An interesting post in Coffee House (The Spectator’s blog) this morning by James Forsyth: Is there a way for Hillary to recover from this defeat? His view is that there are only “two things that spring to mind that could revive the Hillary campaign, but both are out of her hands. One is a game changing gaffe by Obama. The other is an event that makes Americans want a president who is above all, tough.” The latter he believes is something that worries the Obama camp. My take is that although Hillary (and Bill) are and should be worried, we shouldn’t be. Four (or worse eight) more years of a Clinton in the White House is a dreadful prospect: bring on the young!
George MacDonald Fraser: Home at last
“The first time I smelt Jap was in a deep dry river-bed in the dry belt, somewhere near Meiktila.” So starts George MacDonald Fraser’s Recollection of the War in Burma, Quartered Safe Out Here. Although he will be remembered more for Harry Flashman , if you haven’t read this memoir, you should. It is not just a classic of military autobiography, but a very moving account of war seen through the eyes of a young man.
Why DEFRA is a five letter word
I have no idea why Hilary Benn seemed surprised that his senior civil servants at DEFRA have been pondering why Britain has an agricultural industry, and whether they can close it down. Clearly he hasn’t been exposed to them for long enough. Rural Britain knows that DEFRA is a hopeless basket case. Public servants? You must be joking.
Gordon’s Dunkirk Moment
“. . . Britain at its best in the past 24 hours”, with the evacuation of the Royal Marsden and the splendid work of the emergency services in evacuating patients and staff etc. etc., according to the Dear Leader (a man so lacking in charisma and charm, that he makes the Vulcan ~ you know whom I mean: John Redwood ~ seem entirely normal. Mr. Bean? At least he was funny). Anyway, leaving aside that the evacuation (which undoubtedly was carried out superbly) is what the emergency services are for, try telling commuters on the Western Main Line that this past day has seen Britain at its best.
Bleak January
Reports in the legal press today, and the obituary in yesterday’s Daily Telegraph, of the death of Nicholas Pumfrey. All praising him, rightly, as a one of the foremost judges of his generation. He was a year ahead of me at school, and the captain of our ‘Top of the Form’ team (we never made it past the regional heats, losing to the Girls’ High School in front of a dragooned audience in Big School). 56 is no age: so much ahead of him. And a bleak reminder on a cold, dank day that Death is no respecter of age, rank, or wisdom.
Enough said: George Wilkinson's blog 