Dear Rowley,
Don’t think ill of me for ignoring the burning issues of the day apropos a Conservative majority returned to the Commons this month. While the BBC saw red, the British public saw sense. End of story. When the national broadcaster sat shiva for its party of choice, UK plc switched off and dusted its hands to be rid of Red Ed and that venal cabal otherwise known as the Liberal Democrats.
When Ed Balls lost his seat BBC politico Nick Robinson almost shed a tear. The Today programme took ‘natural disaster’ tone and harangued the victors as if they were banana republic dictators who were blocking aid from the good, honest workers suffering in the wake of famine. Whoever coined the phrase ‘urban elite’ got it so right about BBC politicos. Their tone of righteous anger seems entirely out of place with the pay grade and power to influence.
Politics doesn’t bore me but politicians do. When, in the name of Bonnie Tyler, will we get the hero we need? I do rather agree with Private Eye’s portrayal of Prime Minister Cameron as a chillaxer from Chipping Norton. But I’d rather see him on the international stage than flubber-tongued Ed Milliband. His flying to Ibiza for a month in defeat tells you all y0u need to know about that Chablis socialist posing as Kier Hardy.
Hopefully now we can all retune to Radio 3 and forget about politics while the grown-ups do the job we’ve voted them in to do. Didn’t it make your heart sink to hear that Speaker’s wife Sally Bercow is contemplating divorce after dallying with her brother-in-law? No, me neither. The sooner that cuckoo in Speaker’s House flies off into ignominious anonymity the better. Speaker Bercow could play an ace by finally telling the world that he has bought a rail card and is eloping with Michael Portillo. Such is the pink lobby these days he’ll be carried shoulder high.
Odd for one who prefers gentlemen to become ever so slightly homophobic but I can’t help thinking that the love that dares not speak its name has indeed become the love that won’t shut up. Even I am getting ever so slightly sick of gay priests, gay marriage, gay adoption and all combinations of the aforementioned. I can’t claim to be of the private Soho club generation who, when a knock hit a door, would shriek ‘earrings off girls it’s a raid’. We didn’t have to worry about arrest. But even admitting you were who you were could have lost your job, your friends and your life.
I don’t mean to be down on progress or resentful of the young. But if they knew what we went through so they could do what they do I think there would be more respect for those of us who fought the fight and paved the way. I am no Peter Tatchell though I do remember him calling on me in Clapham North having baked a rather sensational ginger cake. I did take a few for the team of the black eye and split lip variety.
Well that was all slightly off topic. Emmeline Pankhurst has left the building. I was sorry to see Jonathan Rhys Meyers in the newspapers today looking distinctly worse for wear having left a newsagents with two bottles of vodka in a blue plastic bag. The pernicious snapper caught the actor unscrewing one of the bottles, pouring a nip into the cap and swigging it while letting a few drops splash his T-shirt. As you know, JRM is one of my favourite actors. His career has been beset by reports of alcoholism and rehab and I for one think nothing the worse of him for it.
I have always rooted for Jonathan Rhys Meyers. He is classically beautiful. He also has talent. The back story of he as a kid stealing to supplement his mother’s drink habit is Dickensian. Slowly and consistently JRM has distinguished himself in standout roles whether he is co-starring or headlining. His most famous role as Henry VIII in the HBO series The Tudors saw him make something like 100-hours of television so you can only imagine the time it took to film. Physical and mental discipline isn’t even in it. Which of us could say we could rise to such a challenge?
So when you see a star of his stature being thrown off flights inebriated or staggering around London looking down-and-out with a couple of gallons of vodka you can only think ‘why?’ rather than pass any kind of judgement without inside knowledge. When people drink or drug the question is always why before you list the reasons why they shouldn’t. More to the point, one should never mourn the fall from grace but marvel that these troubled ladies and gentlemen have reached the heights they did despite the demons that hold them back.
Before anyone feels sorry for Jonathan Rhys Meyers I would pause and consider his achievements. He has climbed as high in his profession as it is possible to go. So before the voices of doom write him off think on this. Unless you have been as beautiful as he is, as talented as he is and driven as he is to succeed, I would think twice about taking the moral high ground. I hope, and sincerely believe, Jonathan Rhys Meyers will be back on top soon. He has the makings of a Brando not a James Dean. The best is yet to come.
