Monday
There were several discordant undertones to Donald Trump’s reporting of the death of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi. The most noticeable being the breathless, almost sexual excitement in his voice. As if the whole thing had been a snuff movie played out as a video game. But what also struck me was the US president’s description of the Islamic State leader having “died like a dog”. Because I can only assume he has no idea of the value people attach to their dogs. We got Herbert Hound eight years ago when our daughter left home to go to university – I don’t need a shrink to make the connection – and from the day he arrived I fell hopelessly in love with him. Now he’s a relatively old man, I am heartbroken at the thought he might die within the next five years. When he gets ill, he will be accorded all the medical care I would begrudge myself, and his death will be marked by a full state funeral. For essential reading on both the meaning of dogs and the meaning of life, I can recommend Anthony McGowan’s wonderful book How to Teach Philosophy to Your Dog, a series of conversations he had with his dog, Monty, while out walking together. The final chapter is a touching meditation on death and the existence – or not – of God, that takes in everything from Aristotle to Schopenhauer and leaves you suspecting dogs might already have had many of the answers all along. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio / Than are dreamed of in your philosophy.
Tuesday
After weeks of on-off, on-off speculation about when the general election might take place, parliament finally voted to have one in December. The tipping point had come when the Liberal Democrats and the Scottish National party indicated they would be willing to vote in favour if they were allowed one last chance to vote against an election on Monday when the government had brought forward a bill under the Fixed-term Parliaments Act for a third time. After that, Labour was rather obliged to come onboard or else it would have appeared frightened of the electorate. Even then, there was some last-minute wrangling. The Tories wanted 12 December on the grounds that was the date they first thought of. Everyone else wanted 9 December because it was a date the government had not proposed. But 12 December got it, which is the worst possible day for me as it is the tail end of the week my daughter and her husband are coming over from the US for a pre-Christmas visit. So now I’ll hardly see them. Thanks everyone. With all the predictions for the 2017 election having been hopelessly inaccurate, everyone is being much more guarded this time round despite the Conservatives being well ahead in the polls. No one knows if Labour votes in the north will hold up, whether the Lib Dems will eat into the Tories or if the Brexit party will have any impact. It would be top banter if the election returned another hung parliament that was unable to resolve Brexit.
Wednesday
The final prime minister’s questions of the parliament once again proved something that many of us had already suspected. That Boris Johnson isn’t actually very good at being a leader. He blusters, has no grasp of detail and lacks a fundamental seriousness when required. He is at best an after-dinner corporate speaker for businesses on a tight budget. Johnson may yet not prove to be the asset on the campaign trail the Tories hope. He did OK during the EU referendum because then he was only ever expected to make promises. The more lavish, the better. Now, as prime minister, he is expected to deliver on the promises he makes. And his track record on that is piss-poor, as so often he can only resort to lying. At this PMQs, he once again insisted it was the House of Commons that had blocked his Brexit bill. It hadn’t. It had passed it, but then he had sulked and pulled it. MPs have received a lot of criticism for being a “zombie parliament” but actually most have done their jobs with great integrity. The split in the Commons reflected the split in the country and many MPs have withstood acute pressure from their parties to hold the government to account. It is telling that most of the MPs who are standing down at this election – many of them women – are precisely the ones who have done their best not to let the government railroad them into poor decisions. They will be greatly missed. If you think this parliament has been toxic, the next one could be even more so as the new intake will more closely resemble the extremes of their parties.
Thursday
I can’t say I would be best pleased if I had been one of the guests who had booked flights and bribed their son to take care of the dog while they were away, but such considerations don’t appear to have entered Simon Cowell’s head when he chose to cancel his 60th birthday party at the last minute. Instead, he just sent out a quick note saying the whole thing was off and he might reschedule something for December and that if he did then they were welcome to drop in. Then again, December might be tricky, so it could be in the new year. Or never. Now it’s possible Simon is so riddled with insecurities that he cancelled because he couldn’t bear the thought half the people might find something better to do with their lives on the night – get their hair dyed, for instance – and he’d have loads of empty places round the table. If so, I know how he feels. Whenever I entertain at home – something I do increasingly rarely – I’m always tempted to get my cancellations in first. More likely, he’s so self-obsessed he’s unaware that other people really exist. So far, the only reason given for the cancellation is that he wants to concentrate on his work as the X Factor ratings nosedive. As if he couldn’t spare four hours. My guess is that the real reason is he’s actually going through an existential narcissistic breakdown. He literally can’t bear the fact he’s 60. Something I experienced three years ago. Which is why I never even bothered to plan a party.
Friday
I can only hope that if ever I found myself under investigation, the inquiry would be conducted by the Department for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport. Right now, it appears to be even dopier than the Department for Transport was when Chris Grayling was in charge. Blaggers from around the world will be queuing up to fleece the DCMS for every grant going, even if they aren’t close friends of the prime minister. I’m quite tempted to put in an application myself, just so I can acquire the Lucie Rie and Jennifer Lee ceramics I covet. It seems all you have to do to get £100,000 off the department is to write down any old tosh and say you could do with some money. You just write “give us the cash” and a week later they give you the cash. It really is as easy as that. The minister in charge of the forensic investigation into how Jennifer “You’re the Mount Everest every man wants to climb” Arcuri secured the money for her no-hoper company was Nicky Morgan, who has just announced she is standing down at the next election. After what she’s just done for Boris, it can’t be long before she finds herself in the House of Lords.
Digested week, digested: six weeks that will feel like six months
