Letters to the Editor, Part I

The first Chapter

@BDSixsmith

Which four people would attend your dream dinner party?

The evening is drawing to a close.

What a night it has been. The chips, chunky, and the wine, endless. The conversation, ground-breaking. Hearing Blair and Mandela exchanging stories about their respective times in the political wilderness, before their majestic returns to power.

Hislop is fiddling with one of the olives. ‘Shall we let him in yet’, he half says, half chuckles.

I pop open the French doors to have a look at our fourth guest. A harsh wind comes in. There he is, shivering in the Winter Snow.

‘Peter’, I call, ‘are you ready to put your mask on and come in yet?’

Peter Hitchens’s expression is pure steel.

‘I just find it extraordinary that you think this wet piece of cloth, really a signal of submission, would…’

I slam the door in his face.

‘Right’, I say, ‘Who’s for a game of Risk?

@bengalirivers

Sir,

What is Starmer’s next move?

Right. 

Let’s talk Labour.

We’ve heard a lot from the usual suspects about the Red Wall over the last couple of years. ‘Labour has to get more racist to win elections’, say the old ghouls of ‘Blue-Labour’.

Well look. To those who say ‘what’s the point of the Labour party if it doesn’t represent the views of working people?’, I say ‘what’s the point of the Labour party if it doesn’t stand up against fascism?’. 

Read up on your history, Mr Glasman. Mrs Hopkins. Learn about the battle of Cable street. See what the real working class really thinks about fascism, outside of the nativist fantasies of Farage’s lot.

I’m not saying Sir Keir should give up on Hartlepool. Heaven forfend. But maybe there is room for a little more Hampstead. 

We’ve already heard how nervous Tory MPs are about those old shire seats. That all important…Blue Wall.

The voters in places like Didcot, Chichester and Winchester are fundamentally decent people. These are the Conservatives of Dominic Grieve. Of Theresa May, Nicholas Soames and Ken Clarke. There is little room for them left in the pews of that once broad church. They will never worship at the Altar of Brexit.

I want to see Keir and his lot in those town halls, and look: it isn’t going to be the same. Earl Grey instead of Yorkshire. Tunnocks tea cakes instead of Chocolate Digestives. 

But this is Britain, and what unites us is more than what divides us. On a Friday night, pints and curries are served from Blackburn to Brick Lane. Saturday, films on Channel 4, sat on the sofa nursing sore heads with cups of tea. Then on a Sunday morning, football. Macclesfield boys, Bristolians and a few scots, out on muddy fields playing like their favourite stars. Beckham, Rooney and Ronaldinho. 

So Keir. I want you round that table. But before you speak, you are going to have to listen.

@Hpills01

Dear Mr. Chapman, how would you attempt to resolve the modern blight on post university living that is Clapham?

Clapham.

Lockdown hasn’t been kind to her waistline, so she’s already started wearing her purple North Face Nupste jacket to cover up the unsightly mess of her stomach poking through her now unfortunately ill fitted Brandy Melville top. 

She’s stopped bothering to run for the tube now. She’s learned that the charity sector is fairly generous in regards to lateness, which goes some way to making up for how poorly paid she is.

But for Eva/Isobel/Florence/Jemima/Freya, money is never really going to be a problem. She’s in Clapham for one reason, and one reason alone. To find her Hugo. The man who will take over subsidising her online shopping addiction from her father, who graduated with a second-class degree from Oxford-Brookes in 1987 and has unaccountably become a multi-millionaire with a large house in Surrey and a pointless, narrow-minded wife.

Hugo, with friends Jonty and ‘Raf’ have a flat share in Battersea. They thought moving there, instead of Clapham after graduating from Durham would give them an extra edge. They work twelve-hour days at big four accounting firms in the audit division. They are technically paid less than minimum wage for the hours they work, but they have indistinct plans to ‘do something in finance’ when they quit in three years. They have not been going to the gym as much as they did in Third Year. 

They do not put a lot of effort into their Hinge profiles, because that would be ‘tragic’, and their Ex would definitely see it and share it in her girls group chat. They always want to ‘get a bag in’ after three Guinness’s in the Hagen & Hyde.

Hugo and Eva, whether they meet on the dance floor of Infernos, or share a ‘pingy kiss’ during a Shy FX set at ‘return II dance’, will go on to produce more clones of themselves. Who knows what absurd names they will come up with: Pashmeena, Adriatic. Maybe even Jockly.

They will never produce any legacy. No art, they will never send men into battle. Truly, the only thing that distinguishes them in the vistas of history from the faceless agricultural labourers of Medieval England is their relative material prosperity.

So when it comes to Clapham, I say this: Burn it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter. These ‘people’ don’t matter. Who cares.

@uk8qnzl

Ottolenghi or Diana Henry?

Right.

It’s time to talk legacy.

What is Legacy?

Legacy for Hitler, entombed beneath Berlin as it burned in a hell storm of fire, was the same as every man who seeks to lead other men. 

How much has he destroyed? 

It is the same for Blair, and the treasure spent drenching the hot sands of Kabul with blood. Saladin’s annihilation of Christian Jerusalem, is what he will always be remembered for. 

The Khans, taking both the Khwarazmian and Jin down in a maelstrom of death. All of Asia, an entire continent, reduced to ashes. That is their legacy.

Blair is not remembered for Cherie, as Hitler is never remembered for Eva. Their impact on the world transcends the domestic. But for most, excluding my virgin followers, the legacy will be family. 

Their children. Grandchildren. Blah, blah blah, who cares?

Now to compare two dictators is a messy business. Mao and Stalin, who was worse? Well Mao by sheer numbers of dead, but then a lot of it was incompetence. The Great Leap Forward is in some ways less reprehensible than the purges, wouldn’t you say?

But with modern celebrities, whose legacy is simply fame, our comparisons are direct. There are metrics, and these metrics are available at just the press of a button.

Reader, it’s about that Wikipedia page. Diana Henry’s is a paltry offering, hardly a sheet of A4. There’s not even a photograph of her there. Pathetic.

Whereas the Wikipedia for Yotam Ottolenghi is comprehensive. A section for awards won. Three stonking paragraphs for a biography, a painstaking description of how he conceived a child through gestational surrogacy. That column in the Guardian. Brilliant.

Yotam Ottolenghi is a better human being than Diana Henry. Because in his chosen field of life, he has achieved and done more, as recorded by the scholars of Wikipedia.

Now i want you to think about…you. What is your Wikipedia page going to be about? The destruction of Europe? The private finance initiative? Or bringin za’tar to Notting Hill?

Whatever you do, dear reader, do something.