Politics and ponies. Or, a divagation on authenticity and assumptions.

Author’s note: slight warning for length. Sorry about that.

 

There is an awful lot of politics going on. It is conference season, which is like Christmas and Easter for a political anorak like me. Over the pond, the election season is antic with poll reversals, strange veers in position, and a startling amount of statements which are (and I would be thrown out of the Commons for saying this) not true.

Usually, I would be glued to the computer, watching all the speeches, parsing the interviews, ear cocked for the shift in message. It’s not that I am not interested; politics will always fascinate me, it’s like a disease. But I don’t have the time.

There are two secret projects to write, there is my new, enchanting work for HorseBack UK, there are the equines to school and groom and feed and keep generally happy. (There is too, the racing to keep up with; I must not let my William Hill account down under any circumstances.)

This morning, I listened to the Prime Minister in the 8.10 slot on the Today programme. Normally, I would have an awful lot to say about the policy and the positioning and whether there really is a plan for growth.

In fact, the thing that struck me most was a light moment, right at the end, when James Naughtie made a sly little joke about Boris Johnson. For my foreign readers, Johnson is the Mayor of London and easily the most popular politician in Blighty at the moment. In terms of the Tory party, he is the prince across the water, whom disillusioned backbenchers long to draft in as leader, because David Cameron is not right-wing enough, or not anti-Europe enough, or not hard-line enough, or whatever it is that is driving them demented this week.

Perhaps, Naughtie suggested wryly, the PM would like to send Boris abroad somewhere. Cameron burst into laughter. He managed to stutter out some non-committal answer, but he was really tickled.

It was a revealing moment. He went from being a good but standard politician to a vivid human being. Cameron is actually rather good in interview situations; he does not use jargon, he does use humour, and he generally answers the question, as much as any politico does, these days. I can’t work out whether the not answering the question thing has got worse, or whether it has always been the case. I was really struck by it last week, when Ed Miliband was interviewed by Evan Davis in the same slot. He blustered his way through some polite but forensic questioning on the economy, and then he got the softball question at the end. Everyone was impressed with the fact that he memorised his conference speech, Davis said, and that he spoke for so long without notes. How did he do it?

It was a really nice question. It was a perfect opportunity for him to make a little joke about how he stood in front of the looking glass, declaiming, or made his children listen to the thing at breakfast. It also would have been interesting to know, a little glimpse behind the curtain. But Miliband would not answer. Even on that light, charming point, he dodged and fudged. I was surprised, and rather irritated, partly because I rather did want to know, and partly because he missed a huge open goal.

Everyone who knows Ed Miliband says he is very nice, much funnier and easier in private life than in his public persona. This not answering the question does not help in getting that across to the voters. I wonder if politicians are so handled now, so surrounded by advisers, so hamstrung by being on message, or repeating talking points, that they find it almost impossible to be themselves. When the Prime Minister burst into laughter, he was being absolutely himself, and it was like a gale of fresh air. But it happens so rarely. When did you last hear a politician really laugh?

I wonder too if it is slightly the fault of the voters, the old idea that we get the politicians we deserve. Everyone appears to love Boris because he is so funny and outspoken and bumbly and eccentric. Yet most politicians are liable to be punished if they step out of line, say what they really think; it can work, but it can backfire horribly. I suspect most of them think the risks are too great. They stick to this mealy, fudged, on message line, so that no one can have a cudgel to beat them with.

The public and the press say they long for authenticity, but too much authenticity can come back and bite a political operative on the arse. It’s why there is the revealing phenomenon of politicians out of office almost overnight becoming twenty times more interesting and thoughtful and amusing than when they were in power. (John Major and Michael Portillo are the two most shining examples of this.)

The absurd thing, I suddenly realise, is that this was going to be a post about how I was not going to write about politics, and now I have written of it, although not quite in the way I had intended. It’s an aspect of blogging I rather like; there is the galloping off on an unexpected tangent, the liberty to make it up as you go along.

What I really wanted to tell you today was a little story, not about conferences and polls and psephological minutiae, but about my pony. Yes, today is the day when sweet little Myfanwy steps out into the limelight.

It’s a parable really, and I’ll keep it as quick as I can.

She arrived as a rather unexpected loan, to keep Red the Mare company. Compared to my grand duchess, she was a little bit scruffy and little bit furry and a little bit ornery. Because I was working so much with my own horse, I did not pay nearly as much attention to the small Welsh person.

But then I realised that was unfair, and began concentrating on her. With the help of the brilliant Horse Talker, we have taught her to join up, to stand on command, to yield to pressure, to do all the natural horsemanship things, which she loves. We take her for gentle walks and sometimes, for fun, I lead her off Red. With the arrival of Autumn the Filly, we have moved them all into a strict herd routine; we work with them in turn, we groom them and feed them at regular hours, they know what to expect. They are a happy and settled band.

But the pony is the particular revelation. She was tense and uncertain when she first came to her strange new home; there were lines of anxiety over her eyes, and her little jaw was clenched. The more I work with horses the more I see that some of them really, really hate change. You can’t throw them into a new situation and expect them to get on with it, even if they are a tough little mountain breed.

Now that she is bathed in attention, now that she has her own little job to do, the pony has blossomed. Her eyes have softened, she whickers when she sees us, she stands in ecstasy when I scratch her sweet spots. I did not expect to love her as much as Red; I felt mild fondness, but I’m ashamed to say I felt at first she was not in the same league. (Horrid, horrid equine snobbery; I must cast it out.)

Now I am besotted with her. Her coat is soft as velvet from brushing, her ears are pricked, and she has a little dancing swagger about her. Everyone adores her, and she basks in the love. She is an integral part of our herd, and I can’t imagine the field without her.

I think this is a parable because it is all about appearances and assumptions. It’s a sort of frog turning into a prince thing. Just because someone does not look shiny or brilliant or eye-catching does not mean one should sideline them or write them off or make cheap assumptions about them. I had rudely, stupidly, assumed that because Myfanwy was old, and a pony, and a bit roly-poly, she would not learn in the way my sleek, clever Red did.

It was absolute nonsense. When I gave her a chance, she turned out to be a model pupil. And now she is so happy and proud of herself that she grows in beauty every day. She might not be descended from a Derby winner, but she is an absolute champion in all our hearts.

 

Today’s pictures:

The cows, sheep, hills and mountain of Red’s View:

Autumn the Filly is very relaxed in her work:

Red was also very chilled out today, looking more like a donkey than a duchess:

The wibbly lower lip, always a good sign:

Inspecting her view:

The Pigeon, in three of her different incarnations – sniffing for clues,  yearning for biscuits, and in ball ecstasy:

The heroine of the day goes in the place of honour. See how lovely she looks:

And the dear old hill, very blue and stately today:

PS. One of the Dear Readers asked a while ago about the camera I use, and I quite forgot to reply. It is an Olympus PEN 3 series, with a zoom that goes up to 200. I also use Picasa software, free to download, and very good for cropping, putting on colour effects like sepia or black and white, and beefing up contrast if the pictures sometimes come out a bit flat. Very occasionally, the opposite is the case; sometimes the Scottish colours are so wild and surreal that I actually tone them down a bit, because they look too vivid to be true. Oddly like fiction, in that regard.

The momentous news

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

The rain fell. I rather oddly ate quiche for lunch. I never eat quiche, not through prejudice, but mostly because I do not much fancy it. I had a sudden seventies moment and had some. It rather reminded me why I don’t eat it very much. There’s nothing wrong with it, but there’s nothing hugely right with it either. If I were a whizz at pastry, I might make my own, but I’m mostly in ham sandwich territory just now, on account of the book.

I did work. I snuck a peek at the Chester Vase. I was dimly aware that Andy Coulson was saying things to Lord Leveson which seemed to be making people on Twitter snigger and make naughty Rebekah Brooks jokes. And then I, rather randomly, followed a link to MOMENTOUS NEWS. I mostly shun the erratic use of capital letters, preferring the quiet dignity of italics. But sometimes capitals are the only things which will do, and this is one of those times.

The MOMENTOUS NEWS is that Barack Obama has declared himself in favour of gay marriage.

This is huge for about twenty-seven reasons. The farther reaches of the Republican and Religious Right have been saying many disobliging about gay people lately; Mitt Romney even let a spokesman go, apparently because of his sexuality. North Carolina recently added an amendment against same sex marriage to its constitution. There appear to be some people who genuinely believe that homosexuality is the work of Satan. I do not think they are being metaphorical.

So, for President Obama to say this is a truly historic thing.

When I read the story, I felt incredibly happy. I also felt oddly relieved, as if I had been holding my breath. I had not realised how much I minded about this. I watch a lot of Rachel Maddow via the miracle of the internet, and she covers the darker shores of the argument quite a lot, so perhaps it had gone into my consciousness like a thorn, and lodged there.

I’ve never really understood the argument against gay marriage. There are lots of arguments with which I do not agree which I understand perfectly. I am a fairly big government person, but I completely get the small government side, and think it makes some good points. (I believe in government on quite an emotional level, and am willing to admit my faith in it may sometimes be misplaced.)

But the idea that two people may love each other and want to commit their lives to each other and then are told they may not because of their gender seems to me inexplicable.

I believe marriage is between a man and a woman, say the true believers. But why? Marriage used to be between a white man and a white woman; interracial matches were outlawed. No one could explain that either. History moved on; it moves now. The young people do not understand the fuss. (This is when I love the young people very much.) They have gay friends, they have straight friends; the vast majority of them cannot see the difference.

Oh, civil unions, people say. There is a faint whiff of the throwing of a bone. Chew on that, Gays, and let us get on with our day. You can have your piece of paper, but you can’t have real marriage, because you are not good enough. You are not quite up to it, like the Straights are. It slightly reminds me of the time when women were not allowed a university education, because it was felt their intellects were not up to it. The ladies were sentimentally lauded as the angel in the house, but could not go to Oxford in case their tiny pink brains exploded.

I was really pleased about civil partnerships, because it was so much better than what went before. One of the happiest days of my life was going to one, in the blinding sunshine of south London, holding a fat bunch of tulips. I called it a marriage; it felt like a marriage; it is being lived as a marriage. Now I think: come on, let everyone have the real thing. This odd first class, second class situation makes no objective sense.

I felt incredibly proud when David Cameron declared his support for gay marriage last year; I like very much that some Tories are calling it a truly Conservative argument instead of harrumphing about tradition. There is some backwoods backlash, but I really hope the Prime Minister sticks to his guns. They are great guns.

Beyond anything, it is a simple matter of fairness, and I think the British like fairness very much.

Love is love, says my wise sister. When you see love, why would you try and tell it it comes in the wrong variety? We need more love, not less. If people are so devoted that they wish to promise love in sickness and health, for richer for poorer, we should put up bunting. The human heart beats and yearns and lifts and falls just the same in the chests of all sexualities; it knows no difference.

All the same, there are people for whom there really does seem to be a difference, and that is why I think what President Obama did was brave, and fine, and, most of all, true. So I am hanging out more flags.

 

Despite the rain, I took some garden photographs:

Red the Mare, from yesterday, when there was some light:

Myfanwy the pony:

Their view:

Pigeon, with patient, waiting for the ball face:

And yesterday's hill, as today it is hiding bashfully in the murk:

The politics of ideas; or, the ideas in politics

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Small, throat-clearing introductory note:

When there is so much turmoil in the world, I always think I should be addressing the serious matters. Then I end up writing about the dog, or Kauto Star, or what The Brother said on the Skype. That won't do at all, I think; must give them the big stuff. Then I finally do a long political post, and I think: oh, the poor readers, now they have to wade through a thousand words of me pontificating about political ideology. At least today there is no mention of the repeal of the Corn Laws. I know you will be very, very relieved to hear that.

Throat-clearing is now over. Here we go:

 

An interesting thing happened this morning. The last item on the Today programme, traditionally some kind of accelerated intellectual discussion rather than a hard news story, was: are there any big ideas left in politics?

It’s an excellent question. The notion is that as British politics moves more and more towards the centre ground, the battle is over management rather than ideology. In some ways, the utilitarian in me thinks this is not a bad thing, but when it is put like that, it does sound rather dry and uninspiring. In essence, the cry of the hustings has become: I can organise things better than the other lot can, so vote for me.

The Labour party is in a bit of a mess and a muddle at the moment. It is uninspired by the rather pedestrian leadership of Mili Jr, and foxed by running into the bashing wall of indebtedness. The final full stop on the cherished notion of free spending came when Liam Byrne left the Treasury a note: Sorry, there’s no money left. To their credit, all sorts of leftist thinkers are now bending their minds to the great question of how to create a good society when there is no cash.

When capitalism has proved itself so unreliable, and the global economy shivers and totters like a drunk on a three- day binge, throwing money at the problem is no longer a cunning plan. What interests me even more, and makes me a sad, is that even when there was money to burn, constant government spending did not provide beautiful, neat answers. I had so hoped it might. Surely if you invest, as the politicos like to say, in education, you will get children who can read? One of the things that made me most disappointed in the New Labour years was that the numbers on literacy and numeracy were still so shocking.

On the other side, the old right wing ideas which had their shining moment in the eighties, under Mr Reagan and Mrs Thatcher, of deregulation and supply side and trickle down, are now discredited. (Although interestingly, the current Republicans still insist that the answer to everything is lower taxes and then the trickle will trickle, despite all evidence to the contrary.) Here, the new Conservatives are trying to work out how to combine good society with tight, focussed government. Rank libertarianism and the Milton Friedman school seem too cold for such difficult times.

It is not as simple as the old idea that government is the problem. There seems to be a shift towards a recognition that government is necessary, but that it should be clever government. Perhaps a little leaner, less intrusive, as the right sees it; do away with absurd bureaucracies and red tapes, and focus the thing intelligently. As an idea, this is not bad on paper; the success of the execution remains to be seen.

The enduring weakness of the left is that all government is good by definition; the Achilles heel of the right is that all government is pernicious and patronising. In a way, it is the most fascinating of times, because both sides have had a bash at their ideas over the last forty years, and both have come up short. After seeing ideology in motion, all serious people realise that ancient holy cows may have to be abandoned, or at least tweaked a bit. And there is nothing like a crashing electoral shift and a global crisis to sharpen minds.

In this context, the Today question was a fine one. On came Baroness Warsi, the chairwoman of the Conservative Party. Are there still big ideas in politics, and how are your ideas different from those of Labour, she was asked.

And this is where it got interesting.

Either she did not know what an idea was, or she was determined not to speak of one. It was really, really strange. She at once started mouthing party pablum about people being ‘incentivised into work’.

This is not an idea. It is a managerial matter of making the welfare state function more efficiently. It is to do with correcting unintended consequences. James Naughtie had to interrupt her and restate the question, but it was to no avail.

I felt baffled and puzzled and mildly cross. It was a very short interview, and it’s a bit much to expect vast ideological debate to be played out in three minutes, but even so. Come on, Baroness, I thought, I need more than this.

The deep oddity of this is cast into sharper relief when one considers that the Prime Minister does actually have an idea. It’s one that has been prodded and dissected and mocked, but it is an idea. His dream of The Big Society has never really taken off in the public consciousness, because it has an amorphous, subtle quality to it. It can’t fit into a soundbite or go neatly onto a bumper sticker. It harks back to Burke’s little battalions, and, in its purest form, has a rather lovely central tenet: it expresses a faith in the people.

On a very basic level it says: you, in your local community, know more about what you need and want than we do, far away in Whitehall. In some ways, it is quite a liberal notion: it contains the mutually reinforcing concept of government helping people to help themselves. Cameron moved it away from the harder edges of social Darwinism, the up by your bootstraps strain of conservatism, when he said: there is such a thing as society, but it is not the same thing as the state.

There are three problems with this idea. One is: no one quite knows what it actually means. It has an inchoate, all things to all people air. The second is: as the country is overwhelmed with economic bad news, and hangs on by its fingernails, there is not much time to ponder big notions of how a good society should work. People are too worried about keeping their jobs and paying their bills. And the third is: there is a suspicion that it is just pretty talk to justify cuts. Rather than it being a good-hearted ideological theory of giving power to the people, it is seen as a cheese-paring, mean-spirited, you do it because we can’t afford to kind of thing.

I am sad that the Baroness would not speak of ideas. I know that the Tories traditionally distrust the life of the mind, although I think and hope that old canard is, in fact, old and possibly dead. But ideas do not have to be complex. God is great is an idea. All humans are created equal is an idea. Freedom under the law is an idea. (An excellent Whig idea, as I never forget.)

None of these is complicated. But they are all interesting. People being ‘incentivised into work’ is not only an ugly and clumsy collocation, but it is not something that makes one think. It is the language of practical management, and may well be a ministerial necessity, but it does not lead anywhere, in terms of thought or theory. The benefits argument is messy and sometimes alarming and often demoralising and usually labyrinthine, but it is an argument of execution, not philosophy.

Ideas can be crazy and impractical and frightening; they can look gorgeous on paper and be lousy in life; they can contradict each other like crazed cats fighting in a sack. But I think they are more necessary than ever now. Poor old Blighty can’t get out of this mess with nothing but a bit of dry incentivising. We need more than that.

 

Pictures of the day. Mostly trees, with added dog:

Snowdrop watch: first and only clump still bashfully coming into flower:

Small Pigeon photo essay.

Oh, look, there is a stick:

I'll just give it a bit of a go:

Eugh; not quite as delicious as I expected:

Now, if I put my faintly melancholy Grace Kelly face on, will you take me inside and give me a biscuit instead?:

I mean: this absurdly irresistible face?:

Of course, she did get her biscuits. What makes me laugh is that she has taken to putting on very, very serious photograph faces lately. I think it is because she is bored beyond belief with the whole posing malarkey. The moment I put the camera down and pick up stick, ball or biscuit, her ears go up, her mouth opens in delight, the tail starts describing its circular arc, and she bounces about like a puppy. The grave and slightly disapproving expression for the photographs is clearly a dirty protest. In her doggy mind she is patently saying: vanity, vanity, all is vanity. Or similar.

The hill: