DIARY
Aex Salmond, the leader of the SNP, said last weekend that Scotland should stop shilly-shallying over an elected assembly and move straight to independence. Those of us who love Scotland can only agree, and hope the sooner the better. I can't think what misty-eyed sentimentality makes English people want to cling to the Union. In a global economy where regions are the most important centres, separation would benefit us all. Scotland has always punched well above its weight in science, the arts and sport. It has two cities of world stand- ing, and some of the loveliest countryside in Europe. (I spent a blissful honeymoon on Mull, with glorious scenery and almost a week of tropical sunshine.) A Scottish assembly within the United Kingdom would be a mean-spirited affair: costly and focusing all its phoney bile on London. Labour's plans to create one could block parliamentary business for a year and stop work of real importance. And Tam Dalyell's crucial West Lothian Question remains unanswered: why should the MP for West Lothian vote at Westminster on West Bromwich, but not vice versa? With two, or three, nations sharing the island there would be no trade barriers or border controls. No ethnic cleansing either, so Scottish doctors, lawyers and Today presen- ters would remain unpurged. The separa- tion contract would, I am sure, be fair and not acrimonious. The English would lose nothing (except a drain on public funds) and the Scots would regain all their nation- al pride. Best of all, they would have to stop whingeing that their misfortunes are the fault of the English.
I've been reading with great pleasure Sid's Heroes, by the Zen business consul- tant from Yorkshire, Sid Joynson. With its subtitle: Uplifting Business Performance and the Human Spirit, the book sounds bonkers, but in fact it's full of the plainest common sense — a commodity most consultants wouldn't recognise if you served it up in a raspberry coulis with a kiwi fruit garnish. For instance, Sid argues that 'contracting out' services such as porters and catering may save a little in the short term, but by getting rid of often well-loved colleagues you send a signal to the rest of your work- force that they too are disposable. So you shred their loyalty and risk losing anyone with the talent to move elsewhere. 'Chang- ing the culture' is another crass modern buzz phrase. When Railtrack took over, they resolved to do everything in the oppo- site way to BR, which was how we had the timetable fiasco last year, and why the ser- vice on our privatised line is actually worse now. This week Railtrack. repeated its trick of closing the line down for the busiest SIMON HOGGART period of Monday morning. 'Producer choice' at the BBC has led to ludicrous management excesses; I recall a heated exchange with the newly costed BBC library about whether the '75p a minute we had now to pay should include time spent waiting for the right volume of the Ency- clopaedia Britannica to become available. The paperwork involved in charging this piffling sum wasted even more time. My own paper, the Guardian, has now put in three different management teams at the Observer. Following current voodoo prac- tice, they have held three mass firings, admittedly including some people who couldn't edit the back of a crisp packet, but also several who have worked effectively, loyally and hard. Those left behind learn the lesson: I'm next. Sales naturally contin- ue to slide, though at last there are hopes this process will now end. All newspapers periodically put tough hombres into the accounts department. They demand a receipt for every penny spent, then puzzle why expenses claims double. It's because journalists are notoriously forgetful, and only recall what they've spent when forced to keep a record — as any of us could have told the bean-counters. But, as Sid points out, it's the real experts, the workers and staff, whom the management gurus never dream of asking.
'If you nick three world cup footballs you get to keep it.' Last week I started chairing The News Quiz on Radio Four. I'd done it before, but in my youth, when we all know we can do everything. Later in life we realise, painful- ly, our limitations, so I was nervous. (In fact, being chairman is the easiest job, since you have all the answers and many of the jokes written out. Unlike on Have I Got News For You? our panellists don't know what questions are coming.) I was even more nervous because I've replaced Barry Took, who has finally been allowed to retire from the programme by a tenacious BBC. Barry's contributions to British humour are awesome and include writing the scripts for Round the Home, assembling the Monty Python team and — even harder — per- suading the BBC to keep them after their first series. The audience in the studio is crucial. They can vary wildly, and a cold audience is deeply dispiriting for panellists, who are disinclined to throw out lines which might be met by only polite, dry laughter. Years ago a woman called Joyce used to sit in the front row for every recording. With her snaggle-teeth and thin hair she looked like David Mellor after spending the last 50 years in a cave. Joyce raised each newcom- er's morale by demanding his or her auto- graph. She had a loud, high-pitched laugh which some listeners hated, so the BBC tried to ban her. Not only would this have been cruel, but we knew that Joyce's screech was an important signal to the audi- ence to start laughing. One Christmas we decided to show our gratitude. A small whip-round bought a bottle of sherry and over several weeks we got every panellist to sign her card. We meant to present it after the end-of-the-year show. But that night, for the first time that anyone could remem- ber, Joyce was not in her seat. We never saw her again.
The speculation about whether John Major might be forced to stand down for Michael Heseltine reminds me of some- thing told to me by one of the few friends Heseltine actually confides in. 'Whatever you read,' he said, 'you must remember that Michael never gives up. Never, never, never.'
Sometimes the free market brings a few of the advertised benefits. A flower war has broken out near our local station, as a new shop tries to muscle in on Carlos, the greengrocer. (We'll stick with him because he gives the children sweets and delivers Christmas trees free.) He and his new rivals are trying to attract custom with yards and yards of dazzling flowers which stretch far down the street, as colourful as a Dutch tulip field but much more varied. We all
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