Thinking About It Only Makes It Worse (34 page)

You may be surprised to hear that, when writing this sort of thing, I try, if at all possible, to avoid venturing opinions. If at all possible, I hasten to repeat (which is another of my writing techniques). I realise my job necessitates a certain amount of opinion-venturing – it’s a good day for me if I get through a thousand words conceding only one or two. But, if I can avoid any more, I will.

This wasn’t always the case. When I started writing for the
Observer
, I sprayed my views around with the innocent joy of a toddler who’s yet to contemplate the possibility of not being loved, and as if they came from a source as bottomless as the water table. But I soon realised that I was simultaneously using up a finite resource and randomly annoying articulate interest groups more effectively than a Home Counties fracker. And mine is not the sort of gas that keeps anyone warm.

I don’t think I have particularly weird or extreme opinions – on good days, I reckon I come across as pretty reasonable. And that’s the key to the problem: I seem reasonable and most people think of themselves as reasonable. Before I opine, they would probably presume I was in agreement with them. But, if I open my mouth, they may find otherwise. Every time I say something I think, a new swath of well-disposed readers have their assumption or hope that I thought as they did swept away.

Lots of people – maybe most people – are broad-minded enough not to dismiss someone just because he or she has said one thing with which they disagree. But, as an attitude to life, I
wouldn’t say that approach was on the rise in the current climate. To the many raised and furious voices of the internet, straying from their view of whatever thing they’re monomaniacally obsessed with is heresy. In that context, agreeing to differ about a medium-sized issue counts as quite a sophisticated approach to life. A bit permissive, even. It smacks of the impure.

I’m not the only one to have noticed this. Most politicians definitely have. Their jobs are ostensibly even more about the purveying of opinions than columnists’, but these days they obsessively save their views for special occasions. Rather than risk alienating anyone at all, the current strategy for political success is to be serially photographed in mundane settings – pubs, cafes, high streets, etc – in the hope of seeming reasonable, and then issue bland statements saying you’re concerned about something concerning. Clues about what they really reckon are barely more forthcoming than they are from the Queen – and much less so than from Prince Charles.

So I was surprised, and heartened, by two opinions that were recently voiced by people who didn’t really need to. One was Richard Dawkins, who’s already very much on record with one personal opinion, so I thought he was really spoiling us when he apparently said, at the Cheltenham Science Festival, that fairytales and believing in Father Christmas were bad for children. For those of us who seek to take the mickey out of him, this could hardly have been more fun if we’d scripted it. “There is a God!” I thought.

But, according to Dawkins, I was wrong. The next day, he killed the joy as usual, condemning the media for twisting his words. “I did not, and will not, condemn fairytales,” he insisted. He accepted he’d said that it was “rather pernicious to inculcate into a child a view of the world which includes supernaturalism”, but then clarified: “The question is whether fairy stories actually do that and I’m now thinking they probably don’t.” Smashing.
Just when the poor media think they’ve winkled a genuine opinion out of someone, it disappears like so much fairy dust.

However, the other opinion was even more surprising. It came from Royal Mail and it concerned fish stocks. The Mail is issuing a 10-stamp set depicting various species of fish. Five of the stamps are marked “SUSTAINABLE” – the herring, red gurnard, dab, pouting and Cornish sardine – and the other five “THREATENED” – the spiny dogfish, wolffish, sturgeon, conger eel and the (presumably now not so) common skate.

“Where’s the opinion here?” you may ask. “Aren’t these just informative facts?” It depends on your definition of a fact. One definition might be: “something that may be asserted on BBC News without their having to balance it out by giving broadcasting room to someone who will assert the contrary”. By that definition, of course, it isn’t a fact that the MMR jab has no link to autism, so I suspect that what the Royal Mail is implying is perfectly true. But the National Federation of Fishermen’s Organisations considers it arguable at best. And thinks it an argument Royal Mail should have kept out of.

I’m glad, but also amazed, that it didn’t. It’s been privatised – it has no obligation to the public good, and will gain nothing by changing people’s fish-eating habits. And it’s not as if, had the fish stamps not all been marked “SUSTAINABLE” or “THREATENED”, anyone would have called for Royal Mail to “get off the bloody fence” about the sustainability of fish stocks. Try as I might, I find it difficult to avoid the conclusion that someone took this inevitably divisive decision purely because they thought it was a good thing to do. Bravo.

It’s obviously also a worrying development. Now a precedent has been set that stamps can express an opinion, who’s to say that future views will be so noble, or expressed for such (as far as I can tell) unimpeachable motives? Will there be advertising on stamps? Or, more plausibly, and also more insidiously, will
they become the equivalent of those newspaper reports that are generated by a press release about a corporation-sponsored survey? Maybe a manufacturer of Red Gurnard Bites has yet to emerge from behind this initiative?

Even if the views remain sincere, that doesn’t mean they’ll stay apolitical. If you make your living from commercial fishing, I suspect you’d say that Rubicon has already been crossed. Who will be editorially responsible for the stamps’ content? A journalist? A regulator? A respected intellectual like Richard Dawkins?

That would make for a cheery Christmas issue: a painting of some children sledging with “SUSTAINABLE” written across it; a choir of angels marked “A PERNICIOUS LIE”; and a jolly Santa captioned “A LIE – BUT PROBABLY NOT PERNICIOUS”. I’m not going to tell you what I think about that.

The
Observer
is always at the cutting edge of journalism and, at the end of every year, instead of all the tedious retrospectives on the previous 12 months that you read in lesser newspapers, it publishes an article looking back on the
next
12 months – which, I'm sure you'll agree, is much more constructive. It falls to me, each year, to write it.

This is a difficult task, as you can imagine, and I must admit I have been guilty of one or two inaccuracies: some of the events I reported did not occur when I expected them to. And have still not occurred. But, in an infinite universe, it can only be a matter of time.

To which end, I thought it might be useful if I included some of them here so that you can be prepared.

Prime Minister Boris Johnson would surely have caused outrage at 2017's Remembrance Service, when he got the giggles during the minute's silence, if his laughter hadn't proved so infectious. His Majesty the King, in his weekly vodcast, commented: “In the end we all just pissed ourselves. It was a really good way of seeing the funny side of war.” Johnson later apologised, saying that: “Something about how old some of the veterans were just set me off and that was that.”

As the controller of BBC1 put it: “I asked Richard Curtis, ‘What could Comic Relief do that would involve both the Chuckle Brothers and Frankie Boyle?' and this is what he came up with. As soon as I heard it, it seemed so obvious – the sort of thing we should have done years ago. Barry and Paul were thrilled to be involved in Frankie's edgier brand of comedy, and Frankie jumped at the chance to show his charitable nature, as well as, of course, to murder the Chuckle Brothers.”

Richard Curtis described it as the toughest thing he's ever had to organise: “Getting those guys together, at the same time, in the same room, with a chainsaw – I mean, it was like co-ordinating Band Aid. And, obviously, it was a nightmare for the legal team. But, fortunately, the Chuckle Brothers were really up for it, Frankie had a window in his touring schedule, and it made an unforgettable piece of television.”

In October 2016, it was announced that Britain's two most successful caretaker prime ministers are going to cash in on the new global phenomenon of “mediocrity chic” brought on by the success of Susan Boyle. In what is described as “an eclectic mix of glum fiscal satire, Morris dancing and cricket anecdotes”, they'll be taking in over 100 countries, playing venues of up to 100 seats. Asked whether it was SuBo's success that gave them the courage to put the show together, Brown said: “It was actually her idea.”

Bond purists were outraged by the news that the suave, womanising, superspy hero will finally lose the will to live at the end of the next movie,
Die and Live Death Is Golden Casino Gun Depression
(working title). Unconfirmed reports suggest
that, in the film, the suicide is prompted by M “complaining about Bond's moaning”. Daniel Craig has said he's excited by the challenge and that the new film will be “classic 007”, except with the main character “teetering on the brink of an abyss of despair”.

Coming in the aftermath of their pitiful 2018 World Cup exit – the irony of both losing all of their group matches and testing positive for performance-enhancing drugs was particularly bitter – the England team's brave and emotional journey to the final of
Celebrity Team Masterchef
against the
Eggheads
was a thrilling testament to the redemptive power of sport. The whole nation was willing Wayne Rooney's ricotta and walnut soufflé to rise but ultimately it was CJ de Mooi's failure to prepare any dish that didn't, in the words of judge John Torode, “taste very strongly of his fingers” that gave the soccer stars the edge.

Rejecting claims that this was a cynical attempt to steal a march on Joanna Lumley, Rantzen said: “It's obscene that this proud chocolate-making people are given no recognition for their efforts.” She particularly focused on the plight of the Oompa-Loompas of Bourneville, who work 14-hour days and are then expected to sleep in dormitories above the factory floor in an ill-ventilated atmosphere thick with nougat vapour.

“The effects of ‘toffee-lung', ‘cracknell shin' and ‘vibration white chocolate finger' on the Oompa-Loompa communities of the Midlands have to be seen to be believed,” Rantzen claimed. A spokesman for Cadbury's said: “If they could get the chocolate to stick to the Curly Wurlys properly, maybe they'd deserve the minimum wage.”

The debate over transparency and freedom of information intensified in 2019 when WikiLeaks published details of what everyone in the world would be getting for Christmas.

“Secrets are used to control people,” said Julian Assange via Skype from his Mars-bound prison rocket. “Wrapping paper is one of the most oppressive inventions in human history. As for the Christmas cracker, it is a highly dangerous form of violent concealment. In order to satisfy the human need to discover what is kept hidden, one must actually trigger an explosion. Hence al-Qaida.”

In the run-up to the 2015 election, the coalition scheme to give reclusive writer Toby Young the life of his dreams at the taxpayers' expense continued apace despite Prince Charles's comment that he thought “that was what
we
were for”. A new hospital is to be set up within walking distance of Young's west London home which is to focus on, as the columnist put it, “the sort of ailments that people like me get”.

“We made our commitment to Toby Young very clear before the election,” said health secretary Jeremy Hunt. “This is just the second of the thousands of things we hope to do for him. He's great.”

The BBC was at the heart of a media storm in 2020 when it emerged that executives had accidentally commissioned a remake of the BBC1 hit
Call the Midwife
before the original show had actually been axed.

The head of drama announced the commission as “the latest in a long line of vibrant and robust reimaginings of much loved classics that the public holds so dear”, adding later that her remarks had been taken out of context as they were “just what I say about everything anyway”.

With the disdainful headline “You Couldn't Remake It Up” splashed across the
Daily Mail,
it was a difficult first day in the office for incoming chairman of the BBC Trust, David Beckham, particularly when it transpired that the mistaken commission was precipitated by a
Mail
editorial inaccurately citing
Midwife
's cancellation in a list of “Recent Outrages”.

As a result of the confusion, the original show has now moved to Sky.

The disgraced media dynasty, currently believed to be hiding out with the 47 surviving children of Colonel Gaddafi in a fortified compound in the Liberian desert, made an ambitious comeback bid in 2019 by announcing that they'd genetically engineered a new Miliband. They claim to have used DNA harvested from Ed and David's hotel rooms during the 2002 Labour party conference. Six-month-old Rupert Miliband is being brought up in an oxygen tent to speed growth, is to be tutored by Glenn Beck and Niall Ferguson, and has also been fitted with laser cannon. He's expected to be launched on to the British political scene in 2030 at an event to be hosted by Tony Blair and a robotised reimagining of Baroness Thatcher.

Britain was left reeling by the theft of the BBC's flagship speech radio station by communist China. “They came for us by night!” a stunned John Humphrys told news cameras as he stared into the abyss left by the ripping out of the ground of London's Broadcasting House. It was carried off by a fleet of Chinook helicopters and was last seen heading east over the North Sea. Everything is believed to have been taken, apart from Humphrys and Nicholas Parsons, who was mysteriously abandoned on an oil rig. The BBC has dragged its feet over the issue of fetching him.

Throughout 2018's competition, the nation had taken octogenarian Glaswegian country singer Tavish McAndover to its heart, despite the fact that his name sounded fictional. Scorning the cover versions that most acts rely on, McAndover wowed crowds with heartfelt ballads such as “It's Hard to Dance Sexy When You've Got a Metal Hip”, “I Remember When Tennis Balls Were White But I'm Not Being Racist”, and “I Know E4 Isn't Aimed at Me But That's What My Sky Box Is Stuck On”. But the nation was astounded when, seconds after winning the public vote, McAndover appeared to rip away his face to reveal Sir Cliff cleaning off the remains of prosthetic makeup. The Peter Pan of pop duly walked away with his fourth Christmas No 1 and a furious Simon Cowell's £1m record contract. The
Mirror
's TV critic captured the national mood: “It's difficult to know which of those annoying people to side with. It's like Israel and Palestine all over again.”

An end was twice called to the Arab–Israeli conflict in 2017. The first agreement, signed in March, was abandoned on the advice of Tony Blair, who was concerned that, without such tensions, the region would be “like Frasier after Niles and Daphne got together”. It was six months before diplomats realised that this wasn't as good an analogy as it had initially seemed and a second peace was signed.

When a small bald man, famed for his insane drive and frightening monomania in pursuit of his goals, was found floating dead in the Baltic, Chechen separatists were quick to claim responsibility, not realising that, instead of Russia's
latterday tsar, they'd taken the life of one of snooker's favourite sons. World snooker was thrown into chaos by the news, plans for a ranking tournament in Vladivostok were shelved and John Virgo broke down on
The One Show
, muttering “He was so beautiful” over and over again.

The month of inexpensive programming surrounding the BBC's Children in Need night was marred in 2016 by a segment in which the Duchess of Cornwall was forced tearfully to improvise a rap about declining literacy rates. “Why!? Why is this happening? How is this helping anybody?” the Duchess was repeatedly heard to ask as she inexpertly struggled for rhymes, robotically egged on by a glassy-eyed Tess Daly, who was later to take her own life. In a public apology for the broadcast, the director general said: “It becomes clear that the explanation or excuse ‘it's for charity' has its limits. After seeing that, no one will ever want to help needy children ever again.”

As Operation Yewtree had its remit further extended in 2015 and acquired the services of 400 historians, yet more shameful allegations about Britain's show business past emerged, including the suggestion, inferred from the stated age of Juliet in
Romeo and Juliet
, that William Shakespeare may once have touched a teen's boob. The consequent fury at the Bard's betrayal of public trust led to a flurry of questions: should he have his knighthood posthumously removed? Who forgot to give him a knighthood? Can he be given one posthumously? Is Shakespeare too talented to be retrospectively shamed? This led to a
Guardian
editorial calling for a formula to be devised that would balance a dead public figure's alleged abuses with their artistic achievements
and then tell us whether or not we have to take all their statues down: “Jimmy Savile's talents as a performer frankly wouldn't excuse him so much as a cheeky knee squeeze. The likes of Shakespeare, Beethoven or JK Rowling can have done whatever the hell they liked.”

In a sale of film memorabilia, the no clothes the cast of hit Britcom
The Full Monty
wore at the film's climax were the star attraction. There was some controversy when the winning bidder said he thought he was buying the clothes the metal-workers had discarded earlier in the scene. “I'd wanted to get my hands on Robert Carlyle's pants,” complained the anonymous millionaire. A Sotheby's spokesman clarified: “This lot isn't the clothes they weren't wearing at the end – this is the no clothes they were.” Asked if it was a bit “emperor's new clothes”, he said that “couldn't be further from the truth. That emperor was a nude man claiming to be wearing clothes. The absence of clothes in this lot isn't something we're denying – it's something we're celebrating. This is a chance to buy not only a unique, and easily storable, piece of film history, but also a share in the very concept of nudity.”

“Reading, gardening and butterflies.” That was the answer that an article on the BBC News website quoted Emilia Fox as giving to the question: “Tell me three things that you like.” The Reading tourist board seized on this rare vote of confidence with a high-profile campaign heavily focusing on the popular actress. It was only when the hoardings were up, the local TV commercial shot and the adverts placed in magazines that a videotape of the original interview, which Fox had given nearly three years earlier, emerged. The head of the tourist board explained his horror:
“She said ‘reading' to rhyme with ‘weeding'. The capital letter was only there because it was the start of a sentence. Or what passes for a sentence these days – there was no verb.” He explained his decision to take legal action: “It's negligence, pure and simple. She knew there could have been transcripts. She could so easily have said ‘Gardening, reading and butterflies' and there would have been no confusion.”