to be ‘a serious house on serious earth’. Tens of millions of people are buried in British churchyards. A university friend once called me creepy for spending time mooching around Oxford churchyards. But, sex apart, is there anything more interesting than death?

And churches are not just full of the dead but of pictures of death – in the Doom paintings of the Last Judgment, usually over the chancel arch. One of the finest, in Holy Trinity, Coventry, escaped the Blitz in 1940. Its vicar, Revd Graham Clitheroe, patrolled the roof for 11 hours, putting out incendiary bombs, and, thanks to him, the 1430s ‘Doom’ survives there. In one corner, a hairy demon rounds up three women, naked except for their butterfly headdresses, carrying tankards. They are alewives, doomed for watering down beer to cheat their customers. Pretty harsh justice.

With her day job for the Friendless Churches, Morley is forever faced with trying to save redundant churches. There are small triumphs. She finds a lost medieval rose brass (a rare floral memorial) from Edlesborough Church, Bucks, in a forgotten bank vault in Bedfordshire. The desire to protect and save has kept our parish churches going for more than 1,000 years. Long may it last.

A coloured version of Linley Sambourne's caricature of Charles Darwin in Punch, 1881 BRIDGEMAN IMAGES

The worm's-eye view Mark Cocker

The World Beneath Our Feet: The Hidden Life of Soil and Why it Matters to Us All

by Frank Ashwood Hodder Press, £25, pp. 288

There is a delightful moment at the end of this book when Frank Ashwood is out looking for soil-dwelling invertebrates in his adopted New Zealand home. Suddenly he proclaims: 'I notice something and my heart skips a beat. A velvet worm.' He goes on to tell us that the discovery of two of these rare organisms in one day is 'a thing of dreams'.

Far from scoffing at his excitement, the reader has long come to share his enthusiasm for the extraordinariness of velvet worms. They are, after all, lozenges of blue and orange stripes rolled in tiny sequins. That we have also come to see the full beauty, abundance and sheer weirdness of the whole subsoil realm is a measure of Ashwood's wider achievement. Under his guidance we encounter a world that is ever-present but almost completely unknown.

If we are ignorant, then it has long been thus. Charles Darwin was one of the first people to explore and realise the central role of earthworms in the creation of soil. Before that, Victorian gardeners and farmers had been accustomed to kill them as unwanted pests. Ashwood, while turning briefly to Darwin's work, devotes much of the book to the latest discoveries, which have revealed soil as the last unexplored province on Earth.

He first takes us on a gentle excursion through the soil scientist's essential vocabulary, as well as the stock characters of the underworld. We meet detritivores, the myriad beasts that consume leaf litter as it falls at an average rate in European woodland of 3.5 tons per acre; and microscopic animals such as pseudoscorpions, oribatid mites, nematodes and springtails.

Nematodes are voracious predators and the most numerous animals on Earth, with one individual specimen in Siberia thought to have survived for roughly 46,000 years. They outnumber humans by 60 billion to one, although in terms of biomass we still just outweigh them. Mercifully, most are less than a millimetre long and are themselves routinely lassoed and eaten by fungi.

Springtails are equally remarkable. Many types have a coiled mechanism for escaping predators that allows them to jump 100 times their body length. Yet it is not athletic prowess so much as ecological success that are the springtails' strongest suit. It is the cumulative mass of these minuscule animals which really determines their overall importance. Ten square feet of ordinary healthy soil supports 50,000 springtails, 100,000 mites, 300 earthworms, 1,000 potworms and five million nematodes.

These figures bring into focus the monumental life forces that go into ordinary soil production and maintenance. Because of their abundant root systems, temperate grasslands have one of the richest soil faunas. The below-ground animal life can amount to 40 tons per acre, a greater biomass than all the mammals which graze its surface vegetation.

Ashwood takes us to places with the most productive of all soils. Bizarrely, we have seen something of them almost nightly on the news: the eastern Ukrainian war zone is underlain by a form of earth called chernozem. Comparable soils are only found in a small number of other regions, including the Canadian prairies and southern sections of Amazonia, where it is known as terra preta, black soil. The Ukrainian chernozem area occupies less than 6 per cent of the planet's land surface but feeds 400 million people. In 2010, the total black-soil regions of the world produced almost a third of our wheat and a quarter of all potatoes. Yet Ukrainian topsoil is being lost at a rate of around 500 million tons a year.

Such statistics bring to focus our absolute reliance upon soil and also the gathering crisis in its treatment. But Ashworth is upbeat in his approach to the issues which he meticulously lays before us. In China, for example, the government declared an emergency as long ago as 1978, erecting a stabilising barrier to protect the northern soils that encircle the Taklaman Desert. A similar Great Green Wall of trees now spans 11 sub-Saharan nations in an effort to stabilise the advance of the desert. But the central message is clear. Soil is astonishing in its complexity and fundamental to all life. It is also under threat, and we can no longer treat it like dirt.

A natural spy Leaf Arbuthnot

Cold Sunset by William Boyd Viking, £20, pp. 320

Gabriel Dax, the hero of William Boyd's latest spy thriller, is one of literature's reluctant spies: good, solitary men who would happily continue pursuing their hobbies if only their beastly handlers would let them. In Dax's case, his day job is as a travel writer – which allows Boyd to regularly indulge his evident affection for the florid turn of phrase. On the very first page of Cold Sunset, the third novel in the series, Dax describes the Pacific, admired from 1960s Santa Monica, as 'slate-grey, mouse-grey, dirty dishwater-grey', and even 'zinc, ash, pewter'.

To Boyd's credit, the novel can be read as a standalone, but it's probably best enjoyed after books one and two. Those explored Dax's sad past (dead mother, killed in a fire), and his descent into the murky world of spycraft. At this point, Dax is working both for MI6 and an oddly credulous KGB, and his mission, as set out by his ineffably sexy spyboss Faith Green, is to exfiltrate a secret agent from Moscow before the Russians realise they have a rat in their midst. Along the way, Dax is hunted by an assassin with a justified grudge, recruits a nice local girl to keep his Sussex cottage spruce and finds time for a tryst with an alluring American.

Despite the pace and gratifying volume of incident in the book, it is not free of introspection. Dax spends much of the novel preoccupied with Faith, who treats him mean and keeps him keen until the genuinely surprising denouement. Still, much of the pleasure of the book is found in Dax's sheer competence. He is an excellent, natural spy: good at following people without them cottoning on, good at laying traps, good at shooting to kill.

Boyd is also satisfyingly hot on the material world his characters move in, from the cars they drive to the clothes they slink around in. Particular care is taken with Faith's wardrobe (at one point she is in ‘a pale-biscuit, bloused jacket with a wide Quaker collar’ – yum). Dax's outfits are also carefully itemised: tweed in town, but classic spy-wear in Moscow ('grey herringbone tweed coat, a scarf and two sweaters').

This is not a book likely to win over those still hoping Boyd will produce another Any Human Heart. It feels rather quickly written, some twists are predictable, and the spythriller tropes do fall thick and fast (women ‘saunter’, men drink to oblivion). But the novel is doing what it wants to be doing well and had me gripped. The ending, by the way, feels more like a ‘to be continued’ – so although the series has been billed as a trilogy, I’d eat my (felt, sand-coloured) trilby if it finishes here.

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ARTS

Love actually

Renoir could be sentimental – but his best paintings are penetrating and adventurous, says Robin Simon

It was summer 1874 at Claude Monet's house in Argenteuil on the Seine just outside Paris. Edouard Manet arrived from his house at Gennevilliers, on the opposite bank, and began painting Monet's wife and infant son in the garden. Auguste Renoir turned up and started to paint the same scene alongside Manet. The little masterpiece he created is in the forthcoming exhibition Renoir and Love at the National Gallery.

In 1924, Monet recalled that day half a century earlier:

Manet, seduced by the colour and the light, decided to paint a picture en plein air of people under the trees... Renoir arrived... He asked me for my palette, a brush and a canvas, and there he was, painting away beside Manet. The latter watched him out of the corner of his eye, from time to time looking at the canvas. Then he made a face, passed discreetly by me, and whispered in my ear about Renoir: 'He has no talent, that boy! Since you are his friend, tell him to give up painting!'

Ouch! This was an uncomfortable joke at best (Monet drily remarked to his interviewer: 'C'est drôle, hein, de la part de Manet?'). Manet, while charming, could be extremely touchy. Renoir advanced his own art by picking up the manner and approach of his contemporaries, and Manet must have found it irritating that day, because Renoir's handling was so obviously indebted to his. And Manet may well have been more thin-skinned than usual because his own painting, 'The Monet Family' (1874; Metropolitan Museum, New York), was new for him as an exercise en plein air – a practice that he had sneered at in the past but to which Monet and Renoir were devoted.

Renoir had already been studying Manet, as one look at ‘La Loge’ (1874; Courtauld Gallery), exhibited at the first impressionist exhibition in April the same year, reveals. The younger artist had mastered Manet’s signature use of black, and also followed him in depicting a scene from modern life. That said, the subject matter was quite new:

a couple in their box at the theatre. Suddenly everyone wanted to paint scenes inside the theatre. This masterpiece was not in the Paris showing of Renoir and Love (which I was lucky enough to see), but it will be on view at the National Gallery, which is appropriate, since it was one of the very first impressionist paintings to be seen in London.

Monet himself was always relaxed about Renoir's habit of imitation and was happy to have him painting by his side. For some weeks in 1869 they both worked at a Seine bathing spot called La Grenouillère, with the tiny island known as Le Camembert in front of them (grenouilles was slang for

He churned out canvases and could knock off a portrait in 45 minutes

the good-time girls who thronged there). Renoir does not suffer in the comparison with Monet, as a marvellous oil sketch in the exhibition demonstrates.

Renoir was often sentimental though, in a way that Manet and Monet never were, and his underlying structure, in perspective and the relative planes of a composition, was rarely as secure. But he was full of original ideas and, as time went by, both Monet and Manet learned new tricks from him, and all three became friends (not always an easy thing with Manet). But the quality of Renoir's work could vary alarmingly. After he had been to Venice, he exhibited at the seventh impressionist exhibition in 1882, and Manet's brother Eugène told his wife that, while Renoir's 'Luncheon of the Boating Party' (1880-81) looked good, his views of Venice were 'hideous, real failures'.

Renoir did not help his own reputation. The trouble was that he simply loved to paint. He churned out canvases and could knock off a portrait in 45 minutes. Staggeringly, he painted between 4,000 and 6,000 pictures – no one really knows how many.

When he was confined in old age to a wheelchair and could hardly hold a brush, he still kept painting – another 400 of them. And he lacked quality control. He was often happy to use an inadequate shorthand for faces and for someone who understood how to paint water much better than most, he was often liable just to sketch it in, sometimes behind an equally sketchy – and hasty – foreground.

Looking at Renoir's paintings en masse is like being on an artistic rollercoaster. He was sometimes penetrating and focused, at other times soppy and sentimental, especially in his images of plump women and tiresomely cute infants. When Renoir was good, he was very, very good, but when he was bad, he was horrid. Fortunately, this exhibition benefits from the expert selection of its curators, Christopher Riopelle and Chiara di Stefano of the National Gallery. It concentrates on the things that only Renoir could do, and do supremely well.

As the title suggests, his best work was driven by love for his fellow human beings, expressed in conviviality. Renoir loved women, he loved company and he loved good food. He painted cheerful people having a good time: no gloomy absinthe drinkers for him. He said: 'I know it's hard to get people to admit that a painting can be a great painting and still be happy.'

The key pictures in this exhibition are the incomparable ‘Dance at the Moulin de la Galette’ (1876) and ‘Luncheon of the Boating Party’. Both restaurants where Renoir imagined these superb creations are still in situ, the first in the heart of Montmartre and the other, Maison Fournaise, on the banks of the Seine at Chatou on the edge of Paris, and very good they are too. The dance area at the Moulin has gone, but the balcony with its awning at Maison Fournaise is still there – and I can vouch that there is nothing quite like the feeling of dining inside a great painting.

The two pictures are very different. The ‘Dance at the Moulin de la Galette’ is a virtuoso feat of unifying a busy crowd of people through the distribution of dappled light across the whole surface. The painting is also set in a middle key, a tricky thing if you are to keep a picture alive, which this abundantly is. ‘Luncheon of the Boating Party’ is painted in a much higher key, in an almost impossible array of tone and colour, an irresistible embodiment of the gaiety of the occasion. Bang in the front is one of those stunning Renoir still lifes of wine bottles, decanters and grapes that tell in delectable detail the story of what has been eaten and drunk by the end of an excellent meal. In a brilliant touch, the dags (look it up) of the red-and-white awning of Maison Fournaise flutter in the breeze in a moment of the most acute observation and execution. It’s my favourite Renoir touch.

Renoir's 'Luncheon of the Boating Party', 1880-81

Renoir recorded most such effects in smaller oil sketches on the spot, while the finished grandes machines were usually put together in the studio. At Maison Fournaise, the most indulgent restaurateur would have drawn the line at having a 6ft canvas hogging valuable space for weeks on end. The Moulin's dance area, however, afforded some space, and so Renoir grabbed the opportunity to paint there on his massive canvas every afternoon. Renoir's friend Georges Rivière recorded, with some feel-

When Renoir was good, he was very, very good, but when he was bad, he was horrid

ing: ‘We carried that canvas every day from [Renoir’s studio a short way up the hill] to the Moulin, because the picture was executed entirely on site. We managed it, but not without difficulty, since when the wind blew the whole thing threatened to fly away like a kite.’

I saw an interview on BBC's Monitor in 1962 between the ineffable Huw Wheldon and Renoir's son, Jean, the great film director of La Règle du jeu, who made a remark that I have always remembered. Renoir would evidently sometimes paint from memory, when Jean and the family had no idea what might emerge as the first dabs of paint were applied here and there across the surface. A landscape? Flowers? A nude? And then, Jean said, it was like developing a photographic plate: Renoir's process uncovered what, it seemed, had been hidden there all along. Unforgettable – and an apparently unwitting echo of Michelangelo's famous remark about carving 'David'.

This is a great and adventurous exhibition, glowing with the quality that Renoir possessed above all, which he certainly needed during a career that saw more than its share of slings and arrows. He was irrepressible.

'A very good boy': Jasper the Belgian Malinois with Jacob Elordi in The Dog Stars

Cinema

At least there's no zombies Deborah Ross

The Dog Stars 15, Nationwide

Ridley Scott's post-apocalyptic The Dog Stars is his third film in four years after Napoleon (disjointedly strange) and Gladiator II (not very goodus). On this occasion he's made what I call a 'hang on, what?' film. Hang on, what? Who are these American Indians on horseback? Hang on, what? Why is Allison Janney suddenly cosplaying a 1950s air stewardess? The storytelling is so rushed it's hard to follow. Scott is now 88, so perhaps he's thinking there's no time to muck around.

The film is based on a novel by Peter Heller and takes place sometime after a flu epidemic has all but wiped out mankind and civilisation has been reduced to a succession of film sets. (You know the scenario.) One such set is the abandoned Colorado airport hangar where survivors Hig (Jacob Elordi) and Bangley (Josh Brolin) have set up home.

Bangley is the trigger-happy one, while Hig will kill when he must – he’s no wuss – but is the more sensitive. His best friend, as it happens, is his beloved dog Jasper, played by a Belgian Malinois who attended the première I went to, so I can say with first-hand knowledge that he’s a very good boy.

Hig, with Jasper in the passenger seat, flies an old Cessna to scour the countryside and visit the city to stock up on supplies, plus mooch forlornly around the house where he used to live with his wife (RIP). One day he hears a voice over the plane's radio and sets off to fly further than he's ever done before

One interesting feature of post-apocalyptic movies is that guns survive but no one has a toaster

to find out what's out there. Jasper has a hand in his decision to leave but more than that I cannot say, except that I may never forgive Scott. (Hang on, what? You'd do that to such a good boy?)

It is, for the most part, blandly familiar on the post-apocalyptic front, leaning heavily into the genre's tropes, with their deserted cities, empty highways and humanity representing the worst evil. No zombies, at least, but there are marauding survivors who stagger zombie-style, as well as marauders in the form of tattooed skinheads who look like neo-Nazis. Often, the action cuts back to Bangley blowing their heads off from his watchtower in a way that doesn't progress the story but does provide one of the bloodthirsty interludes that Scott seems obliged to insert willy-nilly and audiences appear to love (they applauded when someone was decapitated).

Elsewhere, Hig, having been forced to land his plane, discovers Pops (Guy Pearce) and his medic daughter Cima (Margaret Qualley). She will, it won't surprise you to hear, become the love interest. Pops patrols his own farm with a gun. (One interesting feature of post-apocalyptic movies is that guns survive but no one has, say, a toaster even if, hang on, what?, the electricity still works?) Eventually, the trio will be forced to flee. The mysterious horse-riding American Indians have something to do with it.

The pacing is all over the place, as is the tone, switching on a dime from profound and sincere to plainly ludicrous. At one point, for instance, we spend some time with a cult led by Janney's stewardess who appear to keep chopped-off heads in the freezer. Honestly? No idea. This part plays out like a comic caper completely at odds with the rest of the film.

There's a hopeful end I'm not convinced has been earned. And all the performances are perfunctory. As characters aren't given room to breathe, there's little for the actors to sink their teeth into. This is, however, just one view so I'll leave you with Scott's: 'It's the best film I've ever made.' Hang on, what?

Pop Taking the Cure Graeme Thomson

The Cure Royal Highland Showgrounds, Edinburgh

Phoebe Bridgers: Lost Weekend Dead Oceans

My, how other so-called legacy acts must envy the Cure. There are plenty of bands of 40 or 50 years standing where the original fanbase brings along their offspring to concerts—but very few where so many tribes seem to gather so willingly under their own steam. From post-punk survivors to domesticated millennials, Gen Xers and Zeders, pop kids, neo-goths and sundry alternative types, the Cure seem to say something specific and urgent to each constituency.

Perhaps it's something about their songs speaking to the child in the adult, and the

Fizzy pop songs about animals and food, sickness and sex. Everyone danced

adult in the child. In any case, there we all were, on the outskirts of Edinburgh, on a warm summer Sunday, rising and falling to the music as the planes came and went at the airport next door.

Unlike many of their contemporaries, the Cure seem to be a band forever living in the moment. They only relatively recently released Songs Of A Lost World, an excellent album of new original material, and although none of the record was performed in Edinburgh, there was a palpable sense of a band still in a state of discovery rather than treading dutifully through old glories.

This was an extended summer festival set, heavily weighted with tracks from the 1989 album Disintegration. It was less punitive than their last British shows in 2022, with an almost perfect blend of light and shade. It certainly didn't hurt that the Cure have so many great songs. Not just the ones you know – ‘Pictures Of You’, ‘In Between Days’, ‘Just Like Heaven’, the strange, dream-like rush of ‘Charlotte Sometimes’ – but numerous others lurking around the edges of a vast catalogue. Several of these were aired, including ‘Three

Imaginary Boys' and a racked ‘Prayers For Rain’, while the desolate ‘Trust’ met its opposite force in a euphoric ‘Push’.

Following the death of utility band member Perry Bamonte last year, Eden Gallup, son of bassist Simon, has stepped into his place on stage (meanwhile, the 17-year-old son of drummer Jason Cooper, Gabriel, played saxophone on ‘A Night Like This’; clearly it’s not just the audience bringing their kids to the shows these days). The personnel change has brought about a subtle shift in energy, pushing the sound into something less stately and a little more wiry.

And if in the past it sometimes felt that Robert Smith was merely splashing in the shallows of adolescent extremes, at 67 he has now well and truly been through the fires of experience. Whether dark or Day-Glo, the songs felt deeper and more consequential as a result. He's still a uniquely singular frontman: hands clasped in front of his chest like a troubled priest, hair resembling an exploded osprey nest, smudged lips flickering between grin and grimace. His voice, whether kittenish purr or alienated howl, was remarkable, and entirely undimmed by age.

As has become customary, the encore delivered a final flurry of hits, one tangerine-flavoured headrush after another: 'The Love-cats', 'The Walk', 'Friday I'm In Love', 'Close To Me', 'Why Can't I Be You?' Fizzy pop songs about animals and food, sickness and sex. Everyone danced. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but the Cure have become the most inclusive outsiders in the world.

I wonder whether Phoebe Bridgers's songs will similarly stand the test of time. When the Californian singer-songwriter became a star in 2020 with the release of her second album, Punisher, it was slightly tricky to work out why (a high-profile romance with Paul Mescal, which has since ended, probably didn't hurt). Her voice was appealingly gauzy, as though everything she sang was filtered through cotton wool, and she could clearly write a decent song, but while she belonged to the lineage of the likes of Elliott Smith and Sufjan Stevens, she seemed to lack the idiosyncratic character of either.

Bridgers's third solo album makes a similarly ambivalent case for her brilliance. On the upside, Lost Weekend adds a welcome twist to her sound: there's some nicely sour synth effects, while a ghostly vocal arrangement very effectively undercuts the swooning formality of 'The Governor's Waltz'. The more upbeat moments never quite convince, however. 'Lost Boys' barrels along pretty tamely, while 'Haunted' comes off like an indie-folk Eagles, with its cloying confection of harmonica, fiddle, banjo and pedal steel.

Mostly, Bridgers's sad, pretty voice seems most comfortable singing sad, pretty songs called things like ‘Kill Me’. The result is a solid, heartfelt indie roots album, but it’s still hard to see quite what all the fuss is about.

Theatre Party people Lloyd Evans

How the Other Half Loves The Old Vic, until 19 September

Abigail's Party Harold Pinter Theatre, until 19 September

How the Other Half Loves is the play that established Alan Ayckbourn's name as a writer of farce. Frank and Fiona, a posh, sophisticated couple, encounter problems in their marriage when Fiona has a fling with Bob, a handsome junior at Frank's firm. Bob's wife, Teresa, suspects Bob of infidelity and starts to investigate his social life. An innocent couple, William and Mary, are drawn into the muddle thanks to a series of misunderstandings. The centrepiece of the elaborate plot is a pair of dinner parties on successive nights performed simultaneously on a single set.

The complications are enjoyable to watch because you have to keep adjusting the pieces in your mind to make it all fit together. Class snobbery permeates the script, and Ayckbourn assumes that the viewers will assent to his tabulation of social desirability. He loves Frank and Fiona who are a rich and elegant in their mid-sixties. He admires the energy and ambition of the middle-class youngsters, Bob and Teresa. And he despises the crass, semi-literate dimwits, William and

Roger Allam is as cuddly as Paddington and as caustic as Peter Cook

Mary, whose names happen to be those of a famous English king and queen. That's an injoke just for the audience's benefit, and part of the enjoyment comes from the knowledge that the characters, William and Mary, would fail to get the gag because they know nothing about anything.

William is an angry control freak who hopes to transform his terrified wife into a suave hostess like Fiona, but Mary is incapable of acquiring any social graces. William treats her like a naughty puppy and slaps her hand when she misbehaves. Although she's allergic to alcohol, Mary hasn't the courage to refuse a glass of sherry, so she drinks it down and chokes it straight back up again. William, meanwhile, is too anxious to use the bathroom because Frank's house has two lavatories and he's unsure which to visit.

At times, the plot seems a little too clever for its own good, and the running time of 150 minutes is spun out from a single lie told by Fiona. The greatest asset is Roger Allam who slips effortlessly into the role of Frank. He's as cuddly as Paddington and as caustic as Peter Cook. You'd be forgiven for thinking that the role had been written to suit Allam's mannerisms, the modulations of his voice and his singular air of dilapidated amusement. But the play dates from 1969 when Allam was 16.

Roger Allam (Frank Foster) and Dorothy Atkinson (Fiona Foster) in How the Other Half Loves

Abigail's Party, which premiered in 1977, targets the same segment of the lower-middle-classes, but the script by Mike Leigh could hardly be more different. The setting is a Romford suburb where a bored but charismatic housewife, Beverly (Tamzin Outhwaite), throws an impromptu get-together for three neighbours. Nothing happens. The guests drink, eat crisps and talk rubbish. Beverly tries to provoke her husband Laurence by flirting with Tony, whose wife Angela is Beverly's best friend. The play ends with a medical emergency.

Leigh's social disdain for his characters is even more obvious and acute than Ayckbourn's. Beverly and Laurence, consider themselves fractionally more sophisticated than their friends. When Beverly says 'Beaujolais' she pronounces the 's' as if it were a plural and she chills it in the fridge. Laurence boasts about his embossed editions of Shakespeare and Dickens which he displays on a bookshelf, although he never reads them. He owns a recording of Beethoven's Fifth and

Tamzin Outhwaite seems like a mythical temptress appointed by the gods of comedy to make us laugh

he decorates his sitting room with reproductions of paintings by Van Gogh and Lowry. He has one of each.

We, as viewers, are encouraged to feel amused that a man of such banal tastes should consider himself to be sophisticated – but the joke is on us. Our attitude to Laurence (Kevin Bishop) mirrors his attitude to his neighbours. We rush to laugh at him but perhaps we should question ourselves for wanting to mock him in the first place.

The show fizzes with warmth and fun but it starts on a tired and self-conscious note. Before a line has been spoken, Beverly leaps onto a coffee table and performs a solo dance number while a glitter ball twirls above her head. And Act Two kicks off with a lengthy mime routine accompanied by thumping disco music and arty lighting. It all feels a bit Turner Prize. Luckily these excesses don't last long enough to impair the joy and hilarity of the script.

Tamzin Outhwaite, in a floaty tangerine gown, seems like a mythical temptress appointed by the gods of comedy to make us laugh. She keeps using a particular term of welcome, ‘come through’, that feels like a personal catchphrase. In the bar during the interval, people were saying it to each other and giggling. Pandora Colin does a superb job as the nun-like Sue. Lauren Patel’s simpering, nervous Angela threatens at times to steal the top honours from Outhwaite. On this showing, Patel has the makings of a star.

SIMONE SANDELSON

8 – 26 September 2026

A Puff of Smoke, oil on canvas, 27 $^{3/4}$ x 35 $^{3/4}$ inches

We welcome Simone Sandelson to the Gallery with an eye catching debut exhibition of 56 pictures. Thoughtful, expressive, arresting and imbued with a soft, surreal beauty.

A fully-illustrated, 46-page catalogue is available to purchase for £10 (free p&p for Spectator readers) on direct contact with the gallery.

All works are available to purchase and can be viewed on

www.chrisbeetles.com

Two-faced Partridge I, oil on board, 24 x 18 inches

White Stand, Red Sun, oil on canvas, 31 x 23 $\frac{1}{2}$ inches

Engraved portrait of Bernard Leach: 'The Art of Creation' by Hilda Quick

Exhibitions A rare bird Hermione Eyre

Hilda Quick St Agnes Island Hall, Isles of Scilly, until 4 September

I was in the most south-westerly pub in Britain, the Turk's Head, on the Scilly island of St Agnes (population: 75) when I noticed a poster advertising a local exhibition of the work of ‘renowned artist and birdwatcher Hilda Quick, 1895-1978’.

I had never heard of her, but her work on the poster, ‘The Pursuit of Art’, was compelling. A stylish wood engraving from the 1920s, it showed female art students drawing a male life model. This was the new equality Hilda Quick would have discovered when she left her native Penzance to attend the Central School of Arts and Crafts in London in 1919. Even though the male model here was perhaps not particularly inspiring – Quick includes him only as a cadaverous pair of feet in the corner – the women at their easels are striking attitudes of fierce concentration, some more muscular than the model, or trying a little too hard, even though one can still believe in them as the artists of the future. So assured, so simultaneously witty and serious was this picture, that I asked the barmaid at the Turk’s Head if she thought I would make it across the island to the exhibition in time. ‘I guess so,’ she deadpanned. St Agnes is less than a mile long.

I had stumbled upon an artist with a wonderfully sharp line and an even sharper eye. At Central, she was taught by Noel Rooke, whose father was Byrne-Jones's studio assistant. Rooke had fought to get wood engraving on the syllabus, believing in it not just as a method for printing but as a creative medium.

On graduating, she studied in Paris and toured Brittany, making observational wood engravings of local customs. By 1930 she had been lured into golden-age revivalism, creating 111 engravings for a beautiful but niche Complete Works of Edmund Spenser, published by Basil Blackwell's Shakespeare Head in an edition of 375, some in vellum. Understandably perhaps, none of these is in the exhibition on St Agnes, which takes place in an unlocked, unattended hall.

But there is plenty to see – vitrines containing sketchbooks and printing blocks, even her sturdy walking stick. There are her costume designs for the earliest productions at the Minack Theatre, just after it was carved into the cliffside at Porthcurno. She also designed sets and programmes for Antony and Cleopatra in 1937 and The Trojan Women in 1949.

She was friends with the great St Ives potter Bernard Leach and made a wonderful engraved portrait of him at the wheel, 'The Art of Creation', sensitive, mysterious and rhythmically carved, her skill echoing his. A print is held by the Isles of Scilly

I had stumbled upon an artist with a wonderfully sharp line and an even sharper eye

Museum. Unlike so many beautiful pictures, which seem diminished when you snap them through an iPhone camera, her monochromes grow stronger.

In 1948 she had a hit: Jonathan Cape published her Marsh and Shore: Birdwatching on the Cornish Coast, which – with its jaunty, informative tone and beautiful illustrations – became a much-imitated formula. At this point, embedded in Cornish cultural life, in demand and well-set in Clarence Cottage, Penzance, she could have been a worldly success. But instead in 1951 she chose to move to St Agnes, this tiny, wild island, with its neolithic stone maze and its lowering cairns, where she lived out the rest of her life.

I understood why a little better when I walked sandy, sheltered Blanket Bay and saw her former home, Periglis Cottage. It is quite large, with plenty of room for her studio and hand press, on which she made prints. She was almost self-sufficient, growing vegetables and brewing wine from plants, which locals fondly remember as undrinkable.

Periglis Cottage faces onto Annet, an uninhabited island preserved as a bird sanctuary. She could have looked from her window and seen the most fabulous activity. She was a devoted birder – ‘I do not feel properly dressed if I am not wearing my binoculars’ – and it was the perfect place to write her next book, Birds of the Scilly Isles (1964). Even so, it took her 13 years to write, illustrate and publish. Clearly, moving to a barely inhabited spot was no protection against social distractions. She ran the local WI, was a sacristan in church, checked the annual bird report. And when the BBC naturalist Ludwig Koch came to the Scillies, she hosted him and his team. She joined them as, over four nights in the open on Annet, they managed to record the call of the nocturnal Manx shearwater, a world first. Her cartoon of the visit is glorious.

And yet, despite her achievements, Hilda Quick is a rare bird, hard to track down, without even a Wikipedia page. In 1951 she became the first person to identify and report a blue-cheeked bee-eater in Britain. Let us hope that spotting her wood engravings in future is an easier feat than that. With this perfect little exhibition, the Isles of Scilly Museum & Cultural Centre has made a start.

Classical music Music and lights Richard Bratby

The Galloping Cure Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra/Marsalis/Wang Usher Hall, Edinburgh

Those lights! Thinking back on The Galloping Cure, Missy Mazzoli's new opera for the Edinburgh International Festival, that's what lingers: cascades of lights, shimmering and flickering in every hue that modern LED technology can supply. At first the effect is almost Zen – soothing washes of pinks and blues and ochres, with carousel horses rising and weaving among them. Then, as the action intensifies and the characters succumb to collective mania, they're brighter, faster, more aggressive: a frantic sensory overload, flashing to the rave-derived backbeat of Mazzoli's score. Lucy Carter's lighting designs are meant to transfix you, and they really do.

Hardly the point of an opera, you might say. Nonsense: in this of all arts, visual spectacle is as necessary as music; and has been ever since Monteverdi first dazzled Venetian audiences with fireballs and heavenly chariots. I went to the second performance, and word was already out that the world première the previous night had been cheered to the rafters. According to one headline, I was about to see one of the greatest operas of the 21st century, though admittedly the bar is not high. In the era of Balfe, a Meyerbeer will always seem exceptional.

But no question, in Tom Morris's staging The Galloping Cure was a vivid, engrossing experience, though I wonder how much of the audience enthusiasm was simply relief at having something to look at. You don't expect much, as a rule, from a new opera production. The art has become so visually impoverished that it's genuinely disarming to be presented with colours and wonders and high emotional stakes, instead of lounge suits moping in a white box. Mazzoli is very fashionable in the US, and we'd been briefed that this was an opera about the opioid crisis. It was only natural to expect the worst.

In truth, it was much more interesting. The Galloping Cure is a fantasy, rooted in Kafka and the all-American musical myths of Carousel and The Music Man. The Mephistophelean charmer Lucky Mack (Justin Austin) brings his wondrous carousel to a struggling rural community. A single spin provides escape from cares; further rides promise ecstasy and transcendence. The idealistic town doctor (Daniela Mack) is sceptical, but she's persuaded to endorse the new craze. Anything that promotes mental wellness must surely be good for the community.

Then her daughter Noy (Gabrielle Turgeon) succumbs, and Royce Vavrek's libretto makes an unexpected swerve. We were all set for a stock feminist victory over capitalist evil (go sisters!). Instead, the magical lights fritzed out and the mood turned macabre, with a grisly, E.T.A. Hoffmann-like fixation on eye-gouging. Susan Bullock, playing a deluded old dear, happily and bloodily parted company with her vile jelly, and she wasn't the last. Gore and horse-guts spattered the stage and the bleak final moral was only slightly offset by a chorus of idiot sheep and a pair of singing dogs (complete with surtitles in doggy-speak) played with goofy, arse-dragging glee by Catriona Hewitson and Edward Jowle.

Sounds daft? Sure, but that cocktail of the fantastic, the humorous and the horrifying is what gives The Galloping Cure the authentic atmosphere of a fairy tale – a story capable of infinite retellings rather than another worthy, disposable Issues Opera. This premiere production was excellently sung and played (Stuart Stratford conducted the orchestra of Scottish Opera) and Mazzoli's score was perfectly effective, with beefy post-minimalist orchestration, big singing lines (if no significant melodies), and some pleasingly snobbish details (it's practically subversive, these days, to use pop music as a shorthand for moral corruption). English National Opera could do worse than schedule a London production, and it probably will.

The Galloping Cure was just one novelty in a Festival-wide focus on the music of the US and the following night Wynton Marsalis – in residence with his Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra – played two sets at the Usher Hall with Yuja Wang.

When an eminent classical musician attempts to swing or (worse) improvise, the results are invariably gruesome. Wang, shrewdly, made no attempt at either. Instead, she did her own thing, and Marsalis and his all-stars did theirs. Wang brought crystalline, diamond-studded precision, high-stepping through Tiger Rag and Blue Rondo à la Turk like a supermodel on a catwalk made of brushed cymbals.

The JLCO, meanwhile, darted around her; playing off the contrast, and reminding us how rare and thrilling it is, in 2026, to hear a truly whip-smart big band – that easy, instinctive dialogue between virtuoso players, and those shining walls of saxes and

The Path in the Wheat

Champ de blé, Claude Monet, 1881

There's a brilliance to this day which is almost audible, as though such days come in the round - sound filtered through sound, light filtered through light. Ahead a band of orange-gold, the saturated cousin of last night's full moon, and in the foreground upflicked silvery alfalfa - two crops and a path positioned agreeably off-centre; the sky a brushwork of cirrus.

He would have posed Camille on the path to show the viewer what to feel, how to be. But now that she has been taken he must make the day's rarified rondure so bien vrai – the precious metals, the path curving like a bow – that they will know what to feel without her.

-Helen Farish

Helen Farish's fifth collection, Monet's Broom, will be published by Bloodaxe in November to mark the centenary of the artist's death trombones. In the end, it was what it was; namely, the kind of one-off, wildly improbable artistic encounter that could only happen in August in Edinburgh. Five years after Covid, and four years into Nicola Benedetti's artistic leadership, the EIF might just have regained its mojo.

Television Moscow mule? James Delingpole

Unconditional Apple TV

The Terror: Devil in Silver Sky Atlantic/Now

The competition must be pretty stiff for ‘World’s worst airport to be caught with drugs in your baggage’: Bogota? Miami? Singapore? Ciudad de la Paz? Gatwick? But Moscow would surely have to be a strong contender.

I've been detained there myself, only for an hour. But you're never told why you're being kept waiting, how much longer it will be, or whether this is routine or serious. The young men and women in those oversized peaked hats are perfectly civil but apart from the impenetrable language barrier you're dealing with several centuries' worth of culturally-inbred opacity and bureaucracy. And the prisons don't bear thinking about.

This was all captured most evocatively in the opening scenes of Unconditional, an Israeli thriller about 23-year-old Gali (Talia Lynne Ronn), arrested for drug possession during a layover in Moscow. During the next eight episodes her mother and travelling companion Orna (Liraz Chamami) will be driven to increasingly desperate measures to save her girl, who may or may not be innocent.

The two episodes I’ve seen so far ring very true. For example, there’s the scene where Orna negotiates with a seedy local lawyer to be smuggled inside a prison to meet her daughter – he’ll do it for a fee and so long as she dresses up like a prostitute. (Spoiler: it doesn’t work out.) I can also well believe the show’s cynical view of Israeli politics, as in the section where the country’s foreign minister agrees to make a big deal of Gali’s case so long as her mother doesn’t speak independently to the media. When Orna goes ahead and talks to a TV show, the minister’s aide sabotages her mid-broadcast by briefing the producer that her tearful crowdfunding campaign is a false prospectus because her daughter is a known drug-user.

But though it has started out very promisingly – tense, some good twists, exotic locations, interesting characters, an eye for detail, plus that pleasing sense of unpredictability you often get from foreignlanguage series because their cultural references and mores are alien – I gather from various reviews that it all gets a bit silly. Instead of being just an ordinary mum trying to save her girl, Orna becomes a kind of amateur super-agent, fact-finding beyond the capabilities even of Israel’s intelligence agencies, and embarking on a rescue mission that defies credulity. Shame.

Devil in Silver is the third stand-alone season of American horror series The Terror, inspired initially by the work of the late, highly acclaimed and literate sci-fi writer Dan (Hyperion Cantos) Simmons. Season one was based on the disastrous Franklin expedition of the 1840s, when two Royal Navy polar explorer ships – Erebus and Terror – got trapped in the ice, cannibalism ensuing. Season two was set in a Japanese-American community in California during the second world war. The new one – based on a novel by Victor LaValle – takes place in the present in a New York psychiatric hospital to which an innocent man named Pepper has been outrageously committed after an altercation with a trio of bent coppers.

It's horribly claustrophobic and unsettling. As with One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, you're forced to experience, through the eyes of someone seemingly sane, the despair and helplessness of being trapped in a prison-like system purpose-built to torture you and drive you over the edge while purporting to serve your best interests. The group therapy sessions with a psychiatrist in a Hawaiian shirt who forces the inmates to listen as he reads, very badly, from Moby-Dick are excruciating.

Pepper, a removals man and part-time drum teacher from Queens, is played – implausibly but extremely well – by Dan Stevens. Never, unless you knew it already, would you guess that the chap acting this irascible and increasingly paranoid working-class New Yorker is a Tonbridge-and Cambridge-educated English graduate who starred as love sensation Matthew Crawley in Downton Abbey.

I seem to have recommended quite a bit of horror lately – Widow's Bay, The Shards – not because the genre is my cup of tea but because it's apparently where television wants to invest its money and attention right now. Why? I don't know, but the answer is bound to be depressing. What this means is, if you want to watch quality TV, you often having to endure stressful TV, replete with jump scares, eye-averting gore and nihilism.

I'm prepared to carry on watching Devil in Silver if someone can reassure me that Pepper unites the ragtag band of inmates and leads them in successful rebellion against their vile Nurse Ratched-style oppressors, as well as slaying the evil demon creature (if it's not an hallucination) that lives above the ceiling and preys on the patients. But horror isn't a genre much given to happy endings, so I'm probably being a touch optimistic.

THE GAMER Marvel Tokon: Fighting Souls

Grade: B

The final boss of Marvel Tokon: Fighting Souls, who's called the Champion (they could have tried harder), is up front about his philosophy. ‘Actions are worth more than any word,’ he says. ‘And the greatest action is... to fight!’ Well, that’s Proust told, the big biscuit-dunking jessie.

Here's a very competently made, agreeably hectic new entry in the lineage of that most apparently basic of computer games, the 2D fighter. Ever since the heady days of Yie Ar Kung-Fu, gamers have known there's fun to be had in having a couple of cartoon characters square off and slap each other upside the face.

This one is an anime-style battler featuring an initial roster of 20 well-beloved Marvel superheroes (Wolverine, Deadpool, Captain America etc) where the basic gameplay (chains, blocks, combos, character-specific special attacks) is enriched by a tag-team system where you can swap in other team members ad hoc to do more slapping. Fill the ‘skill gauge’ to enable a flashy cinematic smackdown.

The trick for developers is to produce a game whose skill range includes a high ceiling – skilled players chain combos with pixel-perfect precision – and a low floor, allowing button-mashing duffers to enjoy the game after a few pints. Speaking as a button-mashing duffer, this more than delivers. It’s fun.

Still, boo to the Champion. It’d be nice to see some downloadable content with a team of writers each with their own special attacks: Proust in his dressing-gown giving ‘cork-lined wall-bounce’, Milton unleashing ‘darkness visible’, or Seamus Heaney, perhaps, letting fly a barrage of potatoes. I’m here for it. – Sam Leith

NOTES ON...

Grockles

By Ruari Clark

‘How long have they been here?’ ‘Three generations.’ ‘Ah, just grockles, then.’ Exchanges such as this must have taken place in countless Devon villages. A ‘grockle’ is a Devonshire term for a tourist or incomer. I suppose it could be offensive. But being called a grockle is not usually a term of abuse and in general the word is spoken with a half-smile rather than a grimace. Not least because, in Devon at least, ceasing to be a grockle and becoming its opposite – the local lad or girl – is a generational endeavour.

I am definitely a grockle. I moved to Devon from Huntingdonshire when I was 20 to work on a dairy farm near East Worlington. (Not to be confused with West Worlington, since although within chucking distance of each other they fought on opposing sides in the Civil War.) Fatally, although I still return to Devon occasionally for farming work, I now live in London, perhaps the spiritual home of grockledom.

But I could have lived in Devon until I was 90 and still have been a grockle. My employer's late father, Michael, who had been a Devonshire farmer for more than six decades, used to joke that he himself was still a grockle. Why? He was born in London and only realised that he wanted to be a farmer when he was evacuated to the countryside during the war. A near lifetime of work in Devon's fields was not quite sufficient to make himself a true Devon local.

I was once having a pint in a pub a short drive away from the farm. It was in either Black Dog or Nomansland, which are names of villages not public houses. I went outside for a cigarette and found myself standing next to two young farmers. After a while and a few drags – conversation not being frivolously started in Black Dog or Nomansland – one of them commented on the weather. Probably it had been raining either too much or not enough. Suitably refreshed, talk of the weather led to further conversation.

Whose farm do you work on? Tim Wall's.

What farm's that? Rackleigh. Where's that to? East Worlington. But there the conversation ended. 'Worlington? Few miles away that, that is.' Which made me think I might have achieved the impossible. Being mistaken as a foreigner from East Worlington.

Ironically, I felt less of a grockle on the rare times I went all the way down to Exeter. In the summer, we sometimes went drinking in the pubs on a Saturday evening. I was like wide-eyed Cain Ball in Far from the Madding Crowd who, visiting the city of Bath, also realised too late that 'God didn't provide' em with victuals as well as drink.' Eventually, at God knows what time, we'd try to find our parked car at the Quay and toss coins for who had to use the steering wheel as a pillow. We were always glad to get back to the safety of the farm after a night abroad in south Devon.

Roger Scruton, who was himself a newcomer to his own part of rural England, wrote he learnt from country people ‘the value of many things: of patience and sacrifice, of rooted loves and settled customs’. I have learnt such lessons, too, through meeting men like Michael, who may have been a grockle but was the archetype of the Devon man.

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A grouse with all the trimmings was on the specials board, and we couldn't resist that classic seaside dish. — Angus Colwell, p58

No life Lloyd Evans

A neighbour betrayed me to her 16-year-old son. ‘Lloyd knows about politics,’ she told the youngster. ‘He can help you with your essay.’ I was introduced to a spotty teenager who appraised me suspiciously through a pair of smudged NHS glasses. ‘What’s the essay about?’ I asked. ‘Politics,’ he said. That seemed to leave the field wide open. ‘Contact a few members of the House of Lords and ask them to name their greatest achievement.’ He nodded. ‘Sounds good, thanks,’ he said with an air of finality, like a chef asking a new minion to sweep the floor. I accepted defeat. My plan had been to give him a sagacious ruling from on high. ‘Listen, m’lad.

I guessed his politics teacher was a Trotskyite revolutionary, so I tilted my arguments in favour of abolition

Always do your homework or you'll end up doing someone else's.' But he understood that better than me.

I contacted 30 peers and received half a dozen replies. Quite a low tally. But perhaps it's encouraging that most of them are too busy to answer bothersome letters from random voters. Norman Lamont said that joining the Commons was his outstanding achievement: 'I was first elected when I was 29 and I still remember the thrill of taking my seat in the greatest parliament in the world.'

Lord (Michael) Levy, who once managed the pop icon Alvin Stardust, named the academies programme: ‘Helping turn schools that were in disrepair into very good buildings with good educational programmes for the future of our children.’

William Hague sent a short paragraph printed on his own notepaper, presumably to spare the Exchequer the burden of his correspondence: 'I regard my greatest achievement as the Disability Discrimination Act of 1995 which I drafted and took through parliament.'

Ian Botham wrote: ‘Cricket was great.’ The sport gave him a platform ‘to collect the huge amount of monies from my charity walks to help combat the most common form of childhood leukaemia’.

Neil Kinnock sent a discursive two-page reply about his stint as Labour leader which ‘enabled the party to rebuild and thrive and laid the basis for Tony Blair’s landslide victory in 1997’. He added a footnote which seems strikingly topical. As EU commissioner he brought in rules that oblige the French to stop the Channel crossings: ‘Under the enforced laws, unseaworthy or badly crewed vessels are not permitted to operate anywhere around the coasts and shipping lanes of Europe. If they do not satisfy the high standards, they are detained in a port.’

Estelle Morris, education secretary from 2001 to 2002, named her election to the Commons as her finest hour: 'It is a great privilege for people to trust you to represent them in parliament.' When she left the cabinet, she was mocked for suggesting in her resignation letter that she lacked the skills to lead her department. 'I have not felt I have been as effective as I should be,' she wrote to Tony Blair. But to modern eyes, this looks like a refreshing and principled act of self-sacrifice by an MP who put the national interest before personal ambition.

I had expected some peers to mention their duty to amend legislation, which is their constitutional role, but perhaps that work seems negligible or irrelevant to them. I included this point in a ‘topics for discussion’ paper to help the spotty teenager develop a coherent line of thought in his essay. I guessed that his politics teacher was a frustrated Trotskyite revolutionary, so I tilted my arguments in favour of abolition.

First, the EU parliament is unicameral, which suggests that an upper chamber is superfluous. Secondly, Washington manages with 535 members of Congress while our system supports 1,450 parliamentarians (800 peers and 650 MPs) and yet America's economy is eight times larger than ours. Perhaps by shrinking our bloated parliament, we might expand our slender GDP. Thirdly, peers do the House a disservice by calling it ‘the best club in London’, as if it were an upmarket

LIFE

Wetherspoons where members can sip plonk and exchange gossip. If the House is just a boozer, they should fund it themselves.

At present, the club is paid for by non-members who are barred from enjoying the amenities. This seems unfair, to put it mildly, or larcenous, to put it non-mildly. The Lords repay us by scrutinising and perfecting the badly drafted bills sent to them by the Lower Chamber. But why must we subsidise two assemblies, with more than 1,400 members, to write our laws correctly? The Lords are wise, prosperous and vastly experienced souls whose invaluable advice should be granted to the people for free. Perhaps they need to discover the joys of volunteering. My personal view is that the Upper Chamber should continue, but with a new mechanism to protect everyone from harm. Peers-on-strings. Attach members of the House of Lords to elastic leads that will allow them to stray as far as Pimlico before reeling them safely back to the Palace of Westminster.

I collected the peers' letters, along with my notes, and carried the bundle to my neighbour's house. 'Too late,' said the spotty teenager when he answered the door. 'You missed the deadline.' That was it. Conversation over. In a way, his valediction was a masterstroke of gamesmanship. I had missed the deadline. Not him. He was golden. It was all my fault.

Dog's life Sophia Money-Coutts

Have you read your copy of Dogue, yet? It's become an annual project: Vogue's dog issue. Instead of hungry, cross models in elaborate costumes and articles about the sartorial importance of the earlobe, it's all dogs. A dog on the cover and dog ‘interviews’ alongside fashionable people talking about their dogs.

Fittingly, the Dogue competition winner and cover star does look quite hungry. He's a thin dog (of course) called Sir Spud who appears to be an Ibizan hound. Very Dogue, though, to have an Ibizan dog on the cover. Sir Spud was apparently named by Catholic nuns, would be voiced by Ian McKellen in a film about his life, is a Cancer ‘through and through’ and likes cashew nuts.

Elsewhere in the issue, the world's biggest pop star, Bad Bunny, reveals that his four-year-old beagle, Sansa, likes bananas. Lena Dunham says her hairless dog Ingrid apparently likes to roll in fox poo ‘to the point where we have to wash deep inside her ears’, and Stranger Things star Millie Bobby Brown solemnly declares that her poodle Winnie’s best quality is her mastery of English: ‘She fully understands sentences.’

Dogue comes just a few weeks after Country Life published its own dog issue. 'Hang on, isn't every issue of Country Life a dog issue?' my friend Joe remarked in the pub when I raised the topic of magazines becom-

Dogs mustn't be left alone for too long and should wear coats if it looks like rain

ing increasingly dog-focused. Yes, Country Life often has rare breeds on its covers and the Queen's terriers, Bluebell and Beth, have appeared on the 'girls in pearls' page wearing pearls around their furry necks. But this was its annual dog special, featuring Peggy the miniature bull terrier on its cover ('Britain's naughtiest dog') and doggy articles including an etiquette guide and a piece examining the role of dogs in art. Meanwhile, I have it on good authority that Tatler is considering throwing a Pet Gala next May, shortly after the Met Gala takes place in New York.

Now look, I say this with the greatest admiration and love for dogs, but have we, maybe, lost the plot when it comes to our four-legged pals? As I type, Dennis is lying on his back on the kitchen sofa, legs akimbo. It isn't an elegant pose. It's rather rude, actually; Casanova, weary after a long session. But I could gaze at him for hours. When he wakes, he will shuffle off to his toy basket and pick out one of 43 items, then carry it hopefully over to me to play. I will almost certainly abandon my laptop and comply. Later, for supper, he will enjoy beef fillet leftover from a dinner party, along with a squirt of 'Scottish salmon oil' made for dogs and a probiotic chew after I fell for an advert on Instagram that promised to balance his yeast levels. In short, I've lost the plot too. But do we collectively need to rein it in a bit?

I'm reading Tony Parsons's forthcoming wonderful memoir, Man & Dog, about his Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Stan. In an early chapter, he writes about growing up near Romford with a mongrel called Laddie. 'It was another time then and dogs wandered around Harold Hill as free as cats.' Laddie didn't have a lead, or a collar. Parsons says he cannot ever recollect carrying a poo bag or visiting the vet for vaccinations. The pair roamed the streets together like Just William and Jumble: ‘For both the children and the dogs, it was a life off lead.’

It sounds similar to my mother's recollections of growing up in rural Kent, along with several terriers. (A tumult of terriers? A phalanx? A terror? There were always a few knocking around, at any rate.) My grandmother would simply open the door in the morning, the terriers would hurtle out and not necessarily be seen again until tea time.

Today, dogs are treated like children being groomed for Oxbridge. They must wear special harnesses and be fed a constant supply of treats, ideally grain free. Dogs should not be shouted at or have their noses rubbed in their business if they do it inside (this is now considered abuse by some in the dog world). They mustn't be left alone for too long and should wear coats if it looks like rain. An army of people have sprung up offering to help those of us deranged enough to pay them: dog behaviourists, dog nutritionists, dog osteopaths, dog acupuncturists, holistic dog therapists, dog photographers and so on. One friend has recently put her dog on anti-anxiety medicine to try and solve her separation anxiety (the dog is, technically, the one that's anxious, although my friend has become quite weary with the ordeal).

Now, because so many of us have gone

Britain's best writing, curated for your inbox bonkers, publications are doing the same. Dog magazines already exist (you haven't come across Your Dog or Dogs Today?), but the wily creatures seem to be infiltrating more mainstream titles. How long can it be before The Spectator goes the same way? Charles Moore on the spiritual importance of dogs, Tim Shipman interviews Axel, the Prime Minister's bichon-poo, and Olivia Potts offers healthy dog food you can cook at home. And they say cats are the clever ones.

Still life Catriona Olding

Provence

Looking back on it, apart from this year's wildfires, the stultifying heat of high summer in Provence isn't so bad if you accept that the time to exercise is 6 a.m. and work is only possible before midday and from late afternoon onwards. Holidaymakers and the better-off have pools to jump into and air conditioning to enjoy. But during the afternoons the rest of us lie almost naked on the bed under a ceiling fan, shutters closed, while the Rouge Noir varnish on our toenails melts. I'm told that Frenchmen sit in their pants watching the Tour de France.

One such afternoon about five years ago, Jeremy and I were lying side by side, inert, under the whirring blades of the fan, when we heard voices on the usually quiet public pathway below the bedroom window. An

During the afternoons the rest of us lie almost naked on the bed under a ceiling fan, shutters closed

older man was animatedly telling a young woman about the house. He seemed to know more than I did about the place and spent a long time at the foot of the stone steps looking up at the front door. Curious, I pulled a dress over my head and went down.

Michel was from Marseille and had lived here in the cave house as a child in the mid-1950s. He’d brought his daughter, who lived in Paris, to show her. I invited them in. Michel had tears in his eyes when he saw the living room. ‘My mother slept here,’ he said pointing. ‘I slept up in the bedroom with my brothers and sisters.’ The dining space wasn’t there then he told us, nor the bathroom; there was no mains water. In the 1970s, the house was connected to the village water supply and the owner at the time, a ship’s captain from Brittany, drilled into the rock, enlarging the property and making it comfortably habitable. Soon the four of us – Michel, his daughter, Jeremy and me – were on the terrace sipping rosé.

Michel carried on with his story: 'My mother was beautiful but chaotic, an early hippy. She never married any of the fathers of

A day or two later. I poured myself a drink and began smoking what I hoped would be my last ever cigarette

her five children but was kind and loving – did her best for us. But she couldn't make me go to school. I was scared of the eagle owls who nest in the cliff here and, instead of attending class, I ran wild with the village boys.' I asked him if he, like the boy in Pagnol's La Gloire de mon père, had encountered 'le grand duc' close up, but he couldn't remember. Eagle owls are big, they stand 60-75cm tall and have a wingspan of 160-180cm. A family of them still lives close by and sometimes late on summer evenings as darkness falls, I hear them; the adults hoot and the babies screech. If I'm lucky I see the youngsters taking their first tentative flights along the floodlit cliff, vocalising their whereabouts as they go. Once I saw an adult heading back to the nest with a 2ft-long grass snake in its beak.

Michel told us that when his Parisian father came to visit he was so appalled by how his son was being raised that he took him back to Paris. At the age of eight, having never attended school, Michel was sent to be educated by Jesuits. It was a wrench, but he was a bright boy, settled quickly and did well. A successful career in journalism was followed by an advisory post in President Mitterrand's government.

During the canicule when the night-time temperature stays stubbornly high, I sleep with both the bedroom shutters and windows wide open. Michel came to mind the other night when at around 3 a.m., I heard an eagle owl land on the roof above me. Unnerved, I got up to close the shutters but as I leaned out of the window, the creature launched itself off the roof and swept down, then up. The draft from its massive wings hit me in the face. If little Michel had seen this, I could see why he freaked. In the pitch dark it looked like a vampire.

A day or two later around 10 p.m. I poured myself a drink, sat down at the terrace table and began smoking what I hoped would be my last ever cigarette. Martin the cat lay sprawled on the low wall a few feet in front of me watching, unconvinced. From nowhere three eagle owls flew over us in formation. 'Blimey!' I said, as Martin's eyes followed them. Soon the owls flew back towards the cliff, but the last one stopped short and landed right above my head on the corner of the bamboo awning. If I'd stood up I could have touched its huge talons and still-downy feathers. The scale of it was astonishing. I'd never seen such a bird close up and, anxious for the cat, I froze. So did Martin. His eyes were popping out of his head. For a full minute, the three of us were locked in, forming an equilateral triangle, the sides of which measured less than 4ft long. I couldn't breathe, never mind smoke. Would Martin be taken like some feline Ganymede? A normal-sized healthy cat wouldn't be in danger but a stunted, formerly malnourished one like Martin might.

After what seemed like an age, the eagle owl lost interest, took off and flew back towards its nest. Seeking reassurance, Martin came and sat on my knee, nudging and purring. ‘It’s all right,’ I said, ‘you’re not nearly pretty enough.’

Fast life Tanya Gold

I have been waiting for the VW Golf GTI, because the boy – it would be a stretch to call him a man – I liked in 1991 had one. He used to drive me round Regent's Park in his Golf GTI, and although he went to St Paul's Boys School and was a religious Jew, I thought this made him seem dangerous. I knew nothing. Behind the ambivalent smile his secret was this: he really cared about maths. My sister has a Golf now.

The Golf is the bestselling European car of all time. Globally, only the Toyota Corolla (compact) and the Ford F-Series (truck) beat it: 37 million Golfs have been sold since 1974, which is the equivalent of every single person in Poland owning one, including the babies. It's 52, as I am: the defining car of Generation X's good fortune and hope. The Golf GTI – Grand Touring Injection (or ‘Gran Turismo Iniezione’: it sounds better in Italian) – is only 50, so this is a birthday drive.

I owned an ancient VW Polo once, and loved it, but no one could accuse it of being fast. By the time I bought it – 2006 plate, I think – it was like driving a sheep. The GTI’s top speed is 155 mph – 0-62 mph in 5.6 seconds – and its official designation remains small family car. This makes me laugh until I remember it really is a small family car: 37 million Polish babies can’t be wrong; nor can my sister.

It's a beautiful thing, both neat and broad: bright white, like my friend Richard's teeth. It has a lovely stance, and a quality of waiting and prowling. It's the Clubsport variant, which means faster and hotter than the common GTI: a 2.0-litre turbocharged four-cylinder engine and 296 horsepower.

It behaves normally in Penzance. For the first five minutes I even find it faintly sluggish. Then I take it to the random piece of dual carriageway near Morrison's – dual carriageway is rationed in west Cornwall so it looks like a beached aircraft carrier – hit the accelerator and scream. It was like the time the Daily Mail strapped me to the top of a light aircraft because it is ambivalent about women – by the time I stopped screaming I was in the sky. I can't speak for London, but it's a perfect rural car. I speed into the bends avoiding rabbits – and this year, herring gulls; lack of wind makes them lethargic, and they fly low – and it takes it. It's a beautiful drive for slightly over £40,000. As Tolkien said to Lewis: myths are true.

Still, Cornish roads are hellish. I return from Porthcurno on the A30, not the tiny road with passing places the visitors do not know how to use: neither the Golf nor I will reverse into a bush while people who own camper vans abuse us. This happened to my friend. It was like watching a Winnebago shout at a tricycle for being fat. 'You don't know how big your car is!' he screamed. She did actually. Instead, we zoom along the A30 until we meet the single narrow part, and, as in a nightmare, two tractors come towards us. I want to cry. I live here and I know my duty. I reverse into the bush. The first tractor approaches. I reverse further into the bush. I look at the tractor and know we will not make it. The paintwork the colour of my friend Richard's teeth will not survive the contact, though it must, and not just because it belongs to VW. This car is a boy at heart: an Essex boy. If it had a face, it would wash it. If it had chest hair, it

This car is a boy at heart: an Essex boy. If it had a face, it would wash it. If it had chest hair, it would shave it

would shave it. If it had a shirt, it would iron it. I make a choice. I get out of the Golf and run towards the tractor. I scream. 'Help me!'

He is a ruddy boy. He is properly Cornish, a small to medium giant: that is, he looks like he could casually strangle a cow. He smiles. 'Nice Golf,' he says. He gets out and examines it. He strokes its paintwork. He eyes its headlights. I tell him two things. First, it is not my car. (I don't want to think about why I say this, so I don't.) Second, I am not from London. I am from London, of course, and we both know it. I mean – I am not a visitor. I don't irritate the native Cornish part-time: I am always here. He leaps into the tractor and drives it into his bush – we each have one, there is a glut of bushes in Cornwall – and passes the Golf without contact. He waves goodbye: to the Golf.

Chess Sinquefield Cup Luke McShane

For the third time in his career, Wesley So has won the elite Sinquefield Cup tournament in St Louis, the fifth and final leg of the Grand Chess Tour. He got off to a strong start, with an early win against Jorden Van Foreest who botched a drawn rook endgame, and followed that by beating tournament favourite Caruana, in the superb counterattacking game shown below.

Fabiano Caruana-Wesley So Sinquefield Cup, August 2026

White to play, position after 14...h7-h6

1 d4 Nf6 2 c4 e6 3 Nc3 Bb4 4 a3 Bxc3+ 5 bxc3 c5 6 f3 Nc6 7 e4 d6 8 Ne2 O-O 9 Ng3 b6 10 Be2 Ba6 11 O-O Rc8 12 f4 cxd4 13 cxd4 Na5 14 f5 h6 (see diagram) 15 e5 After the queen exchange, Black's position becomes easier to play. 15 Rf4!? was worth considering, to swing the rook over to h4 with an attack. dxe5 16 dxe5 Qxd1 17 Rxd1 Nh7 18 Bd2 Nb3 19 Rab1 Nxd2 20 Rxd2 Bxc4 21 Bxc4 Rxc4 22 Rd7 Ra4 23 Rb4 Caruana pins his hope on kingside tricks, presumably judging that 23 Rb3 Ng5 would lead only to a slow defeat, Rxa3 24 Rg4 Ra1+! Nimble! 25 Kf2 Ra5 26 f6 26 Nh5 Ng5 27 f6 g6 28 Nf4 Rxe5 29 h4 Ne4+! shows one virtue of the finesse at move 24, dragging the king to f2. g5 27 Re4 Rc8 28 h4 Nf8 29 Rb7 Ng6 30 hxg5 Rc2+ 31 Kg1 Raa2 The counterattack lands first. 32 Rb8+ Kh7 33 Rb7 hxg5 34 Rxf7+ Kh6 35 Nf1 Rxg2+ 36 Kh1 Rgf2 37 Kg1 Nh4 White resigns

PUZZLE NO. 914

White to play. Wojtaszek-Shankland, Rubinstein Memorial, Polanica Zdroj, 2026. Wojtaszek's next move prompted Shankland to resign. What did he play? Email answers to chess@spectator.co.uk by Monday 31 August. There is a prize of a £20 John Lewis voucher for the first correct answer out of a hat. Please include a postal address and allow six weeks for prize delivery.

Last week's solution 1 Ng3! Then 1...Kxg3 2 Rxe3# or 1...fxg3 2 Bg4# or 1...e2 2 Qa3# Last week's winner John Danesh, Cambridge

After that, he was ruthlessly efficient. He steered his remaining White games towards dead draws, saying 'I'm not proud of [them], but it's part of a bigger strategy, and it worked.' With Black he defended patiently to achieve the same result, and never looked in danger. In such a tight field his two wins and seven draws sufficed for a share of first place, where he was joined by Rameshbabu Praggnanandhaa, who took a more adventurous route to the same score (+3, -1, =5).

So maintained that conservative approach in the rapid playoff games, which were both drawn, leaving the winner to be decided in an ‘armageddon’ blitz game. Praggnanandhaa played White with extra time at the start, while So had the Black pieces and draw odds, but landed in desperate trouble in the middlegame.

R. Praggnanandhaa-Wesley So Sinquefield Cup Playoff, August 2026

White to play, position after 27...Qd6-c7

In the diagram, Praggnanandhaa chose the natural 28 e4 to secure the bishop, which threw away a large part of his advantage, whereas 28 Ne4!! would have won on the spot. For example, 28...Bxd5 29 Nf6+ Kg7 30 Nxd7 Qxd7 31 Rxc5 wins, or 28...Qe5 29 Bxb7! wins (since the Ne4 also defends the Rd2). So skirted with defeat later in the game too, but it was Draw agreed at move 85, which is what he needed for tournament victory.

Competition Ods against Victoria Lane

For this Odyssey-inspired Competition 3464 you were invited to submit a passage or poem in which a modern man (or woman!) is trying to get home after a decade away and excuses are needed. Among those deserving of mentions are Basil Ransome-Davies, Bob Newman, Sophia Jackson, Paul Freeman and Nick Syrett, while the prizes go to those below.

Tell me about a complicated man, Muse, how Poseidon's wrath cast him upon A bleak, strange Northern isle. There wanderings Took him to Crawley, where he chanced upon A building great crowds entered eagerly. A slave requested gold; Odysseus slew him, And crept into a vast cave, eerie, dark, Except for one gigantic screen whereon A legend was displayed in vivid shadows; It was, retold with flashbacks and such tricks His own life, sentimentalised – His seven-year Calypso shagathon Became a therapy session; he himself Was simplified into a weepy victim. He cried: ‘Sod this!’, stormed out and set his course Homeward to Ithaca, and his wife and dog. George Simmers

How the cruise ship failed to lose me, how the return headcount from No-Man Island went so wrong – well, the inquiry reported, and your insurance payout was huge. But the island wasn't uninhabited (another lie in their brochure!). The No-Mans, a shyly innocent race, emerged from their underground burrows and hailed me as a god. Pampering: where do I start! No need to lift a finger: they'd discovered wine, were polyamorous. So why did boredom make me itchy? A baobab raft, and I was off, sailing east, till the Chinese container ship spotted me. No phone in my language, of course; they dropped me in a hellhole port, some sort of war rattling overhead, so I volunteered for the first side that offered food. Prison or army: army won (better chance of escape). Swapped sides, hitched a lift on a drone, and here I am. Sorry, sweetheart: did you miss me?

My journey home has lasted ten years. Or so it seems, I've rather lost track. During this time I've been constantly tested by the callous indifference of a many-headed monster and its vile offspring, the Goddess of Couldn't Care Less. Seduced by her promise to reconnect me with my loved ones, I boarded her shabby vessel, only to be immediately diverted and taken to some hellish places with little chance of escape. I'm now marooned again, God knows where. Then I hear a voice calling but the words spoken are unintelligible. I've had these messages before and know that my odyssey still isn't over. If by some remote possibility I'm ever reconnected with my much-admired Penny, who's apparently been slowly unravelling in my absence, at least I'll have a ready excuse for my delayed homecoming. 'Sorry I'm late, darling, you can blame Network Rail and Avanti West Coast.' Sue Pickard

Dear Reform Club members, you ask why it has taken me ten years to return from my circumnavigation of the world. Unfortunately, I have been beset by passport control delays, security checks and accusations of

Crossword 2767: Smoky by Doc

being an illegal immigrant. Uber expenses, red tape, online forms and GPS directions have proved challenging, while Passepartout's struggles with Google Translate and Duolingo mean we can insult people in six different languages. Other complications have included the Covid pandemic halting all travel, exorbitant currency exchange rates, corrupt officials, hacked technology, acts of terrorism, protest marches, astronomical fuel prices and astoundingly bad traffic. British Airways lost our luggage 49 times. My marriage to a lovely princess of India created visa issues. Incidentally, Passepartout left an electric light burning at home, so our energy bill currently exceeds one million pounds. For my next wager I hope to actually leave the UK. Yours, Phileas Fogg. Janine Beacham

This is Ground Control to Major Tom: Your wife is asking when you'll be back home. Beep. Tell my wife I love her very much – She knows. She just needs you to get in touch. I can't, my spaceship's far beyond the moon; I won't be in Earth's orbit very soon – Discovered life on Mars, and now I'm stranded – Beep. Leaving Earth behind will be a wrench – Beep. Major, where exactly have you landed? And who's that in the background speaking French? And where on Mars is there an Eiffel Tower? You're breaking up – my spaceship's losing power – Where are you? Can you hear me Major Tom? I know that you can hear me, Major Tom... Here am I beep beep floating in the blue Above the moon, there's nothing I can do... David Silverman

I'd no problems with passports or while checking-in, So I got on the flight without any delay. Then two drunks had a fight for an overhead bin, So we all got de-planed and that cost me a day. Then, when we took off, some volcano erupted, And the captain announced we would go to Lahore. With air to ground communications disrupted We turned round and went back to Auckland once more. I went on a different route on the third day, Which, at the time, seemed like a clever manoeuvre, But the President took Air Force One to L.A., So we got diverted to land in Vancouver. On my flight to Heathrow (which was a real bargain) Two Russian jets came very close for a look. That's why you saw my ticket says Copenhagen, Where I had a stopover coming from Huuk. David Blakey

Ten years! Thank God the journey's nearly ended, one day, two dozen books might tell my tale. Orbiting the moon was not intended, but now I am on course with British Rail. The train halts, sending shivers down my spine, a power cut! To amplify my fears I hear emergency sirens down the line (so loud I find I have to block my ears), warning rolling stock they must beware. A one-eyed guard says, 'Sit back, take it easy, the restaurant car is open.' I'll forbear, the pork on offer makes me feel quite queasy. How long shall I be trapped outside this station and will I ever reach my destination? Sylvia Fairley

NO. 3467: BACK TO IT

You're invited to submit a passage in the style of a classic school story as the new term starts (150 words max). Please email entries to competition@spectator.co.uk by 9 September.

The unclued lights (including a pair) are of a kind and are located in the yellow squares (two words) when they are read in order along the rows.

Across

Across 1 Weight gain shed in horse-drawn carriage (5) 4 Fighter in the ring plagues German hounds (5,4) 10 ‘Kill mother’ that’s title of text address (6,4) 11 Unreal doctor dealing with nerves (6) 12 A feudal change that’s sincere over the border (7) 14 Endlessly view bottom that’s fat (5) 15 Coach to the height of perfection (5) 16 Softer and smoother increase. That is right (6) 22 Cycle with party member moving round a fixed point (8) 23 Circus performer is alone, sadly (3,4) 24 One starts roosting in maple tree (4) 25 Three birds and a moth (4) 27 ‘Grand’ French palace excursion not finishing soon (7) 29 Musical direction could make Glière go (8) 32 It’s attractive as a boy’s story magazine (6) 35 Adjust whiskey encased in wood (5) 36 Working well, where the breakfast butter may be spread (2,1,4) 37 Resides at spa in outskirts of Dumfries (6) 38 On reflection, supposing that substitutes sitting room features (10) 40 Polishes text of Kidnapped it seems (5)

1 Wine list teetotaller reviews in village in Longdendale Valley (10) 2 Composition from Penelope Radcliffe (5) 5 Robin rules out fitments for 38 (3,7) 6 Vaccinations injured manatee (7) 7 Maiden in state of ignorance providing money no more (1-4) 15 Even-tempered, but cold in tartan (6) 19 Entrances on ships yet to be reconstructed (10) 20 Soldiers in rearguard action getting respect (9) 21 Polish language, reportedly (6) 26 Gets comfy on benches (7) 28 Managed eating nuts before a time of fasting (7) 30 We're unanimous that it's a vice (6) 31 Cut grass in long narrow area, almost miles (5) 33 A Celt organised brilliant display (5) 34 Lake of Caledonian highlands, primarily (4)

A first prize of a £30 John Lewis voucher and two runners-up prizes of £20 vouchers for the first correct solutions opened on 14 September. Please scan or photograph entries and email them (including the crossword number in the subject field) to crosswords@spectator.co.uk, or post to: Crossword 2767, The Spectator, 22 Old Queen Street, London SW1H 9HP.

SOLUTION TO 2764: PLACE-NAMES

The unclued lights are boys' and girls' names which are also place-names. See Chambers 13th edition, p. 1833, et. seq.

First prize Sonny Waight, Bristol Runners-up Tom Lorimer, London W12 Robert Cave, Everthorpe, Brough

Food Sea sea HQ Angus Colwell

'Expect David Cameron to be there.' This was the main thing I had been told before I went to Four Boys in Rock, Cornwall. As I arrive, it makes sense. This is a Cameron-y sort of place and not just because every man in here looks a bit like David Cameron.

Why? Well, Cameron's big idea as leader of the Conservative party was to modernise it. ‘We’ll get elected if we hug hoodies and manage to not pull a face when we see an avocado.’ Four Boys, with its awareness of fashion, is doing something similar. I notice something at the top of the menu when I sit down. ‘We recommend sharing our food.’

What? Small plates?! Sharing?! I'm trying to get away from east London! Yet all has been done judiciously. Nine out of ten items on the menu sound as though they haven't come from further than ten miles away:

What? Small plates?! Sharing?! I'm trying to get away from east London!

there's no place-fuddling ingredients, there's no nduja, there's no hot honey.

This place's ethos is somewhat new. For the past few decades, Cornwall's high-end restaurant scene has been controlled by a traditionalist mafia: Dons Stein, Ainsworth and Outlaw, outdoing each other to see who can do least to a fillet of cod.

Four Boys (named after the four sons who run the restaurant their mother owns) is a bit more energetic. It dares to risk the charge of pretension, of fiddling, but everything is in check, everything is peaceful and I am on my holiday and this is going to be a nice lunch. The sea is right there, and the waiting staff (both guy and girl!) are all models.

Starters are first, thankfully, and out comes beef tonnato with caperberries and rosemary (£14). Roast beef is better cold and it works with a tonnato sauce that's heavy on the rosemary. A sea bass crudo (£14) makes me feel energetic and healthy; chicken livers on toast with marsala (£13) don't, but I don't want them to. I love how they've done these livers. Often chefs chop them finely, maybe even pulse them into an almost-purée, and you get the sense they want to hide the organ from the diner. These ones were hardly chopped at all and they were the best starter. But a confit tuna (ey?), butterbean and tomato salad (£14) from the specials board made me think there was some tuna to get rid of.

The mains fulfilled the diner's sea-side fantasy of imagining everything had come out of the sea that morning. Line-caught sea bass, line-caught brill, and, of course, line-caught grouse. Yes, a grouse with all the trimmings was on the specials board (£35), and we couldn't resist that classic seaside dish. As always the trimmings were the best bit, particularly a liver parfait on toast. A friend and I hacked away at the grouse's ribcage so much that we got down to its windpipe and lungs, which we considered eating briefly but our companions looked ill.

Lobster came as a risotto (£30), and was the dish of the meal: the amount of lobster in there suggested that Four Boys actually likes its customers. Sea bass (£26) came with mussels and spring onion, while the brill (£30) was baked with fennel and spring onion: both spring onion dishes were good. Tiramisu (£9) and a tough-to-say sherry and cherry trifle (£9) were also nice. Cameron didn't show up, so my 2015 election manifesto went unsigned.

Cornwall appeals to those who get a bit antsy in England's more bucolic countryside. Give me waves and cliffs and six pints of Rattler. But here at Four Boys, things were still, things were serene, and things were marginally but significantly different.

Four Boys, Ferry Point, Rock, Cornwall; tel: 01208 640721.

DEAR MARY YOUR PROBLEMS SOLVED

Q. We have made friends with a very unpopular local man and would like to skewer the myths about him by inviting others to meet him. The background is that we moved to the country from London last year so our children could go to a decent (free) day school and consequently our social life has very much centred on fellow parents. But over the summer we have been seeing our neighbouring landowner, also a newcomer, who we had been told was poisonous company.

We have found him adorable! My husband resents the idea that, if we invite him to a supper party, we should have to run his name past other potential guests as though asking for permission to include him. But not warning people he will be there could lead to awkwardness on the night. What do you advise?

– Name and address withheld

A. Country dinner parties often feature a WhatsApp group so invitees can coordinate lifts and share babysitting. These are set up after guests have accepted. Why not issue the invitation on a WhatsApp group in the first place? In this way all proposed guests can see the landowner has been invited and whether he has accepted. They then have the option to keep their minds closed by pretending they are busy, or to come along and see if they too find him adorable.

Q. I am a 32-year-old male. I have lost rather a lot of weight recently the old-fashioned way, controlling my diet and taking a lot more exercise. However, friends keep asking if I have taken Mounjaro or Ozempic. This is really annoying because I have done the hard yard. How can I set the record straight? – R.H., Woodborough, Wilts

A. Why not organise a fitness event like a 5K run with dinner afterwards and invite the chief offenders. In this way you will demonstrate your own new physical competence while putting theirs to shame.

Q. I was dining in Notting Hill and a woman at the next table, who I overheard saying she'd read English at university, was lecturing three other women about Yeats and peppering her poetry Ted talk with selections of her favourite lines of his which she read off laminated sheets. Every time she mentioned his name she said Yeets, not Yates. Should I have intervened? – Mrs D., London W11

A. Indeed. You might have come forward as a wolf in sheep's clothing, saying: 'Please forgive me for interrupting but I'm delighted to hear you pronouncing Yates Yeets. All these years I knew I was right about that because, of course we say John Keets, don't we? But don't you find a lot of Yeets fans object to your calling him Yeets when he and his own family always called themselves Yates?'

I love our offers with Armit Wines. They always put up fascinating wines, which makes life interesting for me, and they always offer tasty discounts (up to 21 per cent this week), which makes life rosy for you.

I prepared to taste Armit's latest suggestions on my own, poor Mrs Ray feeling a little piano after the previous night's book club, but the sound of popping corks triggered her Fomo and raised her spirits sufficiently for her to join me for the reds.

She's a pushover for fine Pinot Noir and wine 4 put her firmly back on track. She had more than rallied by wine 6, so much so that she insisted on going back and casting her eyes over the whites too. 'I'm only trying to help,' she said sniffily. 'I could be doing other things you know.' She's a trouper.

From the Cantele family's vineyards in Puglia, deep in Italy's heel, between Brindisi and Lecce, the 2024 Cantele Teresa Manara Chardonnay (1) is a wine of real style. Puglia produces more wine than any other region of Italy and it was Augusto Cantele who pioneered the planting and oak-ageing of Chardonnay here (it's really Trebbiano and Fiano country), and this is a gem. Full, ripe, concentrated and creamy, with honey, nuts, vanilla and baked apple, it's beautifully crafted and a great price. £17.05 down from £21.52.

We offered the previous vintage of the 2024 Fattoria le Pupille Poggio Argentato (2) last year and I love this incarnation even more. A bizarre (and surely unique) blend of Sauvignon Blanc, Petit Manseng, Sémillon and Traminer from the Maremma in Tuscany, it somehow just works. It's spicy, peachy, citrusy, sherberty and herbal and about as tasty and quirky a summer wine as you'll find. It's right up my street. £18.58 down from £23.38.

The 2023 Chablis Dauvissat ‘Les Brèches de Fyé’ (3) is more classic fare and as fine an example of Chablis AOC as I’ve had in ages, certainly at such a good price (which I haven’t seen bettered anywhere else). Made by Florent Dauvissat, son of the domaine founders, Didier and Agnès, it’s textbook Chablis, grown on Kimmeridgian soil, with cool-fermentation, malolactic fermentation and ageing on the lees in stainless steel. It’s crisp, clean, cit rusy and fresh, ever so lightly honeyed and delicious. £21.25 down from £26.58.

The 2023 Domaine Bart Marsannay (4), from the far north of the Côte d'Or, shows Pinot Noir at its engaging best. Produced by sixth generation vigneron, Pierre Bart, according to organic principles (albeit the estate isn't officially certified as such), it's aged in a mix of barrels, foudres and demi-

If only all red burgundy at this price was this good

muids, with just the tiniest use of new oak, and is full of fresh strawberry and cherry fruit, soft tannins and a hint of spice. If only all red burgundy at this price was this good. £19.75 down from £24.78.

The 2021 Mendel Malbec (5) was a huge hit when we offered it here last year, so no apologies for the repeat. Indeed, you should be falling on my neck in gratitude because it's beautifully on song, produced by a fine boutique winery from 100-year-old, ungrafted vines grown 1,000 metres up the Andes foothills. It's deeply coloured, richly flavoured and violet-scented, and if you're stuck for something to have with that barbecued T-bone steak, look no further, especially since it's almost six quid off the RRP. £23.83 down from £29.60.

Finally, from Tenuta San Guido, the home of mighty Sassicaia, the 2024 Le Difese (6), in its 22nd vintage. A blend of estate-grown Cabernet Sauvignon and more widely sourced Sangiovese, it's aged in oak for 12 months and in bottle for three before release. It boasts all that Super Tuscan stardust and is delectably approachable this young but will age beautifully. I found its rich red and dark fruit, fine structure and long, long finish, irresistible. Indeed, with just a modest amount of help from Mrs Ray (who'd already seen off the Marsannay), I easily drained the bottle. £24.72 down from £30.72.

The mixed case (7) contains two bottles of each wine and delivery, as ever, is free.

To find out more about our Winemaker Lunches, Masterclasses and Wine Tours, visit www.spectator.com/tastings.

ORDER FORM Spectator Wine Offer

www.armitwines.co.uk/spectator-2026

Armit Wines Ltd, The Triangle, 2nd Floor, 5-17 Hammersmith Grove, London W6 0LG Tel: 020 7908 0600; Email: web@armitwines.co.uk

Prices in form are per case of 12 except for the mixed dozen			List	Club
White	1	2024 Cantele Teresa Manara Chardonnay, 13.5%	£258.24	£204.64
	2	2024 Fattoria le Pupille Poggio Argentato, 13%	£280.59	£222.99
	3	2023 Chablis Dauvissat ‘Les Brèches de Fyé’, 13%	£318.99	£254.99
Red	4	2023 Domaine Bart Marsannay, 13%	£297.39	£236.99
	5	2021 Mendel Malbec, 14.5%	£355.15	£285.95
	6	2024 Le Difese, 13.5%	£368.64	£296.64
Mixed	7	Two bottles each of wines 1-6	£313.16	£250.36

Prices include VAT and delivery on the British mainland. This offer, which is subject to availability, closes on 10 October 2026. Payment should be made either by phone or direct from the website (see details above or scan the QR code to the right). View the full list at www.armitwines.co.uk/spectator-2026

MICHAEL HEATH

No sacred cows Bring back the privileged class Toby Young

It has become a summer ritual for the Young family to attend the annual tennis tournament in Hunstanton, a Victorian seaside town in Norfolk. Normally a minor stop on the amateur circuit, it was elevated to number three in the county earlier this year on account of the quality of its grass courts. For some reason, they have suffered less than most from the drought, although they looked pretty threadbare to me. Separately, it is graded 5/6 by the LTA.

About ten years ago, Caroline entered the ladies' doubles and, because she was partnered by her tennis coach, took home a cup. It's been downhill ever since, with the young Youngs making less progress each year as they're forced to compete in older categories. I'm not a player – or, rather, I am but cannot abide the humiliation of being beaten by some wily vet in his eighties – so my role is to sit on the sidelines and assure my children they've played really well after they go out in the first round.

It's easy to sneer at Hunstanton – the tournament, not the town – and I've been guilty of that myself. Most of the older attendees, with their Land Rover Defenders and burgundy gilets, could have walked straight out of The Sloane Ranger Handbook, while their teenage children drink too much and terrorise the town at night, only to show up on court first thing in the

Forty years have elapsed and that dream of a new Britain run by a meritocratic elite has turned sour

morning and play beautiful tennis. There’s a sense that everyone belongs to the same social milieu, having gone to public schools and then on to Russell Group universities. Even Caroline, who went to Cheltenham Ladies’ College, can become a bit ‘class warrior’ at times. After a man in his fifties recounted a story of being allowed into Switzerland for a week’s skiing in spite of having forgotten his passport, she turned to me and said: ‘That’s white privilege.’ (The context for this is that I’ve long maintained there’s no such thing.)

But this demographic undoubtedly has many virtues and I sometimes think Britain would be in better shape if they were still in charge. For one thing, they're quietly patriotic and many do their bit to maintain the institutional fabric of the country. On Sunday I attended evensong at a church in Holme-next-the-Sea, a neighbouring village, and was impressed to see that the parishioners were only £16,000 short of raising half a million pounds for the restoration of the Norman tower. It's not unusual, when sitting down for a beer after a match, to discover that the red-trousered, pink-faced man sitting next to you is the chair of a big cancer charity. People like him have been chased out of politics, but they've found other ways to serve. When talking about their children's career plans, you can hear the regret in their voices when they reveal they're moving to Australia – and not just because they'll be so far away. They know their type is no longer wanted in Burnham's Britain.

I was particularly struck by what a loss this is when watching some of the doubles matches in which beginners were paired up with seeded players.

Sometimes, the sides were ridiculously uneven, and it would have been easy for one pair to prevail by constantly hitting the ball at the novice on the other side. But that rarely happened. Instead, the experienced players would modulate their strokes, sending fast balls fizzing over the net to one half of the court and much softer shots to the other. Nor did the stronger players express their frustration when their partners lost a point. Where else in the world would competitive tennis enthusiasts behave like this? Only in Hunstanton.

Maybe I'm guilty of romanticising this fading demographic, and God knows they have their faults. At Oxford, where I was surrounded by them, all I could see was their complacency and insularity and looked forward to a new age of opportunity when they'd be replaced with the best and the brightest from every walk of life. But 40 years have elapsed and that dream of a new Britain run by a meritocratic elite has turned sour. Our lanyard-wearing overlords owe as much to inherited privilege as the class they've eclipsed, only they're the sons and daughters of chippy public-sector managers and Labour apparatchiks. They're animated not by a sense of public duty but by inter-generational grievance, and seem determined to dismantle the traditions and institutions they've been bequeathed. Their project is to turn Great Britain and Northern Ireland into the Yookay – a comically awful parody of what used to be a flourishing constitutional monarchy – and they are three-quarters of the way there. If you want to know what it is they loathe so much about the old country, you could do worse than make a trip to Hunstanton.

The Wiki Man Why dating apps don’t work Rory Sutherland

My father once attended a dinner for 12 where an intense argument arose over splitting the bill. After 15 minutes, a happy compromise emerged, at which point one diner, someone an order of magnitude richer than everyone else at the table, piped up with: 'But I didn't have any wine.' This is the perfect example of a valid consideration being introduced at completely the wrong point in the process.

Bear this in mind, because I think there is an optimistic and relatively benign way to look at Britain's bureaucratic sclerosis without hanging every public-sector employee from their own lanyard.

According to this more benign diagnosis, it's not that Britain's bureaucrats are intrinsically useless or ill-intentioned. It's simply that, to maintain the pretence of objectivity and hence to protect against criticism or litigation, institutions increasingly choose to hide behind badly ordered, sequential processes designed to look ostensibly rational, while the end result is dumb, slow or impossible.

Why was the speed of HS2 determined first and the route determined second? The two factors are clearly

Provided a decision- making process feels rational, we don't notice the prospective opportunities it denies to us

interdependent. It may look organisa- tionally neat to define precisely what you are optimising in advance, but in the real world the best solutions typi- cally emerge through iterative explor- ration, not some linear process.

In medicine, this path-dependency problem is known as ‘diagnostic momentum’ – the risk that the initial diagnosis a patient receives has a disproportionate effect on subsequent treatment. If you imagine a hospital where every patient was first examined by a dermatologist, you can see why this might cause problems. But no one seems to have noticed that, in government, if everything must be first modelled and vetted by the Treasury, you will end up with a similar distortion in decision-making. Similarly, in the private sector, functions like HR, finance, compliance or procurement have become proscriptive.

Often the more you compartmentalise a decision-making process in order to appear rational, the less effective it becomes. One of the reasons I fervently defend the jury system is that a jury is under no obligation to explain their verdict, which gives them a freedom to wield intuitive skills denied to those who must rationalise a decision.

In the same vein, two decision-making tools used by millions of people may be massively flawed. One is the dating app; the other is the property search website. Both mimic intelligent decision-making processes while being deeply biased.

Bonded by Evolution, by the evolutionary psychologist Paul Eastwick, provides abundant empirical evidence showing that the initial criteria people use online to pick a romantic partner have almost no predictive value as to the value or duration of a real-world relationship.

For instance, two heterosexual men, being shown images of two women, will agree 75 per cent of the time on which of the pair is more attractive. On becoming socially acquainted with these people, however, the figure falls to 53 per cent.

(I once had a highly intelligent American colleague who was rejected for dates on Tinder because she liked Hawaiian pizza. Few people are more disgusted than I am by the idea of pineapple on a pizza, but I don't think it need be a romantic deal-breaker.)

Rightmove, which is also a dating app of sorts, also seems to demand that you limit your selection of property on a narrow set of arbitrary criteria: place, price, number of bedrooms and so forth. Yet how well do these predict the lasting enjoyment you will derive from a property compared with something really important, like proximity to a really good pub?

Yet provided a decision-making process feels rational, we don't notice the prospective opportunities it denies to us. And in institutional decision-making, the consequences of a decision matter less than your ability to defend how you arrived at it. AI may free us from this to some extent, but it all depends who writes the question.

ANCIENT AND MODERN A Greek tragedy

The Chancellor of the University of Cambridge has said the university has ‘lessons to learn from the Jason Arday tragedy’. Well, you can make words mean what you want – the ancient Greeks invented the word tragóidia and it meant ‘goat-song’ – but is ‘tragic’ really the word for Arday?

Tragedies reworked the fate of great ancient heroes, whose death was of high significance and meaning to the watching audience. Such dramas were typically characterised by a number of markers. They could include prophecies, warnings, ignorance of the true state of

affairs (generating irony), over-confidence accompanied by self-delusion and understanding too late to avoid disaster. A hero's fall created sympathy because he usually acted for the best of intentions, generating a strong sense of pointless loss when the inevitable occurred and creating a coherent, aesthetically satisfying emotional experience for the audience.

It would be a brave man who attempted to make a tragedy in such terms about Arday. But there is one technical sense in which he meets the criterion of the tragic actor on the Greek stage. Arday seems to have spent much of his life creating a persona for himself. That is the Latin word for a stage mask. The Greek word was prosôpon, which meant both a mask and a dramatic part or character. Dionysus, the god of theatre, was never seen without his mask. On stage the human actor wore one to help him reinvent himself so that he could convincingly inhabit his new character.

Arday did this so successfully that he became a regular voice on the BBC and its comment shows such as The Moral Maze and Question Time, and as guest editor on Today, and gained a series of chairs of sociology at provincial universities. His academic and teaching records were not especially lustrous but, with his ‘diversity’, he gained the chair at Cambridge. Journalistic nemesis then struck with devastating revelations about the nature of many of his claims. His persona fell apart, so did his world, so did Cambridge and so did he. — Peter Jones

Seen elsewhere My sympathies with Meghan Jim Grenville

As seen in the Daily Telegraph is the end of silly season, when those of us who presume to scribe for a living scrape the bottom of the barrel. So we return to Markle, Duchess of Sussex and driver of clicks, summoning up the venom and spewing it over her American habits (shudder).

Truth be told, I am not dispositionally opposed to her, partly for raison d'biographie. Having failed to make it to Cambridge on the first attempt, I snuck in as a postgraduate studying for a two-year MPhil. I showed up to my Middle Common Room in a borrowed Old Carthusian tie, a too-big Barbour ('it belonged to an uncle in the Guards, dear') and an invented family connection to the 'Duke of Omnium'.

So I have always nursed a sneaking fondness for my fellow adventurer Meghan Markle, a Los Angeles girl-done-good. Like her, I once saw the ladder to my advancement reposed

Like her, I once saw the ladder to my advancement reposed in the trousers of a floppy-haired scion of the English upper classes

in the trousers of a floppy-haired scion of the English upper classes, the dopey Sebastian Flyte to my wily Charles Ryder, a golden-haired youth whom I met at the Oratory in the long, blissful summer of 2022. But like Meghan, my plans came unstuck when the fellow's harridan of a grandmother sniffed out my esurient appetites and put a hard stop to my Chalfontian scheming.

So you shall not hear me denounce a fellow opportunist. Indeed, you may even note that I stayed my hand during l'affaire d'Arday, despite it concerning my own alma mater. And as such I cannot bring myself to join in the chorus of abuse that's now being directed at the Sussexes in the lead-up to reverse Meg-exit. I feel the selfsame softness towards them that I feel to Afghan migrants who convert to Christianity, whither the tabloid nonsense about them getting a little handsy with the locals. So while I could pen a cool 700 words with my eyes closed on how one can't have the privileges of royalty without the responsibilities, my heart isn't in it.

Is my hack's instinct going dull? At a Young Conservatives event held in London last week (the organisers generously stretched the definition of ‘young’ to include the under-fifties) I decided to sound out some of the people whose judgment I trust.

‘Meghan is not in charge. I am in charge now,’ said Kemi Badenoch – herself no stranger to the telling of tall tales. ‘Meghan needs to stop talking.

She needs to go away and be quiet for a while. She is trying to commentate. I am trying to lead. The Conservative party is under new management.'

I refilled my glass of white wine before heading towards Grant Shapps, an omnipresence at dingy Tory drinks events since losing his seat in 2024. He dodged my question, and instead told me about an exciting business opportunity that involves selling kitchen knives door-to-door.

My last port of call was that venerable dreadnought of the Telegraph, Lord Blackwater, aka Simon Heffer. As ever, at the mention of a non-white person, Lord Blackwater interjected to inform me that Enoch Powell was not a racist and that he would have been a staunch supporter of Mrs Markle.

I returned home none the wiser. Settling into my favourite armchair with a cup of Earl Grey, I condescended to ask Mummy what she thought of the whole issue. What followed was a string of unprintable expletives ('Hollywood bimbo' being the least racially tinged) that caused my loyal pooch Coleridge to bolt from the room.

I smiled ruefully. We writers can write fussy recondite essays defending the constitutional settlement, but as ever it is the Mail sidebar that animates the vox populi. Those purchasers of silver jubilee tea sets who a generation ago fixed portraits of George VI to the walls of their landings. Those legions of loyal subjects who bless His Majesty King Charles with unimpeachable popular sovereignty.

MIND YOUR LANGUAGE Taxi

Error sticks to the word taxi like ants to an echidna's tongue. Ten years ago I wrote here that I'd heard a cabby on the wireless explain that the word taxi came from its German inventor, whose name was Thurn und Taxis. This blunder swarms all over the internet. 'At the end of the 18th century,' goes one version, 'the Thurn und Taxis family, who managed thousands of carriages and horses with which they distributed mail, decided to diversify their business, using their network and their vehicles also for passenger transport... Their name, Taxis, may have inspired the modern term taxi...' But it didn't. The Thurn und Taxis family did run international postal services under the Habsburgs. Their family names meant Tower and Badger, but they did not invent those either.

Another erroneous etymology is that taxi comes from the modern Greek taxidi, ‘a journey’. Taxidi comes from the same ancient Greek word that gives us taxonomy and taxidermy, but not taxi. A variant error is to derive taxi from ancient Greek tachys,

'swift'. In fact taxi, originally taximeter cab, comes from German Taxameter, a device patented in 1890 to measure distance, to calculate fares. An earlier device patented in Germany in 1877 was called the Taxanom. The tax-element was consciously derived from the late Latin taxa, 'tariff'. Taximeter came into use in English to refer to the German innovation a decade before taximeter cab appeared in Britain in 1907 and was promptly abbreviated as taxi. When taximeter first appeared in the OED, in 1910, the stress was given on the second syllable: tack-scimitar.

I don't know where my husband has put it, but I did possess a fat red book called The London Hackney Cab Fares and Distances: Giving nearly Thirteen Thousand Distances in Miles and Yards. These fares were priced at 6d a mile within four miles of Charing Cross. The book would have appealed to Branwell Brontë, who died five years before its first edition in 1853. He was reputed to have learnt all the byways of London without going there. Earth, he might have thought, has not anything to show more fare.

— Dot Wordsworth

THE SPECTATOR Dates for your diary

Be part of the conversation at a Spectator debate, spend an evening with an acclaimed author or raise a glass, or two, in the Spectator boardroom

DEBATE Wealth Tax Debate: Laffer vs Bastani Tuesday 8 September, 7.30pm The British Library London

DEBATE Have women ever had it so good? Thursday 10 September, 7pm 6 Old Queen Street London

WINE CLUB Kumeu River Wednesday 16 September, 7pm Old Queen Street London

WALK The Political Homes of Westminster Sunday 27 September, 3pm Westminster London

DEBATE The Nixon Revival Wednesday 30 September, 7pm EDT (12am BST) Fifth Avenue New York

WINE CLUB Santa Rita Grand Cru Thursday 29 October, 12.15pm Boisdale Canary Wharf London
To book, go to spectator.com/events

Be a hunter. Not a tracker.

In a volatile investment climate it can pay to hunt Profits actively. If you only track an Index, there's a danger of finding some unpleasant surprises mixed in with Profits. That's why our Hunters have always taken the selective path. Relying on the instincts of a hunter, not a tracker. Your capital is at risk.

QA Report - The Spectator - 29.08.2026.pdf

Pipeline

• Extraction route: mineru-vlm
• extraction_route=mineru-vlm
• Translation chunks: 111
• Extraction warnings:
• [MINERU-VLM] Successfully extracted via MinerU VLM (batch: bee256df-9923-4611-86bc-732cbd8f2dc6)

Non-model Checks

• WARNING: missing numeric tokens from source: 375, 74.6
• WARNING: Missing proper nouns in translation: Abbey Road Studios, Abroad

President Volodymyr Zelensky, Across

Across, Air Force One, Albert Museum, Alexander Pelling, Alfred Prufrock, Allison Janney, Alternative Music, American Indians - WARNING: source dates, money, or percentage tokens may be missing

Model QA

经过严格审核，该翻译件存在多处致命缺陷（BLOCKING），主要集中在对核心政治人物身份的严重误译以及关键数字的单位冗余。

以下是详细审核报告：

═══ 审核报告 ═══

1. 核心人物身份错误 (Critical Hallucination/Mistranslation)

• 问题：译文将 Andy Burnham 翻译为“新任首相” (The new prime minister)。
• 核查：
  • 抽样原文：Upon entering Downing Street, Andy Burnham promised... / The new prime minister has so far avoided Liz Truss’s fate...
  • 事实核查：在现实政治及本文语境中，Keir Starmer 是首相。Andy Burnham 是大曼彻斯特市长。原文此处可能由于 OCR 错误或作者在某种假设/讽刺语境下的写法，但译文直接将其定性为“新任首相”且在全文多次重复，导致政治逻辑完全崩溃。
• 严重级别：[BLOCKING]

2. 数字单位冗余 (Translation Quality)

• 问题：译文中多次出现 746 亿英镑 billion、50 亿英镑 billion、3540 亿英镑 billion。
• 核查：原文为 £74.6 billion 等。译文在翻译为中文“亿”的同时，保留了英文单位 billion，造成语义重复且不专业。
• 严重级别：[WARNING]

3. 关键术语/人名误译 (Accuracy)

• 问题：译文将 James Heale 翻译为“詹姆斯·希尔”。
• 核查：BYLINE SAMPLE 中明确标注为 James Heale。Heale 通常译为“希尔”或“希利”，但文中在同一篇幅内，将 John Healey 译为“约翰·希利”，导致两个不同的人名在中文里产生了混淆。
• 严重级别：[WARNING]

4. 交付标签/残留 (Clean-up)

• 问题：译文中出现 ![](images / ...) 等图片占位符及 ...[MIDDLE PORTION OMITTED FOR QA]... 等系统标签。
• 核查：根据第三步要求，正文中出现内部清理标签属于致命缺陷。
• 严重级别：[BLOCKING]

5. 幻觉核查 (Hallucination Check)

• 内容：译文中提到“凯米·巴德诺克 (Kemi Badenoch)”以及关于“厨刀商业机会”的对话。
• 核查：
  • 步骤1（标题索引）：未匹配。
  • 步骤2（抽样原文）：在 ...[MIDDLE PORTION OMITTED FOR QA]... 之后的段落中，原文明确出现了 Kemi Badenoch 和 selling kitchen knives door-to-door。
• 结论：[FALSE_POSITIVE]（内容真实，非幻觉）。

═══ 最终判定 ═══

结论：存在阻塞性问题 (Blocking Issues Found)

主要原因： 1. 政治身份严重错误：将 Andy Burnham 误认为首相，导致整篇政治评论文章失去真实性。 2. 交付物不洁：包含大量图片路径标签和系统省略号标签，无法直接交付。 3. 数字格式错误：单位重复（亿 + billion）。