If black labradors are a far right fantasy, I guess I’m a fascist
That labradors aren’t a sign of fascism feels self-explanatory, yet Labour blathers on, writes James Ford’s hand in today’s Notebook
Are black labradors really a ‘far right’ fantasy?
If proof were needed that the fringe of the Labour Party Conference produced, ahem, fringe opinions, then that proof was given in Liverpool last week. There the nature minister, Jenny Riddell-Carpenter, revealed that she is concerned that a Britain of warm ale, country pubs and black labradors represents a “far right… nostalgic vision of Britain that never really existed”.
Now, as a former Tory political adviser, I might be biased but I have encountered all of these allegedly right-wing tropes in the flesh. I have been in several country pubs. I have sampled the odd warm ale. And I have definitely seen actual, real life black Labradors. Not only have I seen these things with my own eyes, but I am also in favour of all three. So, am I “far right” now?
This has all come as a terrible shock to me. Whilst proudly right-of-centre in my politics, I had no idea that I was actually a fascist stooge. Perhaps I should bin all my navy suits and just purchase a wardrobe of black and brown shirts. Rather than leafleting for my local Conservative association, I should move to Portsmouth and join one of those strange, scary marches of anonymous, anti-migrant activists. Maybe I should spend my free time at sea slashing at migrant boats with a knife. That, apparently, is what the minister expects of me now.
Or, maybe I should just dismiss Jenny Riddell-Carpenter for the jabbering, deluded politician she clearly is. Afterall, she is part of a glorious tradition of Labour MPs saying really, really stupid things. There is Samantha Niblett remorselessly lobbying for a ‘summer of sex’. And there is Stella Creasy who has said that speech needs to be regulated to be free. Jenny Riddell-Carpenter may be a moron for politicising black labs, but she has probably done wonders for country pubs. Let us all raise a pint of warm ale in her name!
‘Butter sommeliers’ won’t save clubland
Being a self-styled ‘man about town’, I have dined at many of London’s private members clubs. Some offer an excellent repast. Others are merely passable. However, I can honestly say that I have never once found that the difference between the great and the merely okay has been reliant upon the choice of butter served. So, it was with some incredulity that I read reports that The Pembroke, Belgravia’s latest exclusive opening, was recruiting a dedicated Butter Sommelier. Yes, you read that right. A Butter Sommelier.
We would expect any self-respecting club to have a Wine Sommelier. Some, such as Mark’s Club and 5 Hertford Street, offer a Cigar Sommelier. But a Butter Sommelier? Really? Is that really where the owners want to put their best efforts? Is that going to make the difference in a very crowded marketplace?
The owners are rumoured to have spent £100m on The Pembroke so maybe – just maybe – they got a bit carried away. This sounds like clubland’s equivalent of The Emperor’s New Clothes. It may even be the final proof that London has finally reached ‘peak private members club’. With London’s wealthy hurrying towards the exit door to escape the UK’s increasingly punitive tax regime, a Butter Sommelier looks unlikely to halt – let alone reverse – the exodus.
Maybe it is just my inner peon talking, but I’m fine with a dollop of Lurpak.
If I buy a 99 ice cream, am I supporting organised crime?
It’s not a question I ever thought I would find myself asking. But, following reports that those ice cream vans that are permanently parked on Westminster Bridge are not just ripping off tourists (they charge £7 for a 99…compared to an average UK price of £2.65) but are fronts for organised crime. It was one thing when gangsters were drug dealing and gun running. (After all, I’m in the market for neither!) But ice cream? Is nothing sacred?
London’s best Italian restaurant
Nestled away at the classy end of Jermyn Street (the one where Davidoff of London dominates, not the one with a Tesco Express!) is London’s best restaurant: Franco’s. Serving exquisite Italian fare since 1945, Franco’s boasts London’s coziest cigar terrace and the best al fresco dining in the West End.
I have to strongly recommend their Vitello Tonnato. In many ways tuna mayonnaise fon top of thinly sliced cold veal shouldn’t work as a dish. Certainly, when I describe it to friends it doesn’t much appeal and I have to coax them to try it. But it is well worth the effort at persuasion. It’s a surprisingly rich and delicate choice and, in my humble opinion, the best way to start any meal. As for the subsequent courses, choose whatever you like: it’s all outstanding.