Love and Liberty

It’s the 007th of the month again, and time for the next 007 James Bond films: this time, those of Roger Moore. In the last month Richard, Millennium and I have watched the DVD Special Editions of Dr. No and From Russia With Love… I’m relieved that I still agree with myself, and they look great, but the new Bond DVD menus aren’t a patch on the old ones. However, I’ve done no cheating; don’t worry, I still know nothing about music, so my reviews of the James Bond films and their songs will be just as ill-informed as before.

To remind you, as the James Bond series has an instantly recognisable musical style, I’m reviewing the music as much as the movies, with occasional glances at Channel 4’s recent countdown of the Bond songs, James Bond’s Greatest Hits, to see how much I think they got it wrong. Having done the first seven films last month, as far as Diamonds Are Forever, this time I’m looking at the middle seven of the fourteen ‘official’ movies so far, which happen to comprise all those featuring Roger Moore. The music takes a definite swerve here; the films have often got the same sort of panache, but instead of those strident, insistent John Barry scores, some of them are by other composers. Did they work? Well…

First, a little side-step. Who is the man in these movies anyway? Is he the same one as in (most of) the previous ones? Well, the first answer is ‘obviously not – he’s Roger Moore, and he looks quite different to Sean Connery. He also plays the role with a lightness of touch, an archness, that makes his character seem noticeably different’. The second answer is ‘obviously he is – he’s called James Bond, and he does pretty much the same thing for the same people. Suspend your disbelief a bit: it’s acting, so don’t expect him to be ‘real’, and don’t worry when they change the actor’. My answer is slightly different, and it’s something that Richard convinced me of years ago. The films make more sense – not ‘sense’, mind you, but more sense – if you assume that ‘James Bond’ is an adopted call signature, just like the licence number ‘Double-Oh-Seven’, a cover story to suggest there is one immortal, indestructible top agent. And some of the films seem to go out of their way to agree with that idea, while more of them try hard to say it’s always the same man (who must be in his seventies by now). And On Her Majesty’s Secret Service can’t make its mind up. That film also causes the biggest problems if you assume he’s the same character. The other Bonds just don’t seem like they’d ever want to settle down and marry; if you assume that Connery’s Bond has ‘retired’ and a new 007 been appointed, it also makes sense of Blofeld not recognising him. With that film ending with Bond broken and grief-stricken over the death of his wife, but Diamonds Are Forever seeing Bond not distressed but merely brutal, it looks to me like the second ‘Bond’ had a breakdown so the old one was brought back to brutally terminate the guy who put a ‘Bond’ out of commission.

The first Roger Moore film is Live and Let Die, and of all of them, that’s the one that most squarely suggests its makers thought ‘This is a different man taking over the job of James Bond’ (by The Spy Who Loved Me, they’ve changed their minds and are back-pedalling furiously, putting in lots of references to the ‘old’ him and dressing Roger up in naval uniform, but they start out differently). In this film, ‘Bond’ is noticeably different to the previous ‘Bond’ in many ways other than his face. He orders different drinks; has a different dress style; different mannerisms; different gun; and it appears to show Roger Moore being promoted to ‘James Bond’ at the start. No, no, hear me out. Instead of calling him into the office as on every other occasion, M simply turns up at an agent’s door with the words, “Good morning, OO7.” “Good –” – Moore does an obvious double-take – “Good morning, sir.” Richard believes he’s startled because this is the old bastard’s way of springing promotion on the man. Well, what else could it be? He’s not startled by M’s appearance (he’s noticed him as he opens the door), but by something he says. And we can take it as read that it’s morning… A couple of minutes later, M announces “By the way, congratulations seem to be in order. The Italians were most impressed by the way you handled the Rome affair.” Obviously it’s a prelude to enquiring after the missing Italian agent, but it could also be read as the success that earns his number. Notably, the Italian agent in bed with ‘James’ at no point calls him by name, and it’s only at the end of the scene that M and Moneypenny address him as “Bond” and “James”. Unlike all her appearances with Sean, Moneypenny doesn’t flirt with him, either – she’s more of a protective ‘older sister’ that’s more confident than he is (suggesting, again, that she’s been in the job a long time and he hasn’t). If you’ve seen Casino Royale, that’s Bond’s first mission, happening ‘now’ – so he can’t be the same man – but it manages to make it more complicated still. But that’s a story for next month…

Live and Let Die

One of the best-known and most-covered Bond themes, this is the only one where the title song’s by a star big enough to bring in his own composer for the main score of the film – as opposed to the other way round. Blazing skulls make the titles more memorable than usual as Paul McCartney and Wings give us a thrilling mix of rock and reggae in a discordant swirl of strings. The score is fine, too; not by John Barry, but in many ways a similarly punchy orchestral style, my only complaint is that sometimes the film could do with more of it, with several scenes suffering from little or no music. There’s a lovely bit of music that always sticks in my head from this film, a march heard as Bond meets Solitaire (and at other points) that’s part the James Bond Theme, part Live and Let Die and part a lush swagger that’s George Martin’s own.

Channel 4’s chart position was 3, and that’s pretty fair (I’d probably say 4).

The Film: Rather a good one, from the Bondless pre-titles adventure that sets up multiple murders. Roger Moore makes a different sort of Bond, with more obvious charm but also a more manipulative, cold side, and he’s nowhere near as arch as he’ll become. It’s the first film that makes a big thing of Bond’s preposterous visibility, but rather than everyone knowing who ‘James Bond’ is in the later, fourth wall-ish way, here it’s a sinister moment and racially underscored, as everyone we see in Harlem appears to be reporting to Mr Big that there’s a white secret agent going in. It’s a huge improvement on the book, too; I recently re-read it, and though I rattled through Casino Royale in a day or so, this took me a couple of months to wade through (with many other books in between). Ian Fleming’s sexism runs through the books, but the determined racism was really unpleasant, despite Mr Big being quite an interesting character and first of the huge, compelling Bond villains familiar from the movies. The film takes an entirely different approach, embracing the Blaxploitation style of the time as well as confidently mixing in other genres; Solitaire and Baron Samedi (shootings, coffin full of snakes and all) are simply magic, straight from a horror film. The villain’s impressive and, like Bond, wears an urbane mask – there are boats, alligators, heroin and real tension. The Bond women, however, are either treacherous or shyly passive. 8/10

The Man With the Golden Gun

This song from Lulu has more unsubtle innuendo than any other (beginning with “He has a powerful weapon…”) and, though it’s trashy, I have to admit it’s fun. Like many of the best songs, it’s got a nasty edge and is about the villain, too. Ask Alice Cooper, however, and you won’t hear anything good about it; he wrote his own song for the film, and one day I’ll get round to tracking it down. In the meantime, my favourite version of the song is actually an instrumental take in the style of a Western saloon that turns up a couple of times in the film. It just tickles me. The rest of the score isn’t John Barry’s best, however, with the other memorable bit the dramatic theme that sounds unfortunately like It’s Not Unusual…

Channel 4’s chart position was 14, and again that’s about right (maybe 15).

The Film: After a fresh, hard-edged debut, this is a bit of a mess for Mr Moore, and instead of a confident assimilation of genres it seems so worried by the then-fashionable Kung-Fu ‘competition’ that it simply stops in the middle to do a tie-in at a karate school (the first Bond scene to cameo in a Doctor Who book, but with little else to recommend it). There’s an opening kill reminiscent of From Russia With Love, an entertaining villain and a lovely travelogue moment as Bond’s plane glides in to his island, but as for the rest… Bond’s a git in an indescribably hideous jacket – all right, I could describe it, but I’d have to look at it again – and Mary Goodnight is perhaps the most appallingly useless Bond woman of the lot. Christopher Lee is entertaining, but his ‘evil Bond’ assassin with the extra nipple appears to have no reason for doing anything he does. Why does he build a great big laser gun? What’s it for? Other than to prompt the gleefully delivered and trailer-perfect line “This is the part I really like” (as with the villain in The Ruby in the Smoke muttering, “Have I got your attention now?” some lines are just made to be used in publicity). His little French assistant Nick-Nack constantly bringing in assassins to keep him on his toes is all too like Clouseau and Kato, too. It starts the habit of Roger Moore’s quips being more memorable than his action sequences: “She’s just coming, sir” is the one everyone’ll know from this one. You may scoff, but it’s better than the film’s advertising tag, ‘The girls are willing – the pace is killing!’ 5 and a half out of 10.

The Spy Who Loved Me

Carly Simon’s Nobody Does It Better has a knowing confidence, though it doesn’t have quite the bite of a Barry song. It’s best as it lets rip towards the end (much like the slightly anaemic recent Scissor Sisters single with a much more Bondian film to its video – credits projected onto attractive male and female thighs – than its song). It’s a memorable title sequence, too, with Bond himself finally appearing in them along with naked goosestepping Russian ‘girlies’ and lots of guns. This is the Maurice Binder look (and even more sexist than it sounds. As he always was). The film’s score is a very different direction, but often rather impressive: the best bit’s the funky disco racing along with a bit of the James Bond Theme, and there’s strident music for tanker-swallowing, though without quite the majesty of Barry. Points for the bubbly, mysterious water music, too, though some of the musical puns on other famous film scores are a bit trite.

Channel 4’s chart position was 6, but it should have been about 14.

The Film: This was the first Bond film I vaguely remember seeing clips and toys for at the time; it’s that submersible car. It’s the first of them that comes across as a ‘Greatest Hits’ assortment, with a definite feel of the Sean Connery movies – it’s virtually a remake of You Only Live Twice – but also marking out the definitive tongue-in-cheek Roger Moore style. The pre-credits adventure grabs your attention as we’re introduced to new Bond regular General Gogol, the KGB chief who brings charisma and ambiguity to the series as the Cold War comes back, but more often than not with Britain and the USSR in uneasy alliance. With a nuclear submarine stolen, he calls in his top agent – who turns out not to be the sexy sub-Bond with the hairy chest, but his lover Anya Amasova, one of the strongest of all the Bond women (at least until she needs rescuing). And there’s still sexual innuendo (“something came up”), corniness (“But James, I need you!” “So does England”), a ski chase to great music and an incredible jump off a cliff with a Union Flag parachute even before the song cuts in. It’s all done with great verve, with amazingly huge sets from mad genius Ken Adam, a villain who wants to destroy humanity for nihilism (rather than the ’60s war for money) and the first appearance of metal-toothed henchman Jaws. Much of it’s great fun, and much of it’s a bit crass, but it is indeed ‘Bond – and Beyond!’ in which Moore is “Keeping the British end up”… If not keeping the creative juices flowing as fast. 7/10

Moonraker

Ah well, even Shirley Bassey can’t make this pleasant but rather treacly ballad memorable, and nor can the closing disco remix. The titles have fun with women bouncing a lot, though I’m not personally convinced they’re trying very hard. I might almost say the same about John Barry’s score for once, though he makes a few interesting choices and the music as they go into space is rather impressive…

Channel 4’s chart position was 20, and sadly that’s about right – perhaps as low as 22.

The Film: The last one was bigger than ever and outrageously successful; this one made even more money by getting even bigger – with exactly the same plot, which you may remember was originally from You Only Live Twice. The previous film having swapped ‘death in space’ for ‘death in the ocean’, this cleverly changes the scene to… Space! Hmm. It’s strangely dull (and occasionally nasty, especially when they kill off Bond’s early shag, who’s also probably the most appallingly sexist part in any Bond film), but the lasers were exciting when I was 8 and not allowed to see it. Yes, this is sub-standard James Bond by numbers, with added Star Wars. There’s no room for the novel’s plot (see Die Another Day for that), but we do get Jaws again, stupendously rubbish this time even on a cable car fight, a CIA woman who’d be rather forgettable if she wasn’t called Holly Goodhead, and a villain who’s essentially a tubby French Hitler. Still, while many of the people making the film seem bored and slapdash (not the ones putting up the huge 7 Up product placement boards, though, who really earn their money), the villain is amusingly languid in the style of Fleming’s accidie and naturally has all the best lines, my favourite of which remains his wish to put Bond “out of my misery.” It’s certainly better than the famous closing innuendo by bolas-purveyor Q: “I think he’s attempting re-entry.” 4/10

For Your Eyes Only

I was disappointed that James Bond’s Greatest Hits didn’t mention the most famous factoid about Sheena Easton’s song. It involves clamps, and it’ll be along in a minute. First, though, the song itself, and the song that isn’t. It’s not bad, and it opens with a certain mysterious longing tone, but it’s a little bland and sugary next to the best Bond themes. It could have been a song with a harder edge: they first approached Blondie, who turned them down when it turned out Bill Conti only wanted Deborah Harry, not the musicians, and she wasn’t going to be allowed to write the song, just pout for him. So they did their own, on album The Hunter, and it’s much better: a punchy challenge sung from a female Bond counterpart with, in Ms Harry, the most icy-cool voice in pop. Does the rest of the score make up for losing this? No. Far, far too many early ’80s porno funk guitars (though the Bond Theme survives one arrangement here, another makes even that sound cheesily unlistenable) and piping little ‘pah pahs’ instead of proper brass. Of all of the films, the music for this one has dated horribly. Close your eyes and just listen to the score, and you imagine people dancing on ice in neon-toned legwarmers. Open them, and discover to your horror that it’s not far from the truth. All right, there are some swirling strings when Melina shoots someone with her crossbow and more nice strings with a sinister bubbling fade after the ‘Countess’ dies. But, on the whole, I’d prefer the film entirely re-scored by John Barry, and I’d love to hear what he could add to the Blondie song, too. Oh, and the clamps? For the first time, the singer appeared in the main titles, Maurice Binder having taken a fancy to Sheena Easton. But, as her lips were to be in a fifty-foot close-up on cinema screens, the famous tacky titles obsessive made one small demand. She could only do it if he could fix her entire head in giant clamps to stop her moving a millimetre. And she did! She looks terrific in the clamps, but I’m afraid I still find myself thinking “But she hasn’t got Deborah Harry’s beautiful cheekbones. Or voice. Or song.”

Channel 4’s chart position was 5, but I’d push it down to about 19. It’s still all right…

The Film: I can’t help thinking that, while the music saves many of the weaker Bonds, here it may drag this one down. So does my first impression of it. This was the first Bond I was allowed to see at the cinema, and while now I appreciate the decision to pull back from the excesses of Moonraker, when I was 10 the lack of lasers was a cruel disappointment. That’s a shame, as much of it is rather good in a low-key way and Roger Moore is much better understated than flash. They don’t seem to trust the serious tone to bring in the money, though, so they push in bits of slapstick that simply don’t work with the rest of the film. With Bond’s impressively ruthless moments and the thoughtful spy thriller elements, I suspect it really wants to be From Russia With Love, but it’s hamstrung by a lack of verve and of nerve, edging away from its darker places with silly moments instead. There’s a feint between two potential villains that partially works; Topol’s exuberant character comes over rather better than the usually magnificent but necessarily underplayed Julian Glover, while the end, as Bond is met with a smile from General Gogol, is rather interesting. Along the way there are three unusual Bond women (a slightly older but well-characterised one, one too young for Bond and the independent but slightly off-key Melina), only two really memorable sequences and, in place of M, James Villiers’ sound Chief of Staff and the same irritating minister as in the last couple of movies – who appears to have defected to Mrs Thatcher’s government. Oh, dear, Mrs Thatcher. The film’s last scene features a parrot saying rude things to a Margaret Thatcher impersonator, and it’s shoddy beyond belief. Then there are those memorable sequences, but not memorable in a good way: a ludicrous ‘comedy’ car ‘security device’ that blows it up when anyone touches it, and the only pre-titles sequence that simply makes me cringe. A sober, introspective moment at Bond’s wife’s grave is thrown away in a remote-controlled helicopter stunt, at the end of which Blofeld – lost in a legal battle with Kevin McClory – offers Bond a delicatessen “in stainless steel” and is dropped down a chimney. Hilariously. No, I’m wrong! So, the biggest problem for a relatively thoughtful film remains that most of the bits that take the mickey are so crassly ill-judged they jar horribly. “Bless me, father, for I have sinned.” “That’s putting it mildly, 007,” still makes me smile, though. 6/10, grudgingly.

Octopussy

Rita Coolidge sings Tim Rice’s All Time High, having been let off having to work the word ‘Octopussy’ into a song (but just swapping one hostage-to-fortune title for another, I fear). It lacks the venom of a great Bond tune, but she’s got a good strong voice and the strings are rather pretty, while the title sequence has fun with laser projections of a Bond silhouette turning into 007 then an octopus, inevitably crawling across semi-clad women (plus an amusing Bond held by multiple arms and some lacklustre dancing). As for the rest of the score, though… With a competing ‘Bond film’ that year, John Barry is back to do the score, and it’s terrific. Particularly the forbidding strings for the sinister twin assassins near the Berlin Wall, the rousing mix of Bondian and exotic for the balloon-led attack near the end, and of course the bomb. There’s a lot of deep percussion here… Swirling with percussive beats, and a deep, sinister circling beat underneath, repeating in steadily higher pitches. It starts off deceptively softly, but hinting at powerful strings (which do come in) – all the more effective for saying ‘something big is in reserve’ while Bond is trying to disarm a live nuke.

Channel 4’s chart position was 22, which is roughly right; it’s not bad, but I doubt I’d put it higher than 20.

The Film: Most reviews I’ve seen slate this movie, so I’ll come straight out and say that it’s my favourite of Roger Moore’s, and you’ll not be surprised that I think that magnificent score has a fair bit to do with it. The other main argument in its favour is the villain, or rather the villains – there are three key antagonists here, each memorable and with their own agendas, though loosely allied. Octopussy herself and her circus of beautiful, martial arts-expert women (naturally – I always think of their attack at the end in a friend’s words as ‘Revenge of the Bond Girls’) are smugglers and intriguingly amoral; when she’s eventually persuaded to switch sides, it’s convincing, and down to quite a lot more than the redemptive power of a Bond shag (being left sitting on a nuclear bomb rather puts her off her allies, as it would). Deposed prince Kamal Khan, played by ultra-smooth Louis Jourdan, is more a standard urbane-but-deadly Bond villain but very nicely played, looking for money, power and the main chance and tossing out bon mots to Bond: “You have a nasty habit of surviving.” Despite their charms, the best of the leading villains is Steven Berkoff’s General Orlov, a Cold War hawk fed up at the Kremlin’s moves towards détente who devises a dastardly plan to lay the West open to invasion, all the while chewing the scenery as only a Bond film could allow. He twitches and rants his way through the film in supremely watchable fashion, and when I’m (frequently) rushing for a train that I’m just too late for, I always have General Orlov shouting in my head, “I must get to that train!” as he does before being gunned down in front of General Gogol. Our familiar KGB (or is he GRU?) man gets his finest moments here, investigating Orlov’s theft of Imperial goodies then arriving by helicopter to sneer authoritatively at his dying opponent – though Orlov’s fanatical last line still steals the scene. It’s a good movie for henchpeople, too: I’ve mentioned Octopussy’s high-kicking circus, while Khan has strong-arm man Gobinda, not perhaps the most memorable of Bond heavies but with a great moment of disbelief when told to fight Bond outside a plane in flight. My favourites, however, are introduced in a thrilling sequence just as the titles fade: it’s East Germany, and a clown – in truth, 009 – is running through the woods, only to run into knife-throwing twin assassins, to fantastic music. Mortally wounded, he staggers through the window of the British Ambassador, his outstretched hand (still with a balloon hovering above it) releasing a Fabergé Egg that rolls towards His horrified Excellency. The scene always makes the hairs rise at the back of my neck, and it’s like an Avengers episode wandering into John le Carré.

In all my gushing about the good bits, I realise I’ve not yet mentioned James Bond himself. Well, as it happens, Roger Moore’s pretty good here too – most of the time. Ironically, one of the most tense, gripping pieces of acting he ever does is dressed as a clown, as he tries to disarm the bomb at the heart of the plot. On the other hand, he has a dreadful scene smarming over new MI6 secretary Miss ‘Smallbone’ and putting down a frumpy Moneypenny; it’s not a good movie for the MI6 lot, with Robert Brown making rather a forgettable M, and that tedious but mysteriously defecting minister back again. At least Q gets to fly a ludicrously entertaining Union Flag balloon, and he’s far from the silliest thing in it, as anyone who’s seen the ‘crocodile’ will testify. I’ve not even mentioned the pre-titles adventure involving a false moustache, a big explosion and a death-defying stunt in a mini-jet in Cuba an unnamed Latin American dictatorship, which is great fun but has nothing to do with the rest of the plot. Like the circus that provides much of the backdrop, if you don’t like one act, another will be along in a minute to make you wide-eyed. London! India! Berlin! The Kremlin! Elephants! Nuclear bombs! Hideously rubbish ‘comedy’ bits! Yet it all looks and sounds so good that it all comes together through sheer verve, rather than trying for a serious tone that’s undermined by intermittent jarring slapstick (the previous movie). In the week after the first official Bond premiere in China, I’m sure I’ve read that this one did particularly well in Russia: was it because it suggested Mr Brezhnev was an authoritative figure who was firmly in command and committed to peace, rather than a plodding old dictator who’d only stopped warmongering because he was being trundled to state events in his chiller-coffin by then? 8/10, astoundingly.

‘Never Say Never Again’

To kick off this ‘unofficial’ Bond movie, the song rushes over the opening sequence, as if trying to save money by combining the mini-adventure and the titles. I don’t mind the melody for the verses, as it carries a certain urgency that seems to be building up to something, but unfortunately there’s no pay-off; the chorus just subsides into the limpest, least exciting disco you can imagine. Channel 4’s chart position was 19, but it’s just so feeble that I’d suggest 24. The film itself necessarily lacks the vital ingredient that is the James Bond Theme (used to terrific effect in the competing Octopussy), and is far too fond of using ‘comedy music’ in the score, which I never find endearing, and the whole thing is – not bad, exactly, but curiously lacklustre. Produced by Kevin McClory, temporary victor of the legal wrangles over Thunderball, this has another go at that story and still doesn’t entirely make it work. Sean Connery isn’t bad (with the side-effect of making Roj look youthful) and has some good exchanges with his MI6 chums – told he’s eating too much red meat, white bread and dry Martinis, he offers to cut down on the white bread – but Kim Basinger isn’t nearly as exciting as she’ll become later in her career, Rowan Atkinson’s comedy bumbler is distracting rather than entertaining and Max Von Sydow’s Blofeld just looks bored. On the bright side, Barbara Carrera’s outrageous Fatima Blush is like Shirley Bassey as a villain, and it gets her a year’s gig on Dallas. Apparently it made rather less money than Octopussy, and I’m not surprised; I don’t know how much it cost, but it looks much cheaper. Perhaps most of the cash went on lawyers. Poor Mr Connery – he didn’t learn his lesson on not bowing out after You Only Live Twice. With Diamonds Are Forever already resembling a TV movie, if you polled most people on the street with ‘Did Sean Connery do a James Bond TV movie in the ’80s?’ the vast majority would say ‘Oh yeah, that Never Again thing,’ rather than remembering that in fact it limped onto cinema screens. 5 and a half out of 10, if it’s lucky.

A View to a Kill

Duran Duran work with John Barry on the big hit title song, and the co-operation aids both. It’s great fun, and provides a strong melodic hook that recurs throughout the film score, even turning into rather a beautiful love theme. It’s another good score throughout, right from the opening ski chase music, with rolling strings, Bondian brass and a hint of electric guitar (though you could give the California Girls moment a miss). There’s a gorgeous sweeping theme for Zorin’s airship, too – not only are airships cool, but you can’t beat Barry for music that says ‘what a magnificent vista’. The visuals don’t entirely measure up, though; before I get onto the movie, the title sequence features hilariously bad neon makeup and lasers, while the Duran Duran video famously has the Eiffel Tower, animated cameras and hamming from the band. I have a video for it cut together from Doctor Who clips that a chap did some years ago, and it’s much more fun…

Channel 4’s chart position was 10, and that’s about right – maybe 11.

The Film: Roger Moore’s last James Bond film, and it’s one too many, I’m afraid. It’s nowhere near as strong a story or as stylish a production as the last one, and Roger Moore at last looks simply too old for the part he’s playing. Dashing up the Eiffel Tower, mainly played by a stunt man, Mr Moore is clearly out of breath after taking just a few steps and turning in close-up. Still, Grace Jones looks terrific diving off the Tower and generally doing an impressive acting job as a psychotic, though Christopher Walken’s Max Zorin is curiously subdued (at least by his standards). It’s not that they don’t try with his villainous background: he’s a ‘mad Nazi superman’ working for the Communist Bloc turned arch-yuppie free-marketeer, so they covered all their bases. His plot’s essentially a trashy Goldfinger update in Silicon Valley, though, and you have to wince at his mentor, the bumbling comedy Nazi geneticist. No, no, no. On the bright side, Bond spends much of the movie bantering with accompanying expert Tibbett, played by The Avengers’ Patrick Macnee (with his having done The Return of the Man From U.N.C.L.E. at about the same time, he’d finally managed to collect the set of the most famous spy series in the world). His death is quite affecting, which is unusual in a movie that also features a comedy Frenchman called ‘Aubergine’ and, in ‘Stacey’, arguably the wettest Bond woman in the series. Well, aside from Mary Goodnight. Then there’s a Russian agent called Pola Ivanova – which for a while in my teens seemed like what they were all called – an iceberg submarine with a Union Flag hatch, and such contrived gadgets as a terribly convenient cheque-detector and a cheeky little robot to peek at the ‘sexy’ closing scene. Not Roger Moore’s finest moment… 5/10

Labels: DVD, Film, James Bond, Music, Reviews, The Avengers

This blog is one year old today, and this is my 200th post. You expect a wildly controversial topic in celebration? Nah. I’m now so tragically middle-aged that I just thought ‘Ooh, it needs a tidy-up’. I’m pottering about making some small changes, and have started this thrilling index. It’ll help you find any of my articles on politics, should you peculiarly not wish to scroll through two hundred lengthy archived articles. It’ll be updated regularly, and when I update the Previously… Politics set of my favourite old articles in the sidebar (hmm… September), I’ll peg it at the top.

Gosh, I can barely contain my excitement!

Update note: this isn’t updated as often as the Doctor Who one - because, I’m afraid, I write a lot more about politics than Doctor Who, so keeping that up to date is much easier! So you’ll find irregular patches of a few months covered, then the next few not, and so on. Test your luck…

Blogging

Lib Dem Voice Participation Up 100%!
Somewhat sarcastic about The Golden Dozen. Plus Mitt Romney and John McCain.

Happy Birthday, Liberal Democrats!
The Lib Dems’ twentieth birthday, and the bloggers’ interviews.

That Cowardly Norfolk Blogger Tantrum In Full
Nothing to see here, move along…
The Tortoise, the Hare and the Witchfinder General

No Ming, Polls, Defections, Selections, Outrageous Confections, and Definitely No Iain Dale… Just a Bit of Radio
I’m on the Simon Mayo Show.

Delayedblogging
Stephen Tall liveblogs Question Time. I don’t, quite.

Come On In, the Water’s Lovely
Welcoming fellow Lib Dem bloggers.

Speechblogging: Me Again
Making a speech at Lib Dem Conference, and my tips on doing so.

‘Reassuringly Extensive’
Making a speech at the Lib Dem Blogger of the Year Awards 2006, and my rather unwise tips on blogging.

Raising Your Voice
Welcoming Lib Dem Voice.

The Conservative Party

Tories: ‘Lesbians Are Fine As Long As They’re In a Relationship With A Man’
Tory homophobia, 2008; with a bonus Labour Minister making a prat of himself.

Cocaine Boris Gets Confused On Drugs
The Mayor of London (to be). Doesn’t it make you proud?

Tory Economics: 1150% Inflation. In a Day.
Boris Johnson. He wasn’t very good at running the tuck shop.

Did the Tories Win Because of Howards’ Way?
The Tories’ narrative in the ’80s and the sailing soap.

Nasty ‘Nice’ Tories’ Latest: Back to the Workhouse
Tories kicking the poor and sick. I took this quite personally.

David Davis on a Sunday Morning

“Shaaaappps!” (Thunk)
Tory MP Grant Shapps and the most risible character from The Armageddon Factor; separated at birth.

Tory Party Unveils Its Soul: Children and Small Animals Flee
Michael Ancram stands up for Tory values.

‘Mr Balloon’ Gets Back to Blandness
David Cameron is bossy, stupid but not disastrous on the Today Programme.

David Cameron on Today: How I Long For Yesterday
David Cameron is disastrous on the Today Programme.

Five Unkind Ways to Mock Poor Mr Cameron
You can probably guess what this one’s about.

Mr Balloon: A Political Heavyweight
A cartoon that you’re welcome to borrow.

The Tories – Just a Blip, or Self-Destructing?
Not William Hague’s finest hour.

Fairness

Tories: ‘Lesbians Are Fine As Long As They’re In a Relationship With A Man’
Tory homophobia, 2008; with a bonus Labour Minister making a prat of himself.

It’s All Because…
The gays are getting married.

Jack Straw Is My Darling
Labour’s very, very belated gay rights legislation after opposing it, and the Liberal Democrats’ far better record.

What I Think of Jim Davidson’s Whingeing ‘Victim’ Act (go on, guess)
A homophobic git bleats for sympathy.

Why Should I Want a Bigot to Smile Politely?
Why should we have anti-discrimination laws anyway?

Church Latest: Protect Hate, Hate Love
Churches justify homophobic bigotry and dumping kids (dog bites man, bears are Catholic, etc).

Compromised
A satirical look at the Prime Minister’s wish to find a compromise with bigots.

Some Motions Are More Equal Than Others
The Lib Dems make a bit of a mess of equality too.

Freedom

Happy Birthday, Magna Carta (now lock it away)!
Labour, locking people up without trial, bribing coroners and what the Magna Carta was really about.

Crooked Coroners Corruption Latest: Legalise Bribery!
Labour’s utter abuse of power.

Mind-Boggling Labour Government Corruption: Unlimited Power To Make Cover-Ups and Fix Trials
I’m really quite cross. So should you be.

Banning Things Is Insane, Except When Not Banning Them Is Insane – BBC
The BBC continues to turn into the Daily Mail.

Blogging, Gambling and the Perils of Delivering Leaflets
I ramble about other bloggers again in a vaguely philosophical way.

If Labour Does It, It Can’t Be Wrong
Labour and the Rule of Law. One of the pieces I’ve written that’s closest to my heart.

Unwise Things To Do Of A Morning…
Wondering if the abortion piece was a brilliant idea.

Family Guy
Thinking about abortion law and other family policies.

History

Happy Birthday, Magna Carta (now lock it away)!
Labour, locking people up without trial, bribing coroners and what the Magna Carta was really about.

Doctor Who and the ‘Celebrity Historical’
Doctor Who and other fictional adventures in history.

Missing the Boat
Defending the Cutty Sark (against Laurence Boyce).

Present: One Small Blog For Me, One Giant Blog With Everyone Else

Past: History Matters

The Ruin of Two ‘Glamorous’ Prime Ministers, Fifty Years Apart
Anthony Blair and Anthony Eden.

Making America Infamous in History
President Bush bulldozes Babylon.

Iraq

‘Tried in His Absence’
On the execution of Saddam Hussein.

The Ruin of Two ‘Glamorous’ Prime Ministers, Fifty Years Apart
Anthony Blair and Anthony Eden.

Making America Infamous in History
President Bush bulldozes Babylon.

The Labour Party

MPs’ Luxuries: Labour Can’t Get Enough; Lib Dems Against; Tories Split
A vote in Parliament to, er, further discredit Parliament.

Want BNP? Vote Labour
Labour’s disgusting foreigner-bashing leaflets for the Crewe and Nantwich by-election.

New Logo Says What We All Think of the Labour Government
Priceless.

‘D’oh! Conned Again!’ Say the World’s Stupidest MPs
Gordon Brown’s 10p tax con gets fixed. If you’re very, very credulous.

Were They Counting On Their Fingers?
How it took Labour MPs (and Tories, and thinktanks) over a year to spot Gordon Brown’s 10p tax con. I know it’s not endearing to say ‘I told you so’…

A Government of High-Quality Fantasists?
Andy Burnham declares opera for all on fifteen quid a year, bless him. And why Labour shouldn’t be trusted to write a written constitution.

Crooked Coroners Corruption Latest: Legalise Bribery!
Labour’s utter abuse of power.

History Repeats Itself: First As Farce, Then As, Er, More Farce
Hilarious socialist squabbles between Labour and its splinters.

Mind-Boggling Labour Government Corruption: Unlimited Power To Make Cover-Ups and Fix Trials
I’m really quite cross. So should you be.

Lost in the Post: Why Postal Services May Prove Fatal For Gordon Brown
Labour delivers the worst data disaster in the history of the world and the Election That Never Was.

Dodgy Donors: Your Cut-Out-And-Keep Guide to Spotting the Difference
Compare and contrast Labour and Lib Dem dodgy donors – guess which party are the corrupt ones?

A Tragic Announcement… Oh, Who Am I Kidding?
At last, Mr Blair is going.

A Corrosive Effect
Mr Blair and lies again.

Gordon Widens Gap Between Rich and Poor – Tony Lies About It
Isn’t it amazing that Liberal Democrats spotted and opposed Gordon Brown’s 10p tax con over a year before Labour and Tory MPs discovered its ‘unforeseeable’ effects?

If Labour Does It, It Can’t Be Wrong
Labour and the Rule of Law. One of the pieces I’ve written that’s closest to my heart.

And Now… The Verdict
The Trial of Tony Blair.

That Post-Christmas, Post-Who Satisfied Feeling
Labour lose a member. And another. And…

Oh, Just Stop It!
Gossip about Cherie Blair isn’t big or clever.

Ming vs Flash Dour Gordon
Battle of the speeches.

“You Can’t Resign, In Fact, You’re Sacked! Oh, Bugger!”
That Mr Blair tells another whopper.

Ding Dong, the Witch Is Dead (Pending)
Mr Blair, he dead. Or not.

The Crime Is Birth, The Sentence Is…
Even for Mr Blair, this one’s barking mad.

Ten Things I Hate About…
What has the Labour Government ever done for us? If only they were the Romans… They were probably better on civil liberties, too.

The Liberal Democrats – Conferences

Forthcoming Excitement From the FPC
Trailing Make It Happen and not-the-student-funding-row.

The Lisbon Treaty, Murphy’s Law and Why Policy Matters
Lib Dem splits over Europe in the run-up to Spring Conference 2008.

Speechblogging: Me Again
Making a speech at Lib Dem Conference, and my tips on doing so.

Limping Into Tuesday
Physical pain fun.

Ravishing Phone Intoxication
Conferences are silly.

‘Reassuringly Extensive’
Making a speech at the Lib Dem Blogger of the Year Awards 2006, and my rather unwise tips on blogging.

Living the Fast Life in Brighton
Fun on the wireless.

Some Motions Are More Equal Than Others
Even Lib Dem debates are sometimes crapulent.

The Liberal Democrats – Elections

The Two Messages Brian Paddick Needs To Get Across
Our difficulty in the 2008 London Mayoral Election.

Oh, I Give In: Election Fever!
What turned out to the Election That Never Was.

The Lib Dems Need More Votes. From Where?
Oh, the usual answer. Greens closer to us than fascists, surprise.

The Liberal Democrats – Leaders and People

Free the Stoke One!
Gavin Webb – too Liberal for some?

What Nick Should Have Said…
Nick Clegg and Europe.

The Bloggers and Nick: Decision, Diversity, Doughnuts
An interview with Nick Clegg on his day of election.

Well Done, Nick!
Nick Clegg is elected as Leader of the Liberal Democrats.

A Vote For Nick (featuring Nick’s ‘EXCLUSIVE’ answer to a nasty question)
Why you should vote for Nick Clegg.

A Vote For Chris (featuring Chris’ answer to a nasty question you’ve probably seen elsewhere)
Why you should vote for Chris Huhne.

(Almost Past) Time To Decide
Looking back at the Leadership election.

Leaders – What’s the Point?
What I’d like to hear in the 2007 Leadership election.

The Candidate For You?
Potential London Mayoral and US Presidential candidates.

Brian Paddick: He’s Not the Messiah, He’s a… Very Distinguished Police Officer
A candidate for Mayor of London.

Dodgy Donors: Your Cut-Out-And-Keep Guide to Spotting the Difference
Compare and contrast Labour and Lib Dem dodgy donors – guess which party are the corrupt ones?

Ming vs Flash Dour Gordon
Battle of the speeches.

Return of the Leaders
Charles Kennedy and Paddy Ashdown.

Sex and the President
How to pick a Lib Dem President. But we didn’t.

Should Simon Hughes Be Re-elected?
Shows what I know!

Political TV

Did the Tories Win Because of Howards’ Way?
The Tories’ narrative in the ’80s and the sailing soap.

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
Aaron Sorkin’s latest; more very expensive therapy than watchable television, and incredibly patronising.

And Now… The Verdict
The Trial of Tony Blair.

Popping Mrs Balloon
The Amazing Mrs Pritchard.

Delayedblogging
Stephen Tall liveblogs Question Time. I don’t, quite.

Religion

Rowan Williams In Detail: Deceitful, Demented or Naïve to the Point of Idiocy?
The Archbishop of Canterbury’s spin about Sharia Law.

A Victory for Democracy
Pope Benedict appoints 24 new Cardinals.

The Problem of ‘Accident’
Vague theological meanderings, but generally serious.

Why Should I Want a Bigot to Smile Politely?
Why should we have anti-discrimination laws anyway?

Church Latest: Protect Hate, Hate Love
Churches justify homophobic bigotry and dumping kids (dog bites man, bears are Catholic, etc).

Compromised
A satirical look at the Prime Minister’s wish to find a compromise with bigots.

Thought For the Day
Is it worth listening to? Clue: no.

Science

Advertising Witchcraft
Homeopathy – how I love it!

The United States of America

Lib Dem Voice Participation Up 100%!
Somewhat sarcastic about The Golden Dozen. Plus Mitt Romney and John McCain.

My View On the US Elections…
2008 Presidential links.

Wise Old Man Speaks
Jimmy Carter on Mr Blair and Mr Bush. With special guest appearance from Mount Rushmore.

Labels: American Politics, British Politics, European Politics, History

Today there’s an exciting all-day meeting of the Liberal Democrats’ Federal Policy Committee, so there’s just time to say ‘Hooray!’ for this being the first anniversary of my taking up blogging. A day crammed with scattergun policy detail seems curiously appropriate, then, though my participation in our early discussion of the next Manifesto may be a little limited: no papers have been circulated, so it’ll all be on the projector and I’m currently blind as a bat. Before I go, though, I’ve noticed the Lib Dem blogosphere sizzling with two issues in the last few days – gambling and letterboxes.

Gambling

On gambling, I’ll join the blogging consensus of Stephen Tall and Iain Sharpe; I can’t see myself ever entering a casino (even with our elephant’s James Bond fixation), but the Liberal Democrats seem to have been needlessly nannyish over them. It’s not the first time; I remember Andrew Stunell chiding me years ago over the unpopularity of my stance on the monarchy, and my retort that he wanted to ban the National Lottery, and that would wind up far more people on a weekly basis. I like Don Foster, but seem to have a habit of disagreeing with him; I like Blackpool too, for all its shabby charms (well, mainly for the Doctor Who exhibition and fond family holiday memories), and can’t see why they shouldn’t be allowed to build a ginormous casino if they want one. If there’s a risk of addiction, by all means regulate them, as you would with any addictive substance. But prohibition? Nah. Let people and communities make their own choices, and if it’s your view that a choice is wrong, their own mistakes.

Letterboxes and other Election Hazards

With such a libertarian strand around the blogosphere, I have to admit I was a little surprised at the tide of (occasionally tongue-in-cheek) support for interfering in people’s homes. No, not sex this time, but the idea that the state should go round micro-managing people’s letterboxes. I’m as fond of Chris Young’s song as anyone else (haven’t seen him for years; wonder how he is?), but while I’m all for regulation of, say, energy-saving standards in new build, I really don’t think ‘Ooh, that caught my fingers once’ is a sufficiently major issue of public policy to unleash an army of bureaucrats with rulers. So, Paul, Stephen, Peter, er, ‘Action’ and all, sorry, but I won’t sign the petition.

Besides, though I’ve had many bruised knuckles over the years, letterboxes are only about the fifth nastiest hazard to FOCUS (make sure you stick ‘Green Action’ on every leaflet) deliverers. What about confusing road layouts so you get lost and tire yourself out – of all the routes I’ve delivered up and down the country, the worst numbering in Britain still remains the Offerton estate, five minutes’ walk from my parents’ house – or those great long walks up very narrow gardens, separated by fences, so you’re knackered after just a few doors within feet of each other? Should we have a petition for subsidiary gates in all walls and fences that stretch more than five metres? And what about dogs – oh, I could tell you about dogs. The voter in the Christchurch by-election who agreed to take a full-sized stakeboard for his corner house facing right down a busy road, because I had the presence of mind to request it when his dog’s teeth were embedded in my jeans? Or the scar I still have on the other leg nearly a decade after an unleashed dog bounded out to bite me for delivering a leaflet in Taunton (yes, I dragged it, on my leg, up as far as the door to make sure I could pop the FOCUS through before getting away)? Or the most miserable delivering experience I’ve ever had, slopping round Islwyn in torrential rain, delivering until not only had the highlighter pen come up my map, but the print on the map itself, and the leaflets were now not coming away from the bundle in sheets but in thick clumps of papier-maché? Twenty-four hours in that town, and not a moment when I was dry… Or, of course, altercations with voters, the most vivid memories still being by-elections like Eastleigh – the foaming anti-immigrationist who, after I’d pointed out the factual inaccuracies with or politely agreed to differ on every single thing he’d said, ended up howling down the road after me “Chidgey?! That’s not an English name!” – or Christchurch, where after one dispiritingly Tory street, Diana Maddock listened to the bad canvassing news with a calm “They’re all fascists, you know. I hope they’re going to vote for me.” But what made up for it was not banning them, but the tiny old woman who confidentially disclosed, “Well, I’ve always voted Tory…” then seizing me and shaking me as she cried “But you’ve got to get the bastards out!” And that we did, of course.

The answer, dear Lib Dem, is to grin and bear it, and to climb every tower block ’til you win your seat. Not take a saw to every voter’s door, even in fun, and however much you want to do it.

Labels: By-elections, Liberal Democrat Conferences, Liberal Democrats, Meddling In Things That Are Nobody's Business But Your Own, Personal

While peering fuzzily around London the other day, I spent some of the time I might profitably have used researching glasses looking for other bargains. Doctor Who bargains, particularly, though also the odd bit of chocolate. I know it’s a little late for the January sales, but there are still a few decent sales around. The reductions on Doctor Who toys were disappointing, but if you want to pick up The Doctor Who Storybook 2007 or Doctor Who – The Official Annual 2007, hurry and you can still find them at many bookshops for £1.99, or even 99p. Going fast!

When I was a boy, The Doctor Who Annual was a regular Christmas fixture. I loved them, though they tended to be a bit bonkers. The stories were bizarre, the pictures surreal (not least because they’d usually only paid to use Tom Baker’s image and came up with strange new versions of other characters), and they had only the faintest connection to anything in the proper series. My favourite remains the 1977 Annual, largely for the stunning and deeply weird artwork. These days the rights have reverted to the BBC, so they’ve started including them in pdf form on some of the DVDs: you can find the 1977 Annual on The Hand of Fear, while I’ve reviewed the ludicrously violent 1971 Annual as part of the Inferno DVD.

The Annual made a comeback in 2005 with the return of the TV series, with that summer seeing publication of The Doctor Who Annual 2006 from Panini, publishers of Doctor Who Magazine. It was fun and much in the style of the old Annuals, with thrilling adventures in time and space both in comic strip and text form joined by puzzles and informative features (including an outrageously fannish extrapolation of the canon from one Russell T Davies), though – unlike the way they used to work – this one had lots of pictures from the proper series and was largely accurate, which was forgivable if not quite in the spirit of the thing. This clearly sold so well that last year the BBC decided to produce the Annual themselves, while raking in more cash by still licensing Panini to produce their Annual-format The Doctor Who Storybook 2007. So it was distinctly dubious for the BBC to label theirs Doctor Who – The Official Annual 2007, as if Panini’s was some unofficial knock-off instead of something from which the BBC were getting a great deal of money. Still, it worked; for the first time in many decades, The Beano Annual was knocked off its plinth as biggest-selling Annual, and Doctor Who – The Official Annual 2007 replaced it. I don’t know the comparative sales figures for The Storybook, but how do the two compare in terms of quality…?

Well, at first glance The Storybook looks classy and The Official Annual like a piece of cheap tat. And that’s pretty much true, but I felt a little better-disposed towards the latter after actually reading it. Doctor Who – The Official Annual 2007 is the one with the hologram of Christopher Eccleston morphing into David Tennant on the cover, the smaller number of pages, the very large type and the minimum of creative input. There are no text stories, and the two large, friendly comic strips – though with a certain stylised quality to the artwork – are cheap knock-off reprints from Doctor Who Adventures comic, which is really cheating. They’re also the only artwork in there, with everything else just photos – a sign of it all being put together in a hurry. So what’s there to like about it? Well, I have to admit I got quite caught up in the fun of the games and puzzle pages (that maze was jolly difficult, you know) and the Know Your Enemy files were very entertaining (just like the old Doctor Who Weekly). And who could resist the Is Your Teacher An Alien quiz? There’s even, in the style of the old Annuals, a genuine factual feature on the planets of the solar system – though, tragically, it became out of date between being sent to the printers and reaching shop shelves…

The Doctor Who Storybook 2007 has had far more care and creativity poured into it. Each of the text stories (and the comic strip, not reprinted from anywhere else) is lavishly illustrated by a different artist, so the whole thing looks gorgeous and has plenty of scary bits. It even opens with a flippant ‘letter from the Doctor’ in the style of the old Doctor Who Weekly. I loved Tom Macrae’s scientific fairy tale Once Upon a Time, accompanied by strikingly stylised art from Adrian Salmon, and was also rather taken by Andy Walker’s art for Gravestone House (regular readers of its author, Justin Richards, will not be surprised to learn that it features the walking dead). Nick Briggs’ No One Died provides some lovely moments of horror and striking mental as well as pictorial images (but can Nick draw?). And I’d also go with Steve Moffat’s disturbing Corner of the Eye, which is different in feel in several ways. I won’t spoil the twist, but the most refreshing difference from several of the stories is that, told to write a story for children, too many of them have said, ‘Hey! Why don’t I write a story with a kid in it? That’s original.’ When I was a boy, I tended to feel those sort of stories were talking down to me, and now I’m a bit bigger these feel a bit forced. So it’s a good collection, but not stunning.

The Storybook definitely wins for me, then, but I can’t help feeling it had something missing. A quiz or two, perhaps, or a fact-file. Definitely a game in the style of snakes and ladders (perhaps to escape a werewolf), and some vaguely Doctor Who-themed brain-teasers for which you have to turn to the back to find the answers. In fact, what it needed was a filler or six to break up the stories – exactly the sort of thing found in The Official Annual, which this year was nothing but filler pieces. So the ideal 2007 Doctor Who Annual could be made by tearing one of each in two and gluing them together (tip: don’t do this in the shop). Alternatively, you could just buy both, as of course I did, and did for Richard’s nephew. That’s who Annuals are for, after all.

Of course, if your local bookshop has sold out of both of these, most of them still have plenty of Beano Annuals lying around, though I’ve not looked at those. Everywhere also seems to have such huge piles of unsold Superman Returns Annuals that I almost took pity and bought one. But not quite.

I did also have a look around to see if anyone had reduced the price of Character Online’s fabulous but extensive and rather expensive line of Doctor Who toys. No luck, it seems, though Woolworth’s have two of the items on sale. One is the ‘Animatronic Cyberman’, reduced from £29.99 to £19.99, a foot-tall monster on a plinth that’s apparently designed as a ‘room guard’ and which turns from side to side and speaking when activated. I’m sure it’s meant to look very ferocious, but unfortunately a silver, over-muscled figure that gyrates from side to side on a plinth and sounds like Cher is impossible not to think of as an ‘Animatronic Disco Bunny’. I’m not sure how many varieties it comes in, either, as I’ve noticed a couple of boxes with the brain-exposed Cyber Controller, one of which was labelled an ‘Animatronic Cyber Leader’ (though, confusingly, I’ve seen none with the black ‘handlebars’ of a Cyber Leader). The other ‘sale’ item, down from £49.99 to £29.99, is the ‘TARDIS Cooler’. This is essentially a tiny fridge with a TARDIS-shaped door, and is possibly the most bizarre piece of Doctor Who merchandising ever sold. Who would buy such a ridiculous thing? Oh, I admit it. I did. Bargain!

Points down to Woollies’, though, for now selling Cadbury’s Melts only at full price. Before Christmas they were doing them at two for £2, and I bought rather too many of the ‘Deliciously Dark’ variety. If you’ve not seen them, these are flat sticks of Dairy Milk filled with dark chocolate truffle, and they’re extremely nice. They also have the advantage that, unlike a bar that I’d just guzzle, there are eight individually wrapped Melts in a pack, so I don’t eat them all at once. Well, not all the time. I was even considering buying a cigarette case in which to carry a supply around with me, but at £1.29 for a pack they seem a little pricey… Still, with Easter a mere two months away (start that countdown for Doctor Who), at least they’re doing ‘buy two, get one free’ on Mini-Eggs, so I won’t starve.

You may have seen the posters springing up this week to advertise the second series of last year’s surprise hit Life On Mars. They’re difficult to miss, as even I spotted them with my glasses off. I have to admit they made me smile, cheesily punning slogan and all. There’s sensitive modern police officer Sam Tyler, scene-stealing ’70s copper Gene Hunt and their Ford Cortina, along with the famous old ‘globe’ logo for the show that’s returning to ‘BBC1 in Colour’ on February 13th. Is Sam insane, in a coma, or really back policing in 1973 after his car accident? Is he now the number two in a real 1970s Manchester police division, or is everyone he works with just an aspect of his own mind? And what do the sinister sock puppets have to do with it? Apparently this is going to be the last series of the show, though a sequel set in the 1980s is planned. So will we ever get the answers?

Whatever revelations it brings, I’m looking forward to the return of Life On Mars, one of the new shows from the last couple of years that’s at last started making television drama interesting again. And, of course, soon there’ll be another series of Doctor Who as well. With Life On Mars starting slightly later in the year this time, by my reckoning it’s set to finish the Tuesday before Doctor Who begins again, and no doubt there’ll be plenty of back-to-back trailers.

In the meantime, BBC4 continues to repeat last year’s Life On Mars, and you can see the next one on Monday night at 10.30. It immediately follows the first in a new series of Charlie Brooker’s Screen Wipe at 10 – though it looks like the advertising budget for that series is a little smaller. If you’ve seen one of them in the last week, you might recognise that BBC4 are saving money by repeating exactly the same trailers they used last year…

My glasses dropped in two last week. There were no suspicious circumstances: they were several years old, so it was probably just metal fatigue. It does, however, mean I’ve been awkwardly squinting at things to get them into even partial resolution. Peering closely at the computer enables me to read but gives me headaches, so perhaps I’ve been more grumpy. Out and about in the last couple of days, though, I’ve seen London through new eyes (with an effect almost the opposite of that cliché). I’ve experienced frustration, flirting, and a Doctor Who-related trick of perception, while feeling strangely insecure…

The Doctor Who connection first, as you might expect. In last year’s story Army of Ghosts, blurry human-shaped figures on the streets of London were invariably taken for the ghosts of dead friends and relatives, to the scorn of some reviewers. Well, the monsters that (of course) they turned out to be had form with hypnotic signals, so it didn’t seem that unlikely, and I can now confirm that my own experience of fuzzy, almost-human shapes on the streets has been very similar. With my brain starved of accurate information, it’s been filling in the perceptual gaps with patterns it already knows that fit the evidence. Or, to put it another, I keep ‘seeing people I know’ when in fact it’s only someone with a vague resemblance or similar silhouette. Friends, famous people, my Mum, even – rather disturbingly – me have all apparently strolled by, and after peering myopically at them, it turns out all of them were fakes. But, Russell T Davies, it turns out you were right after all. This is exactly how our brains make sense of things. At home, incidentally, I’ve been able to watch a little bit of Doctor Who on DVD, but it’s tricky: my method involves holding the two halves of my old pair clamped very carefully to the sides of my head, which does indeed restore my vision but is uncomfortable over any time. It’s also no use for typing, as I lack prehensile toes and nor am I from the Centauri Republic (my lovely Richard attempted to superglue them, but they fell apart again in an instant, and I’m told soldering would have as little effect).

I’ve naturally been getting closer to people than I usually would, mainly to make sure I can see them, though I’m sure there’s an undercurrent of trying to project a confidence I’m actually deprived of when lurching about without frames for the first time in over twenty years. One side-effect of this appears to be that people keep getting rather flirty. Make prolonged eye contact (because I have to stare to make things out) and lean in close (the same), and a surprising number of shop assistants have started making eye contact back, smiling, chatting and giggling over the counter. Yes, even the women. Is it the closeness, is it that I’m trying harder to project my personality, or is it really true that no-one makes passes at chaps who wear glasses? On the bright side, the long-worn grooves in the side of my head are slowly disappearing for the first time in decades, though I’m not sure it makes a lot of difference to onlookers.

The grooves will be back within a week, I hope, as I’ve now been for an eye test (aren’t they pricey?) and ordered a new pair of glasses and a spare (aren’t they very pricey?). Though I deliberately chose an optician’s for the test with two competing franchises within a minute’s walk, I was of course instantly railroaded into choosing expensive frames right after the test. They saw me coming (while my vision, of course, is impaired, and I cannot see). The chap who gazed into my eyes just seemed so convincing when he told a shop assistant which coating I’d need for my new lenses, how the lens for my left eye would need to be ultra-thin (and, no doubt, ultra-priced) because that eye’s much worse than the other one… Well, it all sounded like he knew what he was talking about, and as I barely caught one word in three, how could I possibly repeat it all in another shop? So I was well and truly suckered.

Now, my old pair were glasses that I really liked. The slim, lozenge-shaped lenses with the very thin frames were just the look I wanted, and for the first time when getting new glasses, I’d have gone for exactly the same thing again. Naturally, it couldn’t be that easy. “Police stopped doing that design years ago,” I was told. So there followed the long and uncomfortable process of trying to choose from a huge wall full of different frames, none of which I could see properly from more than about two feet away. Inevitably, I ended up relying on advice from the shop assistant, and however flattering he may have been about the effect of different frames, I can’t help noticing that – among all their glasses on Spring offer of 50% off – I managed to end up with two different styles at, er, 25% off. Ah well. Next time, I’ll aim to look for a new pair as soon as the ‘spare’ goes, and look round different shops to make note of different options before I’m in the all-too-persuasive grip of any one store in particular…

Tonight’s episode of The Avengers (11.30, BBC4) is the last they made in black and white. Next week they’re back to showing the colour Mrs Peel episodes – let’s hope for Tara King eventually – but while the monochrome stories were generally more ‘realistic’, this one has the party atmosphere of an Arabian Nights-themed end-of-season panto. It’s a Cold War assassination plot in the style of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. Peering at it last night was very enjoyable (plus they had the Move singing their groovy Fire Brigade on first), though it does cheerfully employ every cliché going.

Steed becomes a genie – Emma joins a harem

This has a great many lovely moments, though the actual plot is as skimpy as the diaphanous veils in which Mrs Peel inevitably ends up dancing. She looks good in them, mind, and in her sharp white trouser suit (much more her than the more famous black leather), while Steed wears a tux jolly well. Actually, it’s a good look all round – except Mr B. Bumble, in his equally inevitable unflattering stripes – with most of the guest cast not just scene-stealing but well-dressed, attractive or both, even the particularly impressive set of non-speaking extras. Ron Moody is the brains behind The Quite, Quite Fantastic Incorporated, able to fulfil any fantasy, and he and his organisation with its preposterous ability to stage any scene within a small set of London offices unquestionably run off with the episode, despite impressive competition. There’s a remarkable erotic undercurrent from the villains – fey, fur-coated assassin Vincent is pretty and slightly sexually ambiguous, while hairy-chested mastermind Arkadi usually gives his orders with a sexual swagger and very few clothes – even before the appearance of handsome Zia Mohyeddin as Crown Prince Ali and his (again inevitable) enormous harem.

The episode follows a familiar Avengers pattern of our heroes investigating a mystery for the first half that eventually leads them to an important character who takes up much of the second half, but right from the first it’s something special on top of that. Not the typically surreal ‘teaser’ scene (the ‘genie’ in an Arabian Nights-style setting turns out to be a man with a machine gun and, shock, horror, you can see Big Ben from the window), but the scene of Steed and Emma frolicking on the way back from a party as they cross a very pretty bridge is simply gorgeous. They then arrive back at Steed’s flat to find a dying agent waiting for them, which will become an enormous cliché in the series’ later years – though not as much as a villain dying by his own weapon, as one minor hit-man does here in perhaps the shortest and least successful fight in the whole series. In mitigation, the body leads to a killingly funny scene, as Steed testily rings to remind his department to have it removed only to have to apologise on realising it’s now a different corpse to the one at the start.

“Of course I’m not trying to corner the market!”

There’s really not a lot of deep meaning to this and little more plot. Without wishing to spoil it for you, I could summarise it by saying that when a Middle Eastern country agrees to supply oil to Britain, a spymaster for the ‘Eastern bloc’ plans the assassination of their Crown Prince, employing the brilliant but naïve imagination of The Quite, Quite Fantastic Incorporated. But that tells you nothing about why this episode is worth watching, and it has a much lighter tone than the subject matter implies. The dead agent’s trail leads our heroes in order of escalating eccentricity to his flat, a honey shop and then Ron Moody’s fantasy emporium, and it’s all in the playful detail. Steed investigates the QQF Inc by trying out its fantasies (well, he would), making a gloomy Napoleon smile and having Moody’s Ponsonby-Hopkirk guess what his betuxed desire might be (a band leader? Gambling at Monte Carlo? No, of course – he could be a secret agent, for a change!). Mrs Peel, having not yet exhausted reality, poses as a hookah-smoking journalist and (quite properly) is unable to pry the precise details of people’s fantasies out of Mr Ponsonby-Hopkirk. In scenes just a step away from farce, our heroes and our villains keep popping in and out of the QQF with such timing that they only just miss each other; ordered to shut Ponsonby-Hopkirk up, however, Vincent doesn’t miss. There’s a playfully deadly scene where the QQF boss chides him for not putting enough into his play-assassination:

“Think murderously! Fix me with your eye. And think to yourself, I am going to kill him! I am going to kill him! Much better! Much more –”
(BLAM!)
“…Convincing…”

As is always the way, silencing the witness to the plan comes too late, as Steed and Emma have finally worked out that an Arabian theme, an assassination plan and forty man-sized jars of honey might just have something to do with the visiting Crown Prince Ali. Yes, there are bound to be points when you wince, particularly at the harem – it’s not quite as culturally sensitive as Carry On Up the Khyber – but in a very Avengers way, it treats Arab stereotypes of the time in exactly the same way as it does its British stereotypes, both glorying in them and overturning them. Except for his taste in women, Prince Ali’s Arab clichés are all played for the benefit of his crawling vizier; as soon as Steed shows up, he springs out of his robes, fully dressed in cricket whites for a game. It’s a relic of when the world was assumed to be educated at Oxford and Cambridge, but very entertaining.

No points will be awarded for guessing how, suspecting the assassin is hiding in a giant honey-jar but unable to enter the scimitar-guarded harem, Steed manages to get someone inside there…

Though the drooling reaction is a little unsavoury, Emma’s “star of the east” dance of the six veils (“She was poorly educated, Your Majesty. Alas, she cannot count” – her reaction’s a treat, and I’m surprised he kept his jaw) leads to much hilarity as Steed puts down her intelligence, gives her to the Prince and then tries to distract him from, ah, going to see her, while rival ‘diplomat’ Arkadi stirs it unmercifully. Of course the Prince never gets to lay a hand on her, but before a rather clever ‘hoist with his own petard’ finish for Arkadi and our heroes’ exit via magic carpet, Ali does visibly enjoy one of the series’ sexier fights, as Vincent and Emma go at each other with swashbuckling cutlasses. It’s hardly demanding, but all the guest actors are great to watch, with Ron Moody’s eccentric just stealing the honours from Arkadi, a particularly formidable opponent (you may remember George Pastell as the ‘villainous generic foreigner’ of several Hammer films and the Hammer-influenced Doctor Who story The Tomb of the Cybermen). An unusual close to the black and white series, then, with Avengerland almost going international instead of op-art, but at the end you get the feeling they enjoyed making it, and you enjoy watching it. Suddenly, the series has become a lot sillier, and if you come back for The Avengers “in color” next Thursday and Friday, you’ll find this one pretty much sets the new tone…

Labels: Reviews, The Avengers, The Avengers Season 4

Three months tomorrow there will be important elections in Scotland, Wales and local government. This week, Liberal Democrat spirits have been raised by several opinion polls showing a sharp rise in support for the party. I don’t set much store by opinion polls, good or bad, but there’s been one consistent element in them for several months now that should concentrate Lib Dem minds. Labour increasingly reviled; the Tories off the bottom of the pit but stuck far from victory; yet much of the ‘sod ’em all’ vote going elsewhere than to us. How can we get more of it? And is it entirely bad that we’re no longer an all-purpose dustbin?

When the other parties were unpopular, it used to be that the Liberals and then Liberal Democrats would pick up most of their disgusted ex-supporters, with ‘Others’ barely registering. Now polls suggest that ‘Others’ are gaining support somewhere in the mid-teens. Of course, this is a huge aggregation of different parties, often venomously opposed to each other rather than presenting anything like a united voice, but precisely because there are so many ‘anti-establishment’ choices on offer, we’re no longer the automatic home for protest.

This is not entirely a cause for distress. If we no longer attract any old protest votes on any old thing, it isn’t just because they used to have nowhere else to go. In part, it’s because we’ve been more successful. We have many more MPs, they generally say things after engaging brain first, and we run local councils up and down the land with decisions over billions of pounds of public money, as well as being in coalition government in Scotland. We also have in Ming a Leader whose image is of authority and gravitas rather than being particularly exciting or ‘an ordinary bloke’. All these elements combine to make us look more establishment, so obviously we don’t get so many anti-establishment ‘give them all a kicking’ votes. Yes, I know; we get more ‘credible’ in one way and we lose our ‘street cred’ in the other. Isn’t life tragic? Added to that, we’ve gradually earned more of an ideological profile, which is bound to turn some people off. There are now plenty of ex-Tories and ex-Labour supporters who know that we don’t sympathise for their reasons for abandoning their old homes. Good.

Undoubtedly, quite a few votes are going to parties based entirely on blaming other people and looking after ‘our own’: UKIP and the Scottish, Welsh and British Nationalist Parties. Liberal Democrats have to find ways to counter their nasty, narrow-minded arguments, but we’ll never compete for that ‘people outside our group are the root of all our problems and we should kick them out’ vote – unlike the Tories as Mr Cameron starts to sweat over the fragmenting of his core vote, chant three Hail Margarets before breakfast and bash immigrants, or the Labour Party, of which even Austin Mitchell said yesterday (hat-tip to Lib Dem Voice):

“Perhaps we’ll win enough National Fronters to compensate for the loss of the many liberals this has alienated. I don’t know. But I do know how I feel. Ashamed.”

I wrote last year about the rise of voting on green issues and the slow creep upwards of the Green Party. The Liberal Democrats have impressively honed their green message in the last year through the most practical, costed policies for a Green Tax Switch ever published by a British political party. Unfortunately, at the same time the Conservatives have created a brilliant piece of spin to claim they’re environmentally friendly, despite being quite the reverse in practice, while the Greens continue successfully to capture headlines by dint of being called ‘Green’, despite their earnest intentions yielding no practical answers. Despite the increasing competition on this ground, though, of all the disllusioned voters these are the ones likely to share similar views to ours. We should go after the green-minded.

Stick ‘Green Action’ on Every Leaflet Ever

There remains a very practical way for us to appeal to environmentally concerned voters that is uniquely suited to Liberal Democrat campaigning strengths. If you want a short, simple, clear, cheap way to get across our big message in your local area, every time you mention any faintly related issue, stick a ‘GREEN ACTION!’ flash on your FOCUS next to it and get the added value of local campaigns all showing the same national principle.

Once again, listening to the morning news headlines on Today gives that Alice in Wonderland feeling. “Senior Labour figures says that the police investigation into Tony Blair is ‘having a corrosive effect’.” They want to see a speedy end to it (‘How dare they have the temerity to investigate us! Let’s close our eyes and wish it all away’). “The Prime Minister is determined to stay on until his legacy is secure – almost certainly past May.” “Almost certainly past hope,” observes Richard.

Mr Blair is starting now on a much-trailed interview. I’m posting before I inevitably start swearing. One thing, though, is certain: the thing about Tony Blair that is “having a corrosive effect” is not the police. Even when he’s telling the truth, no-one can believe a single word the Prime Minister says. Whether he’s lied about honours or merely about a wide swathe of public policy from Iraq downwards, I don’t know, but the answer to the most terribly corrosive thing in British politics for as long as Tony Blair clings to office is simple. It’s Tony Blair.

No, not an opportunity opening up for all those who suddenly claim to be disturbed and titillated by Daniel Radcliffe having grown up (find your own link to the pictures all over the net advertising his play)… JK Rowling has announced that the seventh and final book in the series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, is to be published on Saturday the 21st of July. For many of us, that will no doubt mean midnight on the night of Friday the 20th – expect more big queues at bookshops and supermarkets, and more sudden back trouble for post deliverers.

Which two ‘major characters’ will die? Well, there are two very obvious candidates, but the only time I went around loudly guessing about a character death was two books ago and though I was impeccably logical I was of course completely wrong. So this time I’ll just read it instead, and confine myself to speculating on the book’s tone. Will it be as bright and witty as the first couple, as dark and scary as the next couple, or as depressing a doorstopper as the last two? I suspect the end, at least, will be surprisingly uplifting, though the title doesn’t inspire confidence: I like my titles cheesily traditional, like the intriguing Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but ‘Deathly Hallows’ definitely sounds like it’s trying to be serious rather than fun. Here’s hoping…

This launch date is particularly well-chosen: it’ll be just one week after Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix hits cinema screens (with high hopes, after the last couple of films were such a huge improvement on the earlier ones); and it’s three weeks, by my best guess, after the new series of Doctor Who is due to finish – so, something colourful and imaginative to keep everyone happy going into the summer. And perfectly timed to give Ms Rowling the opportunity to write a story for the 2008 series of Doctor Who?

With the spoilers already flying thick and fast for the forthcoming 2007 series of Doctor Who (I don’t want to know until I see it on the telly!), for once there’s something I’ll be trying to avoid details of with even greater desperation. Let’s hope The Sun doesn’t get hold of any advance copies. As long as people don’t break the story before the day, Richard and I plan to batten down the hatches a little before 1am and not emerge until we’ve read the whole thing – just like we did the last few times. I suspect we may go that little bit further again and join the midnight queues at Ottakar’s Waterstone’s in Greenwich or Books Etc, Canary Wharf: when we were at Canary Wharf two or three books back, there was a great party atmosphere, with DLRs done up as ghost trains, staff in costume, sticky things to eat and all manner of fun. Last time, we just went to our local ASDA, advertising a midnight ‘event’ within walking distance of home. What we got was a winding snake of a queue stuck away from the main shop (even though it was almost empty), ‘organised’ by one excited staff member loving their wizard costume and two bored ones (one hating their costume and the other plainly having refused to put one on in the first place). Midnight came… And the ill-organised ‘queue’ instantly dissolved into an unedifying free-for-all. OK, we got our early books, but it wasn’t exactly a thrilling spirit of community. This time we’ll be off to someone who makes an effort again.

…It’s Richard’s birthday tomorrow (my beloved, and Millennium’s better-known daddy), but he doesn’t like anyone to know.


Tiptoes quietly away from computer…

…Trips and falls with a yell because my vision is impaired and I cannot see…

…Realises Richard’s out so I’m still technically stealthy.

The one time I was able to organise a variety of birthday party for him was by inviting some people round to watch a few videos and DVDs in May 2004. He didn’t notice that it was on the day I’d worked out was his thirty-three and a thirdth birthday. Strike when they least expect it, I say! He’ll probably start getting very suspicious around the time of his two-thirds-of-a-century, but I have a few decades to plan that yet…

The line-up I insisted on showing was Robin of Sherwood: The King’s Fool, Doctor Who: The Crusade (partly in reconstructed format, the BBC having tossed some of it in a skip and set light to it as part of their, ah, idiosyncratic 1970s archiving policy) and The Lion in Winter. They’re all stories set in the 1180s and ’90s, but they have something else in common… On the version of the invites I showed to Richard, it was headlined ‘Plantagenet Night’. A couple of days before it was due, he said with some puzzlement, “But they’re all Richard I.” “Are they?” I responded innocently. Good job it was on the phone; I can never keep a straight face.

Hopefully he’ll have a lovely birthday, and won’t notice me advertising it until it’s too late. Nyah hah hah hah hah (in the absence of an html tag for ‘wicked laugh’).


Corks, he’s back!

Switch the lights out and make a wish.

Labels: Richard

I’m not one to cast aspersions, or indeed spells, but some might find it significant that last night (while starting work on the last in my thrilling series on religion) my glasses dropped in two. This doesn’t make it impossible to type, but bending forward to peer close to the screen isn’t doing my back or neck muscles any good. Bah. I have, however, been cheering myself up with the latest Doctor Who Adventures comic. Not only do I suddenly appreciate bright colours and very large letters, but this one comes with a free pack of Doctor Who playing cards.

Usually I’d recommend Doctor Who Magazine as a better read, but today the kids’ version is keeping me entertained. Usually I just smile at how many old monster gags they get into their ‘spot the whatevers’ cartoons, but they do have a remarkable number of ‘free gifts’. Usually these are a bit tacky (literally, with the amount of stickers they give away), but some are rather fab. Richard thinks the playing cards fall into the tacky category, but who could resist the Six of Ood?

 

Admittedly, they’re not perfect. The printing’s a bit cheap (shock), and while suits of Ood, Daleks and Cybermen are clearly ideal, I’m less sure about the Slitheen (probably have picked the Reapers instead, for a race of monsters from the new series with a memorable silhouette). All the aces are K9s, the Kings are Doctors, the Queens Roses, while the Jacks… Are Mickeys. Some mistake, surely? All right, he deserves a place, and it’s certainly a fetching photo of him, but when there’s a TARDIS traveller called ‘Jack’… Grumble, grumble. Perhaps they just didn’t want to encourage the kids to watch post-watershed Torchwood by mentioning Captain Harkness, but if so, how come there are a couple of photos of him and even a mention of his bottom in this very issue?

My subscription copy came yesterday and, as they have the worst subscription service in the world, for a fortnightly magazine there’s just a chance that you might still catch one of these in the shops. Where they were last week.

Well, it’s more diverting than squinting at opticians’ websites, trying to focus on store-finder phone numbers, making multiple phone calls and still repeatedly being told, “We could fit you in for a test next Wednesday…” But I want to be able to see now (stamps foot)! 

After writing several articles about ‘process issues’ around religion, you might think I’m not interested in the main arguments, but in fact I’ve been involved in theological debate from an early age: it’s probably where I got my training in how to argue obscure Doctor Who lore, and certainly the foundation of some of my politics. So (at the risk of sounding like John Humphrys) I’d like to invite any religious readers to engage with a theological problem I have. While the most frequently raised trouble with God is ‘The Problem of Evil’, I founder on the problem of ‘Accident’.

You’ll have heard of ‘The Problem of Evil’. Put simply, if God is all-good, all-powerful and all-knowing, and has created everything – all fundamental tenets of the Christian faith, in whatever flavour – then how does he permit all the evil that goes on in the world? Benevolence and omnipotence should demand that he’s able to set everything up so that people simply can’t do terrible things to each other. The two answers I’ve heard most often are that ‘God has a plan’ (and moves, no doubt, in mysterious ways), or that without the capacity to do evil, we would have no free will, so it’s worth the suffering that goes with it as the alternative would be a universe of zombies. Each has had their adherents in different branches of Christianity. Brought up in a very religious family, going to two churches every Sunday and to denominational state schools, I can’t remember when I first came across these arguments, but I must have been familiar with them from quite far back. You’ll probably be unsurprised that I never had much truck with predeterminism, but found the arguments for free will persuasive. So, round one to God.

I’ve listened on and off in recent weeks to Milton’s Paradise Lost on BBC7 (whose idea was it to strip it across 41 quarter-hour episodes?), and other than particularly enjoying Ian McDiarmid’s Satan – superb, but tricky that he gets far more persuasive arguments than the ‘good guys’ – it reminded me of an argument that followed on for me to the Problem of Evil. That’s such an old problem now, around for thousands of years, that while I think the central argument is still a live one, it’s easy to miss that some of the issues caught up in it aren’t live any more, at least outside of some of the more backward states of America.

I can remember the first time I ever met a Creationist. I say that, but it’s almost certainly not true: in eighteen years of mixing with devoutly religious people, both Catholic and Baptist, I’d probably met several. It’s just that, with a deep respect for science as well as religion taught to me at home and school, and evolution presented as fact and Genesis as important but fable in both, it never occurred to me to ask anyone. ‘Do you believe the Earth is only 6000 years old and God buried dinosaur bones whole like a cosmic Jeremy Beadle?’ would have seemed as insulting a question to ask as ‘Do you believe the Earth is flat?’ or ‘You think the Moon is made of green cheese, don’t you?’ Despite my upbringing, then, I was profoundly ill-prepared when – aged 17, and newly out – I was put up overnight with three other guys for university interviews. None of us had ever met before, but it turned out two of them were Creationists. I made a very bad impression, because it took me some time to realise they weren’t having me on. In my defence, I did genuinely jump to what I thought was the only reasonable conclusion, a practical joke, and that’s why I kept laughing. Understandably, they took offence. Then I mentioned I was gay and, obviously, I was ‘the first one they’d ever met’ and, rather than being amused, they were terrified and their arguments became even more defensive than before. The fourth guy just pretty much hid under the covers and tried to avoid the shrapnel.

Anyway, back to the Problem of Evil. While the core of it remains a powerful theological argument – for and against – there are peripheral elements that seem to me to have been knocked out by the unfashionableness of the literal truth of Genesis, and this is down to Original Sin. I always had a problem with the idea that all of us are born intrinsically disordered and wrong, in need of forgiveness and salvation for, er, just being alive. It seemed to me a fundamentally nihilistic view of human nature. I look for the good in people, but this wasn’t even morally neutral: what’s the point of free will if you’re ‘naturally bad’? Isn’t that cheating? But the bigger problem I had, crystallising for me alongside a host of smaller things (from church institutions to Bedazzled) that made me more than sceptical, was not evil but accidental suffering. And I finally realised that it’s Genesis that’s responsible for this issue getting far less discussion than evil does – aside, obviously, from the fact that evil is easier to personify, given poster boys from the Devil to whichever dictator is ‘the new Hitler’ (and before then, presumably the new Napoleon, Charlemagne, and so on) – because, for philosophers of the Church all the way up to the Nineteenth Century, the answer was obvious. It was simply an offshoot of ‘Evil’: everything was perfect, literally Paradise; Adam and Eve sinned; evil came into the world, and with it as punishment, ‘Bad Things’. The world fell with Adam and Eve, and created pain. Evil was the important issue to discuss, because everything else was a side effect of it.

However, for a Twentieth-Century boy (as was) like me, the problem came alive. Evil I could understand; free will, I accepted. But the problem of ‘Accident’? Nobody chose it, it’s nobody’s fault, and for most of human history we’ve made not a fraction of the impact on our environment that we do now, even if you want to claim punishment for eco-sin. Take God as benevolent, omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent, as I was always taught, and I just can’t see the get-out clause: if he set up a system that’s always caused such horrible things to happen to so many people for no reason at all, then is God a) a git, b) incompetent or c) vanishing in a puff of logic? Answers on a postcard, please.

Splitting yesterday roughly equally between typing blog pieces and doing arm exercises to enable me to keep typing, I reflected that during the months when I’ve barely been able to type at all many of the blog articles going no further than my head were to do with religion. I remember thinking it was probably for the best, as once I got started I’d never shut up: ah well, too late now. Before my next substantive piece on religion, then, I thought I’d detour to wonder why we have anti-discrimination legislation in general, whether the Catholic Church objects or not.

You’ll have noticed, of course, that the Catholic Church doesn’t object to banning discrimination on grounds of religion, yet, despite the Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster claiming his Church “utterly condemns all forms of unjust discrimination, violence, harassment or abuse directed against people who are homosexual” (when it’s famous for having directly practised every single one of those things), not only does he still want to hang on to all the remaining bits of legal discrimination, but his Church has opposed every single one of them being peeled back over the years: adoption, partnership rights, Section 28, gay sex, gay association… I wonder which of those many, many forms of discrimination, violence, harassment and abuse are now, like Galileo, issues on which the Church grudgingly lets slip it may have been mildly in error, and which they still agree with but no longer think they can enforce? When the language of “utterly condemning” discrimination leaves so many opt-outs to support full-blooded discrimination, who can tell what they mean?

Whoops, religion again. It’s just that if anyone else is a bigot in public nowadays they get shouted down, but if a religious leader’s a bigot in public people say it’s a point of high moral principle, even if they have the power to hurt an awful lot more people along the way. It also gives people the handy opt-out that, so long as they remember to dress up their bigotry in religious clothing, they step from ‘BNP bigot’ to ‘modern martyr’ – without having modified their discriminatory behaviour! Bless.

It’s ironic that the Catholic Church is trying so hard to undermine anti-discrimination legislation, as one of the most striking cases where it was needed was in banning discrimination on grounds of religion – rightly inspired in large part by the ill-treatment of Catholics in Northern Ireland. It was a huge step forward when the ‘No Catholics!’ signs were taken down, and it’s just a shame when the Catholic hierarchy (as opposed to their less bigoted flock) remain, as ever, cheerleaders for the ‘No Queers!’ signs thirty years later.

I was recently asked by a friend (who happens to be gay, though I don’t know his religious persuasion) about the whole issue of anti-discrimination legislation, with so many protests from bigots ‘of conscience’ about their sincere and angry wish to discriminate against lesbians, gay men, bisexuals and anyone they think looks a bit fey in the provision of goods and services. Unlike all the religious protesters, however, who want to sue the cassocks off anyone who doesn’t like them but want to deny their own hate objects any legal protection, my friend’s crisis of conscience was about the fairness of such legislation on principle, rather than being conveniently happy with the self-serving bits.

His problem was that he couldn’t quite convince himself that “it should be illegal for private individuals to discriminate against other private individuals on the grounds of their sexuality”. Now, he passionately believes people shouldn’t discriminate, and could see the logic in extending equal treatment for all different sorts of minority groups, but he just doesn’t like banning things. I have sympathy with that. “Anti-discrimination law in employment is fair enough and in public services,” he told me, “but I have this awful, nagging voice in the back of my head complaining that homophobes running guest houses should be free to turn down gay visitors if they want. I wouldn't want to stay at their guest house anyway, and I'd rather market mechanisms punished them for it than they were forced to serve me but secretly spat in my breakfast...”

So, here we have an example of a genuine moral dilemma, someone dreadfully conflicted between different principles and – perhaps the litmus test of a real moral question rather than puffed-up Pharisaic posturing to conceal bigotry – trying to work out if he should oppose something that would be in his own interest, rather than conveniently protecting his own interests but slamming the door on others’.

I have no sympathy with those complaining they’ve been ‘discriminated against’ because they’ve been deprived of their rights to bully, beat or burn people they don’t like the look of. I have no sympathy with those who claim ‘their consciences are offended’ because they can’t force people they hate to sit at the back of the bus, or lynch them if they get uppity. But those are very squarely actions in the public sphere. Should the state force you to, say, invite someone you dislike into your private home?

There may always be times when someone you dislike will intrude into your private affairs with the state’s permission rather than your own – but you can’t veto a gay police officer, a black social worker, a woman benefits official or a Protestant bailiff. There is a reason why anti-discrimination remains on the ‘public’ side of the debate, too. It’s not about private individuals discriminating against other private individuals in an entirely private sphere, but about how a free market operates in society. There’s a clear dividing line here. No-one’s saying you should invite people you dislike into your circle of friends or have them round for tea, and no-one should – but advertise that you are inviting people into your property for money to provide a service, and the situation is quite different (unless you’re in the habit of charging your friends). Imagine, for a moment, a world back to ‘No Coloureds’ signs in the windows, where anyone can refuse to serve anyone anything because they don’t like someone’s skin, sexuality or faith. Trade is a social act, and it has to follow certain rules: you don’t cheat your customers, you provide the service you claim to offer, you pay taxes, you don’t destroy the environment, and in return the state gives you a level playing field and your own public services to facilitate your trade… In what way is ‘offering a service to the public means offering a service to the public’ different in kind?

Requiring you to treat everyone equally has an element of social instruction, true, but the alternative is requiring every bigot to advertise their bigotry loudly, or run the risk of people turning up and being turned away if they’ve not made explicit enquiries. Let’s face it, with the modern telephonogram you can’t pretend that people just turn up on spec to see a place and can see a sign in the window right then. Assuming a phone enquiry rather than just clicking buttons on the Internet – ‘Do you feel there is something about you that may aggravate my bigotry? Click I AM SCUM Yes / No’ – then why should a consumer have to run through everything about themselves just so the owner can abuse them? ‘Oh, my partner’s male. Is that OK? Fine. And black. Is that going to be a problem? Oh, good. But you don't like Catholics, you say? Well, that’s me out…’ How would that work, in every hotel, in every pub, in every shop? Wouldn’t it mean nasty rows on a daily basis that made society a whole lot more fractured and wasted a lot of police time; would it be breach of the peace for someone being discriminated against to loudly call the proprietor a ‘****’, for example, or only if the owner hadn’t got a sign up to advertise their ‘conscientious objection’ (something tasteful like ‘No Pakis’)? If they didn’t have a sign, could they be sued for posing as a non-bigot? Doesn’t society just work better if the state straightforwardly says, for a free market to work, you have to treat everyone the same? It seems to me that that’s a lot easier in terms of regulation, a simple ‘one size fits all’, than the minefield of having to police every row.

If you don’t like banning things, isn’t it better to have one order from the state un-banning everyone than a million tiny bans?