Oh, Babe, What Would You Say

I already can't remember what it was that prompted me to order from the library Jacob's Ladder, the Unauthorized Biography of Jacob Rees-Mogg by Michael Ashcroft. A morbid obsession with the macabre, I suppose it was, with particular reference to 'right-wing' politicians. It seems to be reasonably well-balanced in as far as it is certainly not a hatchet job but not hagiography either. Jacob comes out of it quite well with his unfailing courtesy and unflappable manner among his most admirable qualities. The surprise, such as it is, is how his anachronistic image is presented as not at all contrived but that's how he is, or has been since at least the age of 11 or 12 when, as a shareholder at Lonrho, he asked a provocative question at their AGM.

Since that time, he has been devoted to money and very successful at acquiring lots of it, whether through his thorough knowledge of the financial markets or by marrying an heiress. The network of aristocracy that his friends and family mix with- the earls, marquisses and landed gentry- begins to look incestuous but maybe they only swap girlfriends as much as Rolling Stones do. Jacob's first intended, though, was jettisoned on account of being divorced which was not a suitable fit with his Roman Catholicism.

It's not a particularly sensational book in the way that any account of Boris Johnson couldn't help being because it's mostly as expected but his first electoral campaign in Central Fife, the last constituency to return a Communist MP, stories of nanny, his time at Eton and his allegedly unstudied incongruities make for some humour that would sound far-fetched if it were anybody else.

The book appeared in 2019 and so before his promotion to high-ish office seemed to leave him out of his depth. As a great respecter of parliamentary process and integrity he surely let himself down in supporting the unlawful prorogation and as one of the last, beleaguered rump to remain faithful to Boris, with the redoubtable Nadine, he began to look less a man of high principle than he had been credited with being. Subsequently extending his media career into the cheapjack propaganda of GB News has also begun to reveal the more tawdry elements hidden beneath the well-groomed archaism that he had been, whether charmingly or not. Perhaps a second edition updating the story might one day tell it a bit more like it eventually looked.

Also from the library, while I was at it, I borrowed The Victorians, Twelve Titans Who Forged Britain, Jacob's 434-page book on history which, as an Oxford History graduate, he surely has every credential to qualify him to write. Except that it was found to be, and at first sight looks, ridiculously bad. With no index or footnotes and only three pages of bibliography, it looks like £25k's worth of vanity project with possibly only the prospect of Boris's book on Shakespeare, if it ever appears, likely to outdo it for vacuity. I'm not sure I'll be reading all of that but I'll give it a chapter or two. We'll see. 

--

At the other end of the 'cultural wars' spectrum, one of the bits of this week's This Week's Composer told me something that I surely should have known already, that Errollyn Wallen set four Philip Larkin poems for soprano and accompaniment. British Women Composers, Volume 1 (Lorelt) begins with It all depends on you and I never investigated that any further when hoovering up most of what Errollyn there is available on disc. It evaded both my Larkin scholarship that he'd been set by her and my Errollyn studies that she'd set him which is a C minus to say the least but, ahead of Wigmore Hall soon, it will be better late than never.

Not necessarily two artists one would associate together it is a credit to Errollyn's inclusive sensibility that she can speak so enthusiastically about Larkin's poems and not conflate them with some of the views he increasingly expressed in later life. There is a gap between them.

I need to catch up with This Week's Composer but it's busy enough with places to go, books to read, one to pretend to be writing. 

---

Luckily, horse racing hasn't kicked off like it should have done yet. I shouldn't really be tipping Wise Guy at Fakenham tomorrow where Tweed Skirt is a possibility in an open-looking race. I expected the Skelton horse in the bumper at Uttoxeter to be shorter than 9/4. The QE2 at Ascot on Saturday is a good race that I'd have had a view about in the summer but it's not the same once a bit of chill sets in and they've had long, hard seasons.

Sometimes it's best to stick rather than twist. Not playing a shot is still a part of cricket and it's a better way of playing than having a big yahoo and getting out.