The Winslow Boy

As England were getting their arses kicked by the Scottish rugby team last Saturday, your correspondent was enjoying some pre-theatre pasta before sitting down to The Winslow Boy at the Birmingham Rep. The despondency at England's capitulation would come courtesy of iPlayer.

You might be kind enough to remember that your correspondent played the part of Sir Edward Morton in the Erdington Players' production of this play eleven months past. What, you'd forgotten/never knew/don't give a toss? Oh darling you cut me to the quick. Well anyway I took a particular interest in this production and felt a vague and unjustified ownership of the text. Self-important bollocks on my part of course, but, hey, a man has to dream.

This production is very good. So it should be because this is a seriously well-made play. I must sing in particular the praises of Aden Gillett as Arthur Winslow but on the topic of self-important bollocks said Mr Gillett is quoted thus in the programme by way of explanation of the play's currency:

For those of us who feel thwarted by Brexit and Trump, it is the sense of this vast mountain of injustice and pain that's affecting the western hemisphere that you feel you're powerless against. Particularly now, points of principle and fighting for what is right seem very important.

Crap. The play's messages have always been resonant. I despise Trump (what you hadn't noticed?) but voted for Brexit on a principle - the  very principle I learned as a lawyer and officer of the court and which marks Sir Edward as such a compelling character. You are allowed to disagree with me but this clumsy conflation of Trump and Brexit as twin pillars of ignorance is patronising. Stop it.

6N18: Week 3

First game up: France beat Italy, not much more to say. The Groupie was in the room as I watched this and looked up from her computer long enough to judge that even to her inexpert eye it didn't seem any good. This damning (and justified) verdict is made all the more arresting when you realise she did occasionally watch me play, so knows bad rugby when she sees it.

Second game up: Wales were perplexingly inert for most of their loss to Ireland - vexing for those of us who backed them to spring a surprise. Ireland were efficient as ever but how on earth did they come so close to letting Wales back in? Even allowing for that caveat, Ireland are now an even stronger favourite for the title. To Dan Biggar goes this year's first awarding of the Ronan O'Gara Gobshite Award. In one moment of high comedy he even managed to whinge at the poor old ref as he fielded a high ball. Interesting to note that the Welsh commentariat has now turned on Biggar and belatedly acknowledged that he should shut his bloody trap. You read it here first.

I said "You're a good player but shut your trap"

Third game up: oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Not a good day for red-blooded Englishmen as England were compellingly dismantled by the Scots. The breakdowns were almost embarrassing, the English retreating ever further into their shells as the Sots grew more and more passionate. Playing like this, I fear for England in Paris - after all France cannot be crap forever.

An observation - can we please stop replacements joining the try celebrations in goal. It's infantile and improper.

The Trouble With Being A Faux Intellectual

The trouble is that your eyes glaze over when you read complex texts and, in the spirit of the blogger, you reach for salient aphorisms and skip-read the whole, this latter reading quite often out of sequence as you dance around in searching said aphorisms. A little learning can go a long way. That, at least, has been my sad experience. But what the Hell, let's go for it anyway. Nobody's looking.

Sir Thomas Smith

Sir Thomas Smith was Secretary of State to King Edward VI, sometime cleric, sometime parliamentarian, sometime Cambridge Professor of Civil Law, and author in English (this is important because the language of most varsity scholarship was still Latin) of De Republica Anglorum, published in 1583, six years after his death. The subtitle to the tract (which I will render into modern spelling) tells us what to expect: 'The manner of government or policy of the realm of England'. It's good stuff. Did Shakespeare read it? Interesting.

In much the same way as my boy Walter Bagehot (you must have guessed that he was going to crop up) Smith is an erudite hedger of bets - but that's ok with me, I lean that way myself. In fact the older I get, the less I am plagued by certainty. De Republica Anglorum posits three types of commonwealth: monarchy; aristocracy; democracy. Within each of those categories lie the possibilites of either just or unjust manifestations. Thus there are six possible types of constitution. However (and here Smith is removed from the absolute designations of a theorist such as Bodin) Smith accepts that though any constitution will have a dominant inflection, it will usually have strains of the less dominant. So what did he make of his England? As I say, he hedges his bets but we can perhaps come down on the side of a monarchy infected by democracy - what later theorists might deem a constitutional (rather than an absolute) monarchy.

It is tempting to make a leap from Smith to the Boy Bagehot but we are warned off such presumption by William Maitland, Smith's Victorian editor: 'One fact, however, stands out clearly. The "constitution" does not for Smith consist of the same elements as for Walter Bagehot or his imitators ... For Smith the framework of a commonwealth consists almost entirely of its courts, its judicial system, and its methods of police.' So is that my sloppy contention (that Smith stands at the front of a queue that leads to Bagehot) blown out of the water? Not quite I think, and that is because, just as Smith (a good lawyer) was fixated on the place of the courts in exercising sovereign power, so Bagehot (a failed lawyer - he was called to the Bar but never practised) was fixated on everything but the courts. Both however had an eye for the mutability of sovereign power not possessed by more rigid commentators. And both can help us with another possessor of that discerning eye - the Boy Shakespeare. Which is the point I am making. Badly. 

Film And Television

I've taken in a fair old slew of televisual stuff recently, much of it really quite good.

Netflix and the various catch-up services dominate our viewing so you will forgive me if it has taken several light years to catch on to particular programmes. Most notable in that category would be Doc Martin, the sort of (so I thought) schlock it would not occur to me to watch. Well, it may very well be schlock, in fact it is, but it's reliably well-done and, from Martin Clunes, features a beguiling title performance. Has he won any awards for it? Probably not, in fact definitely not according to the miracle of Google. The plot structure is dependably similar each time but the central conceit can bear the weight of predictability.

convincing curmudgeon

As the man used to say, now for something completely different. Collateral  has a stellar cast, presumably because the assembled glitterati were wooed by the prospect of a David Hare script. Well the script (on the evidence of the first episode) is the problem. The actors are splendid but the script tries too hard and is weighted with outbursts of preachiness. I will, however, be watching the rest, so Hare may think job done.

Mais oui monsieur j'aime le tv Francais. We have enjoyed Spiral. Tres bien. Je recommende.

Finally, a film. Will Smith is superb in Seven Pounds. The picture is not quite as enigmatic as it would like to be but it does get you thinking. Which is good. 7/10.  

Misery Acquaints A Man With Strange Bedfellows

Chuka Umunna has been out and about recently preaching his well-meaning, soft-left, we know what is good for you bilge. That's his right but the poor chap finds himself yoked to the absurd Anna Soubry, she who can hardly hide her absolute delight at the temporary fame her own soft-right, well-meaning etc drivel is bringing her. It's quite good fun when this unlikely couple get wheeled in front of the cameras and you can see the unspoken doubt oozing from Umunna's every pore. Aren't people funny?

Chuka: "You ain't seen me, right?"

6N18: Week 2

And lo we see the age old truth - you never do actually beat Wales, merely score more points than them. Gatland and Jones both managed to show a singular lack of grace in their post-match comments which was a pity because TMO foul-up or not, this was a good old-fashioned arm-wrestle. The press is full of platitudinous Englishmen trying their hardest to be generous in victory and thereby missing the point - the better side (albeit not by a large margin) won the game. Don't take my word for it, try Sir Ian McGeechan in a considered piece in the Sunday Telegraph:

It was all too much for a Wales side which was ruthlessly squeezed from the get-go. They came back into the match at the end, but it was all too little too late.

Much for England to work on and they have to go to both Edinburgh and Paris, both of which will be tricky. As for the OG well he is happy and so should all of you be too - I assume you took the 10/11 from Paddy Power on Wales with an eleven point start. Twice a winner!

As for the other matches, Ireland were slick and ruthless in dismantling Italy. The Irish remain the best coached team in the championship and OG is still backing them to win out overall. Scotland and France produced a frenetic game which the Scots won, in no small part thanks to the grace under pressure of Greig Laidlaw. The French are a team who can afford to regard Louis Picamoles as their third best number eight yet still contrive to lose on a regular basis. Sooner or later they are going to dismantle an opponent.

I enjoyed these instalments of the championship in the company of a lusty Argentine malbec. Nice.

 

6N18: Week 1

What a weekend! Not for you necessarily but for me I mean. I was in Anglesey, did a bit of walking with the Groupie and rather more eating and drinking. And in between times (thanks to the boon that is catch-up television) I watched all three of the rugby internationals and rounded things off with the Superbowl.

The eating and drinking first - walked around the bay from the family estate to Red Wharf Bay - bracingly cold, inspiring high tide, and just a bit of rain. Bosting. Ship Inn: pint of Timothy Taylor's Landlord to whet the appetite, then a very good seafood chowder, banoffee waffle, washed down with sauvignon blanc. Bosting but definitely slowed me down on the walk back - a bit more rain but not so much that you would complain.

some second-string

Next, the rugby. A stolid affair in Paris, where Ireland were markedly better than France but almost conspired to lose. This Irish side is potentially very good and after years of scepticism I'm beginning to see why they make such a fuss of Johnny Sexton. My favourites for the title, but only just. Wales v Scotland was oddly funny because it made complete charlies out of the alleged experts. This was to be the new dawn for Scotland, and Wales would be hobbled by injuries. As it was, the bad old Scotland turned up and got duffed up by a very impressive Wales team. Rhys Patchell is a player I have long liked and I think the injury to the always impressive Biggar may have done Wales a favour. International rugby is a hard school. It could all have been even worse for the Scots, what with Wales knocking on two scoring passes due to over-enthusiasm. As for the supposed lack of strength in depth in Welsh resources, I would say only this - anyone would miss Faletau but Moriarty is some second-string and if you can afford to leave Tipuric on the bench then things can't be all bad.

some third-string

On Sunday England won tidily enough in Rome but, as ever, there were errors and omissions. Mind you if Richard Moriarty is an impressive second-string, then Sam Simmonds is just as mighty a third-string at number eight. It all makes for a resounding clash between England and Wales next Saturday. Before that we will no doubt have to endure the childish mind-games of the two coaches. Paddy Power have the spread at eleven in England's favour - that strikes me as ridiculously optimistic and worth a punt on Wales. But what do I know?

Two very good things to come out of this first weekend: nobody won the Ronan O'Gara Gobshite Award and there were free-kicks awarded for not straight in the scrum. Good grief, they'll stop allowing New Zealand to get away with forward passes if things continue like this. We can hope.

Finally the Superbowl. I dutifully sat myself down in the company of several beers and a surfeit of hot dogs with no great expectation of a great match. Wrong again. A high scoring and dramatic clash. Some weekend.