Westminster Corridors
Puzzle looked forward to returning to his green and pleasant land after a sojourn in a French watering, or to be more accurate, wining spot, and a visit to the Scotchmen who, by mounting what they term an International Festival, show earnest desires to be thought cultured. The Scotch were only what was to be expected; suffused with greed at the prospect of selling their oil, their nationalism has welled up and we can confidently predict that they will drink even more of their raw spirits but close the Hostelries early in case anyone enjoys it. . Nationalism, alas, is rampant among the hackney carriage men and drapers like young Fraser who does not seem to mind if the nationalists say they will only allow Scottish companies to register in their land. No doubt those excellent fellows who dress in striped trousers in Knightsbridge whilst obtaining elastoplasts and elephants for their customers will not mind being attired in kilts whilst selling haggis and Holy Writ in Glasgow's Gallowgate or some other appropriately named thoroughfare, in the dismal North.
As for the French, Puzzle's views have not changed. They are a nation of middle-aged harridans who are to be found in every corner administering lavatories, hostelries, restaurants and shops. And to think that Napoleon had the temerity to suggest that we were a nation of Shopkeepers. At least we are not administered by a pantomime of mother-in-laws. Every man should have a young French mistress and an old French cook —perhaps allowing the one to grow into the other. The rest of that boring nation should be left to its gluttony and eternal games of boules.
And so to England. I am glad to report that all is well in our native land for nothing is what it seems, but all remains familiar. The Tories are at each other's throats in a manner which used to be the prerogative of the Socialists with Master Heath sturdily asserting that it is simply a question of emphasis. If Puzzle may be so bold he suggests that an excellent line used by tormented Socialist leaders in the past has been to say that they are a democratic party and it is all part of the lively debate. If anyone suggests' that it is a little disloyal before an election attribute it all to the intrinsic honesty of the organisation.
Meanwhile the Prime Minister has been nipping in and out of his Rolls-Royce in Paris in a manner that would surely have gladdened the heart of Keir Hardie and been the envy of Harold Macmillan. Puzzle warms to the little man who now has miraculously returned from the political grave to the chagrin of such loyalists as Messrs Prentice, Jenkins and company. It is Puzzle's prophecy that the editorial chair of the Economist will be kept warm, and the wine cellars replenished for the arrival of Mr Jenkins — if the socialists win the election.
But one thing remains familiar in dear old England: the Liberals continue to make asses of themselves. However Puzzle will be in the main charitable. He has no desire to make Jeremy Thorpe seem a Buffoon — for God has forestalled him. The question of Mr John Pardee is different. In Puzzle's humble opinion he has many of the qualities that make up a Chancellor of the Exchequer. Of course many have mocked his scheme to impose tax penalties as the back up to an anti-inflation policy because they do not believe their fellow citizens have more respect for tax laws than others.
True. But think of the man's personal qualities. A few years ago he decided that in the cause of physical fitness he would cycle about London. He then hurtled down the hill from Hampstead to the House of Commons, assisted mightily by gravity and his own mass. Then his wife drove into the Palace, put the cycle on top and the aspirant Chancellor within and drove back home.
Enough. Puzzle takes heart. The French dislike us, the Scotch are jealous, the main parties are in disarray and the Liberals are producing policies that would do credit to a political Heath Robinson.
Tom Puzzle
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