Oscars and others

 OSCARS

Wasn't it exciting even if we all knew who was going to win?  The usual display of some of the most beautiful people in the world led to the usual boring speeches of thanks.  Did anyone actually say "and thank you to my little dog"?  I am waiting for a recipient to say, "Thank you for this small hideous statuette but I want to complain about the food...."  I was told years ago that Oscar was the name of the head waiter at the Algonquil Hotel where Dorothy Parker, Robert Benchley and friends had their lunches.  (When Anita Loos who wrote the Great American Novel ate there she was unimpressed by the talk.)

That leads naturally to the death of Jane Russell who starred in "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes".  I well remember all the fuss that was engineered by the producer about the amount of cleavage they could show in their posters.  What an excitement.  The Puritanical but lustful public flocked to see her in a specially designed bra to support and reveal her splendid bosom.  What innocence.

But the Oscars again.  What a shame that one of our greatest actors was not even nominated although his photograph adorned the front page of "The Times" yesterday.  There he was a little older and obviously wiser displaying a furrowed brow and hair greying at the temples projecting his deep concern for the troubles of the world while recalling at the same time the youthful exuberance of his brilliant youth at the start of thirteen years of New Labour Government which pauperised the country.  I refer of course to Tony Blair the millionaire international statesman.  From Tony the Boy Wonder to distinguished international statesman his career has just been one marvellous performance and I only envy him that small Queen Ann house that was once John Gielgud's.  We must start campaigning for him at once.

And now the mad politicians are at it again hoping to settle internal warfare overseas with guns and bombs. But we cannot bomb them in case we kill too many innocent civilians.  And we can't shoot them because we cannot tell friend from foe. (In any case all our troops abroad have got the wrong sort of gun.  Nothing can beat the Kalashnikov as Max Hastings pointed out in a recent article in the NY Review of Books.  The Middle East is bristling with them.)  And the country is broke.  We cannot afford in men money or materials any more.  We probably can't even defend ourselves.  All the same John Major was on the radio this a.m. talking about "military action" against Gadaffi. The Palace of  Westminster is a mad house.  Come back Guy Fawkes - all is forgiven.