State of the Union

As the fag-end of the UK pantomime season smoulders to a close, the American equivalent takes centre stage. The only dame dropped out after the first audition, and the principle players are endeavouring to distance themselves from dodgy dialogue and unwise ad-libs from past productions, as the contenders to be Republican Party Presidential candidate for the US election vie to avoid being cast as the panto villain. The protracted process comprises a series of primaries and caucuses, regional votes in which Republican voters select preferred candidates. We whittle down the wish-list, as the results roll in, with candidates capitulating as their funding and fan-bases either enlarge or evaporate.

The contest kicked off in Iowa, with folks from “America’s Heartland” failing to deliver a decisive verdict. Having misplaced their copy of “Democracy for Dummies”, the organisers sent some votes through the wash in their jeans pockets, we’ve all done it, others slipped down the back of the sofa, and it was thought best to call it a split between former Governor of Massachusetts Mitt Romney and “social conservative” Rick Santorum. But the farce did thin the field, with the notable withdrawal of the darling of the Tea party, but apparently not many others, Michele Bachmann. With former Speaker of the House of Representatives Newt Gingrich winning the South Carolina Primary, and veteran Ron Paul hanging on in there, in more ways than one at 76, it’s a four horse race, with the chosen candidate taking on President Obama on November the 6^th.

The mandatory mud-slinging may even get a tad dirtier this time out thanks to a new ruling. Any interested party can now find funding to launch an advertising campaign to compliment or condemn a chosen candidate, providing they are not working for one of them. But presumably you would have to produce a note from your mum to that effect.

In sporting terms, the race to the White House is more marathon than sprint, and tactics can be a long way south of cricket. The “birthers” have been reborn, questioning if the President is really American. Rick Santorum has been repeatedly cross-examined to see if he’s really as anti-gay/abortion/Palestinian as people feared/hoped, delete as appropriate. Mitt Romney has had to flash his tax return, proving he only coughed up 15% of the income from investing his $200 million fortune, and Newt Gingrich starts from the position of being the only Speaker of the House of Representatives to have been disciplined for ethics violations. Ron Paul probably has some skeletons in his closet too, but may have forgotten where he put them.

Although it will be a riveting contest for the neutral spectator, it is unlikely to be a good clean game. You’re guaranteed a few high tackles before the final whistle, but probably not a communal bath after it.   

War of Independence

After much sabre rattling on both sides of the border, it would seem that Alex Salmond, the First Minister of Scotland, will soon be holding talks with David Cameron regarding a referendum on Scottish independence. Despite an ICM survey, and an opinion poll for the Mail on Sunday, suggesting Mr Salmond was swimming against the tide in his preference for independence, his Scottish National Party hailed the proposed pow-wow with the big fish in Westminster a “very welcome development”. As with many potential break-ups, some of the rhetoric has been a tad acrimonious, with both parties taking legal advice, and on more than just who gets the CD collection.

The statistics suggest that English voters are more inclined to support Scottish independence than even the Scots themselves, but at 43% and 29% respectively, neither survey strongly support a separation. Scottish voices in Westminster have not been welcoming either. Former Chancellor Alastair Darling declared “the downsides are immense, the risks are amazing,” and he has lived next door to Gordon Brown. Regarding the slippery issue of currency, Darling pointed out that if an independent Scotland stuck with sterling, it faced the same situation as Euro-zone members. The prospect of using a currency whose central bank is in a foreign country, that controls your interest rates, is hardly mouth-watering to the independently minded. Alternatively, you could swallow hard and join the Euro, an option likely to leave you losing your appetite altogether.

When even the established currencies are barely buoyant, the start-your-own-scenario might also represent a ready-made recipe for disaster. The economic equivalent of home-brew heart surgery, and as likely to succeed, this third theory does, however, conjure up the Caledonian conundrum of which national treasure should grace the coinage in the manifest absence of monarchy. My money would be on Robert the Bruce, William Wallace, or Lulu. 

Labour leans heavily on a support base north of the border, but there are more pandas in Scotland than Tory MPs. Despite that discrepancy, cross party commitment to the union exists in the Commons, alongside the need to debate the when and the how of the proposed referendum. Cameron claims it should come in the next 18 months, Salmond says 2014, to coincide with the 700^th anniversary of the Battle of Bannockburn. That was a significant victory for Scottish independence, but I wouldn’t put many Lulu dollars on another one. 

Leveson vs MacKenzie

When Kelvin MacKenzie left the High Court yesterday and struck a Christ-like pose on the steps outside, it can only be hoped that his tone was something approaching deeply ironic. Unless he was doing an impression of Wayne Rooney after the over-head kick wonder strike against Man City, but after more grazing than training. The former editor of the Sun had been giving evidence in the continuing Leveson inquiry into press ethics, and to the casual observer at least, he did not appear to have any.

Speaking of his editorship between 1981 and 1994, he said; “I didn’t spend too much time pondering the ethics of how a story was gained, nor over-worry about whether it was published or not.” This foreign policy sold papers, but was not always as popular with his proprietor. Having informed Rupert Murdoch of the need to compensate Elton John, to the tune of £1 million, for a fabrication too far, his telephoned-ticking-off lasted nearly three quarters of an hour. But one imagines the media mogul’s motives were more money than morality minded, needless to say, creative copy-writing was not curtailed.

In a customarily bullish defence of the tabloid press, Kelvin Mackenzie claimed that some much maligned methods were as prevalent on broad-sheet publications, but unfairly attracted plaudits in place of punishment. By way of example, he offered the scenario of phone hacking Tony Blair, to prove he was “circumventing the cabinet” to take the country to war in Iraq. “If you publish it in the Sun you get six months’ jail,” he said, “and if you publish it in the Guardian you get a Pulitzer Prize.” He may have a point.

Further to the divide between broadsheet and red tops, he concluded that “there is a tremendous amount of snobbery involved in journalism.” He may have a set of points. But from which sordid source did this snobbery spring? Well, if you edit out breasts and football, and stories about folk whose only talent is the possession of one, or playing the other, then certain papers would just be a TV guide. Snobbery? Not Jesus, not even Rooney, but right on this occasion Mr MacKenzie.

Mixed Messages

I missed the Queen’s speech on Christmas Day, buried as I was under an ocean of well-intentioned seasonal multi-tasking. Somewhere between the construction of complex offspring entertainment systems, each requiring a unique type of battery and a working knowledge of Chinese or Polish, and the military style co-ordination to ensure that edible offerings with 15 differing cooking times all hit the table looking equally burnt, I lost a large portion of my patience, most of my sobriety and any chance of commandeering the remote control.

However, I was among the 200,000 odd to watch the monarch’s message on YouTube, and also checked out other seasonal offerings from the great and the good. With the Olympics and the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee gracing the 2012 calendar, David Cameron, dressed for a funeral, urged us to “go for it”. But he acknowledged that we will be going for it on a greatly reduced budget, citing the rising prices that have “hit household budgets.” Closing with a call to the patriotic, the Prime Minister urged us to focus “on what this fantastic country does best”, although neglected to elaborate on what that elusive talent might be. Policy wise, he made reference to pursuing welfare reform and curtailing excesses in the City. Well, this year I plan to fix the leaking tap in the bathroom, and train the cat to speak Cantonese, and I can’t guarantee putting the same effort into the second task either.

Nick Clegg’s message proffered a policy buffet of tasty treats, from pupil premiums to tinkering with the tax-bands. The Deputy PM trailed a re-balancing of the economy away from the City, and for the stocking-is-half-empty type, he conceded the coming year “will pose great challenges”. The Queen too referred to current hardships, stressing the importance of family, and community in times of crisis. She closed with a call to find room for the message of the angels, do not be afraid, and for the love of God. Her Majesty also spoke about the power of forgiveness, and that sometimes “we need saving from ourselves, from our recklessness and greed,” at which point I’m certain I heard a member of the pinstripe posse choking on a sprout.  

Economically, it seems we start the New Year where we finished the last, on our knees. But, this should prove handy both for prayer, and searching for spare change under the sofa, and it looks as if we’re going to need plenty of both.