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I promised to let you know how my dear wife Arabella’s 80th birthday tea party went. Well it was a sparkling event with an almost equal balance of British family and friends and Spanish local worthies. The Countess of Wexham – Arabella’s fairy God-daughter Annie – who managed the event, could not be faulted. Gossamer slices of cucumber on the thinnest wafers of home made bread, exotic jams and cakes, melt-in-the-mouth scones and meringues – and tea which would have flattered the palates of Maharajahs and Chinese Emperors alike. And in all of the twenty-six years since we first set foot in our modest country abode “The Barracks”, I’ve never seen it looking so magnificent. It was as if Annie had waved her magic wand over the old place.
I have to confess too to a feeling of pride. We Brits are not always seen at our best when in the company of foreigners but I think all of my family, including feisty grand-daughter Jessie whose life is often led too much towards the modern idiom for my taste, can feel rightly proud of themselves for having struck just about the right note – friendly, attentive and hospitable but leaving just enough distance to let all the locals know that civilisation reached us several generations before it began thinking about them! Some would say that Tizzie and Tottie, our two bouncy Great Danes let the side down a bit when they debagged our German mayor Fritz Fahrtsmann – but everyone except him, and Germans are not best known for their sense of humour, took it in good part. Funnily enough he seemed even more uncomfortable when I loaned him my splendid ceremonial Scots’ Guard kilt for the rest of the party. Try as I may, I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand the mentality of Johnny German.
Tea for Two
But let’s change the subject and talk about another little tea party back in the old country. In a stroke of near genius Gordon Brown scored full marks with all of the Tory faithful by inviting Maggie to tea. And what is more, they obviously got on like a house on fire and had some very jolly photos taken on the steps of Number Ten! And Gordon has now commissioned a portrait of her to be placed at the head of the Downing Street stairs. Oh dear, oh dear, how is the young Pretender to Maggie’s throne going to react to that? Not, I hope with similar invitations or accolades to Tony Blair on whom he would appear to have modelled himself. I don’t think that would quite cut the mustard with those of us in the party who are still not ashamed to be called true blue Tories.
My old chum Tarquin, who in the old days was one of the important architects of Maggie’s public image, thinks Cameron’s PR boys have slipped up badly. He says that unless they can stop him flim-flamming endlessly about these lightweight issues like the environment and global warming, he doesn’t stand a chance if Gordon calls an election. He’s really got to leave all that rubbish to the ‘Ginger Beard and Sandals Brigade’ of the Liberal party and get back to more serious Conservative flagships like bringing back Hanging and Flogging and cutting back on all this extravagant ‘being nice to foreigners’ guff. Tebbit has asked Tarquin to go back over for a few weeks to see if he can do some moving and shaking along these lines – and I’m sure I’ll have more to report on this next month.
Friendly Fire
One of the most difficult things for an old soldier like me to have had to put up with over these last years is when damn fool politicians think they know how to run wars. By pretending to be four star Generals, the posturing Blair, whose only claim to soldiering was as a Lance Corporal who needed a haircut in the school CCF and his friend, the draft-dodging George Dubya, seriously debased the currency of my chosen profession – at the same time as undermining the confidence of those brave men who, as ever, have been proud to serve in our armed forces. Thank God that Gordon Brown – and here I give yet another slap to the wobbly back of our boiled pudding of a Prime Minister – is refusing to play Cowboys and Indians with the illiterate Bush and has announced that a significant number of men are about to be withdrawn from the danger of his boys’ ‘friendly fire’ in Iraq. Full marks again Gordon.
I fear that if the main protagonists of both major parties continue in their present tramlines, you may find that this old Brigadier’s soapbox may, by next month, have turned into a pedestal of much pinker hue.
But I have to say that I sincerely hope it will not come to that. So for God’s sake, David, grip up. And for God’s sake, Gordon, slip up!
