It will probably be said, that the revival of this mode of establishing political liberty would have all the effect of innovation; and that innovations, even on the most perfect principles, are hurtful, because they press on the prejudices of the people. This is always the shallow pretence of political Jesuitism. The throne is daily innovating; while every step presses out the blood of the most industrious and excellent among the people. A standing army is an innovation against the prepossessions, habits, and judgement, of every independent man in the nation; and yet it has been established. Is it to be imagined, the people will object to the very little trouble attending to such an arrangement, as will afford them an intire security against the encroachments of the Crown, and the depredations of fluctuating parties in their legislature, who plunder them in succession? If they were to arm themselves slightly, they would also have a police on the best footing; and be perfectly secured against the collusions of thieves and thief-takers, watchmen, constables, church-wardens, overseers, trading justices, and the whole train of expensive appendages to the science of robbery.
Archive for the 'british politics' Category
So I spent part of the morning reading stuff by the eccentric eighteenth-century Welsh philosopher (and friend of Brissot) David Williams, as one does, in which he more or less calls for the Hanoverian political system to be replaced with something that looks quite a bit like what the Marxists later called democratic centralism. Anyway, I liked the rhetoric of this bit, towards the end of the sixth of his 1782 Letters on Political Liberty:
The splendid Cath Levett, who does graphicksy things for tehgraun, recently produced this excellent height chart, which she called 'possibly the most satisfying graphic I've ever produced': This of course immediately reminded me of this earlier attempt at the same kind of thing, from The Times in 2007, which has featured before at the Virtual Stoa: Good height charts are terribly satisfying.
The most celebrated article in the history of the Daily Mail is probably 'Hurrah for the Blackshirts', which appeared on 15 January 1934. But another that lives in the memory is 'So-Called Refugees: Disgraceful Scenes on the Cheshire', from 3 February 1900. It's best known for one quote--'they hid their gold and fawned and whined'--but people rarely get to read the whole thing. So I've liberated it from the archive, and here it is.
Josephine has a new blog, and here she is writing about what it's like to be an overseas academic visiting the UK:
The suggested dossier includes: full bank statements for the last six months with explanations of any unusual deposits; a letter from their bank confirming the balance and the date the account was opened; documentation of the origin of any money paid into the account; payslips for the last six months; recent tax returns; and evidence of income from any property or land, including property deeds, mortgage statements, tenancy agreements, land registration documents and crop receipts...
Country music (including but not limited to Johnny Cash, Emmylou Harris, Allison Krauss, and its relationship to suicide) -- Marxism -- The war in Iraq -- The case the British government made for the war in Iraq -- Media coverage of the war in Iraq -- Differences between British and American media coverage of the war in Iraq -- Dead socialists (including the question of whether or not Paul Sweezy was in fact dead: he wasn’t when we began corresponding on the question, but later he was) -- Favourite novels -- University admissions -- Boycotts of Israelis -- Blog technology issues -- The paradox of democracy -- Paul “The Thinker” Richards -- Defamation law -- French headscarves laws -- International rugby partisanship -- New Zealand and whether it is a dull country -- Amnesty International -- Italian anti-war demonstrations -- Christopher Hitchens -- The precise distance from Boulder, CO to Birmingham, AL -- My Normblog Profile -- The number of Red Sox supporters who have Normblog profiles -- Where the Wild Things Are -- Bob Dylan -- Favourite films -- A Mighty Wind -- Nashville -- Joan Baez -- George W. Bush -- The Hutton Inquiry -- Lucio Colletti -- Why the film Life is Beautiful is so terrible -- The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind -- Mobile telephones -- Cricket -- The various ways in which my students used to pronounce the name “Geras” -- Rock stars -- Exam marking -- Arnold Lobel and his Mouse Tales -- The Butler report -- The Campo de' Fiori in Rome -- Shakespeare plays -- Obnoxious right-wing writers (including Mark Steyn and Andrew Bolt) -- American airport security checks -- Terrorist threats -- Socialist Register -- The 2004 US Presidential election -- Baseball -- Visiting Oxford -- Thomas Hobbes -- Roman libraries -- Classical composers (especially Schubert) -- Jokes about rational choice theorists -- The Tour de France -- Etienne Balibar -- Favourite actors -- The excellence of kittens (and, more generally, cats) -- American street names -- Wendy Cope -- Footnotes in Capital -- Umpiring -- Passport applications -- Margaret Thatcher’s resignation -- Margaret Thatcher's poetry -- Jews for Justice for Palestinians -- Chavez and anti-Semitism -- Academic plagiarism -- David Aaronovitch as marathon runner -- x-RCP front organisations -- Robert Wokler -- Academic jobs -- Musicals -- Australia -- The rubbish-collection regime in Oxford -- Tony Judt -- Whether or not the Euston Manifesto was part of a “common, hysterical defense of the Anglo-Dutch financial system, and their permanent right to loot the economies of the world” -- American practices of memorialization on campus -- Flooding in Oxford -- The Beatles -- Jerry Cohen’s valedictory lecture -- The New Left Review -- Loyalty oaths -- A Dance to the Music of Time -- Merton College, Oxford -- Visiting Manchester -- Critical opinions about America -- Puzzles involving marbles -- Traffic robots -- The Beach Boys -- Tony Blair’s relationship with God -- Bernard-Henri Levy looking funny in photographs -- Authorisations to use military force -- John Stuart Mill on international intervention -- The Eurovision Song Contest -- Adam Smith -- Nick Cohen's views about torture -- Alfred Hitchcock films -- The thorny question of whether seven-times Tour de France winner Lance Armstrong was on drugs -- The problems of travelling between Oxford and Cambridge. Biggest regret? In July 2004, Norm wrote, "Might you have an interest in watching a Test or some part of one with me?", and I never took him up on the suggestion. His final words of the correspondence, from the start of this month: "My own care from the NHS has been exemplary."
So this evening I’m sitting on a train, and I’m thinking about the Daily Mail and its recent interest in the Miliband family. I’m thinking about the photos of Viscount Rothermere with senior Nazis, as I have been all day, including Adolf Hitler and Josef Goebbels, and of the telegram he sent to ‘my dear Fuhrer’ following the Munich Agreement, in order to ‘salute your Excellency’s star, which rises higher and higher’. I’m thinking of the Mail’s most famous article of all, ‘Hurrah for the Blackshirts!’, but I’m not thinking just of that article, but of other ones too. I’m thinking of the same newspaper’s campaigns to deny Jews fleeing persecution sanctuary in this country, as well as of its much more recent efforts directed against vulnerable refugees and asylum-seekers. I’m thinking about the distinctive whiff of anti-Semitism that emanates from the gratuitous reference to ‘the jealous God of Deuteronomy’ in today’s non-apology to the Milibands, and I’m thinking to myself, well why don’t they just call them rootless cosmopolitans and be done with it? I’m also thinking about Roderick Spode and his Black Shorts in their footer bags, and of the way that Fascists really don’t like to be laughed at. (Recently I’ve been thinking about Paolo di Canio, too.) And I’m thinking of the English Defence League sieg-heiling recently on Whitehall, right next to the statue of another Viscount, Lord Alanbrooke, who made a certain contribution towards the defeat of National Socialism. I’m thinking of what the historians have called ‘the myth of the Blitz’—when we were perhaps just a bit more in it together than we’ve been more recently—and I’m thinking that if you have to have myths in order to underpin conceptions of national identity, and that you probably do, then this isn’t such a bad one to have, all things considered. So I’m thinking of my Keep Calm and Carry On mug, and of the poster that inspired it, and, although I’m a republican, I’m thinking of the film The King’s Speech, as well as the film The Queen, and of the ways in which these films (despite their flaws) can resonate in a certain kind of a way—as do the lyrics to the Dad’s Army theme song (and I suppose I’m also thinking of my grandfather’s service in the Home Guard). And I’m thinking, it just so happens, of the last time that we had a Coalition government in this country, and I’m thinking of the contribution that the trade unions made to winning the War, and also about how it was the Labour Party that won a landslide in the 1945 General Election—and I’m thinking too of the National Health Service, which is currently looking after me, as it is looking after so many millions of others, and of what a remarkable civilisational achievement it is. (And thinking about the NHS also leads me on to think, but only briefly and in passing, because he really isn't worth it, about the ridiculous Jeremy Hunt, who was offering his opinion about the Milibands this morning.) I’m thinking also of my own parents, who were children during the War, which provided them with so many of their earliest memories, such as that of watching English cities burn. In a somewhat different register, I’m thinking about how much I enjoyed Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel, The Remains of the Day, once upon a time, and I’m thinking as well of my own teacher Ross McKibbin’s arguments, which I heard him set out in his Ford’s Lectures in British History, about how, over the course of the War, public opinion shifted towards a view that those leading figures in public life who had sought to appease Hitler and the Nazis were traitors. I’ve been thinking about how I never met Ralph Miliband, or heard him speak, but of how much I’ve enjoyed reading his books over the years, especially his masterpiece, The State in Capitalist Society, which I used to tell my first-year Politics students to read with care. I’ve also been thinking about how privileged I’ve been in my own academic life to have had at least some dealings with some members of that extraordinary older generation of academic Jews whose lives were upended by the catastrophe that befell midcentury Europe, but who were able, as so many others were not, to make their way to safety in Britain, the United States, and elsewhere. Finally, I’m thinking about the way that if Ed Miliband’s One Nation Labour is to amount to anything worthwhile—if it isn’t simply to be a vacuous mush that serves as a rhetorical overlay to some kind of New Labour Mark Two—then it has to be clear what it is against, as much as what it is for; to exclude and to marginalise and to stigmatise and to accuse, as well and as much as to include and to celebrate, to commemorate and to affirm. And this evening I feel that I might really be able to get behind One Nation Labour, in a way that I really didn’t before.
So today a handful of newspapers quoted a senior Conservative Party politician as saying:
"It's fine. There's really no problem. The MPs just have to do it because the associations tell them to, and the associations are all mad, swivel-eyed loons."How did the word "swivel-eyed" enter the British political lexicon, and when did we first get "swivel-eyed loons"? Here's a preliminary report, armed with access to the Lexis database, and the help of some friends on the Twitter with very good memories. As long ago as 1983, Michael Meacher was described in the unlamented Punch as a "swivel-eyed Leftie lunatic", so the term has been in circulation for a while. In 1987, Seamus Milne, writing in tehgraun, wrote that it was common to portray Robespierre as "the swivel-eyed high priest of political violence". And in 1991, in a couple of columns, Simon Hoggart used the term, on one occasion to pick out politicians who had a "swivel-eyed belief in privatisation". And it's in the early 1990s that the word more or less attaches itself to a certain kind of Tory politician. In fact, we can be more specific: John Redwood is clearly the key figure here. When he was first appointed to the Cabinet in the May 1993 reshuffle, an unnamed and disgruntled Tory politician said, "we want fewer swivel-eyed ideologues not more" (interestingly, one of the stories in the press reporting this view carried Ruth Kelly's by-line). And the term, having attached itself to Redwood, from there migrates to his key political allies--such as Tony Marlow and, especially, Teresa Gorman. Tim Collins--a hero of the Stoa in years gone by--described the Tories who backed Redwood's campaign for the Party leadership in 1995, for example, as the "swivel-eyed barmy army, from ward eight at Broadmoor". So: "swivel-eyed" was most commonly used in this period to pick out the kind of Conservative politician who ceaselessly plotted to undermine the leadership and, in David Cameron's later words, was forever "banging on about Europe". (As Hegel presumably remarks somewhere, all great Tory crises appear, so to speak, twice. He forgot to add: the first time as farce, the second as farce.) So much for "swivel-eyed". Where, specifically, do "swivel-eyed loons" come from? The answer seems to be that Euan Ferguson first used the phrase in the national press, in his Observer column of 2 March 1997, specifically to describe Tim Montgomerie's mob. Back in those days, long before ConservativeHome, Montgomerie ran something called the Conservative Christian Fellowship, about whom Ferguson was quite sceptical--the column was published under the headline, "The Lord deliver us from the loony right". Various right-wing Christians were quoted in the course of the article, which ended like this:
It would be ludicrous to suggest the CCF could make much of a difference. But is it so wrong to imagine it having an effect in a marginal seat between votes for a genuine candidate and votes for, well, let's say, just for the sake of argument, a swivel-eyed loon who glories in pious deceit, or a holier-than-thou moral crusader who still backs policies expressly designed to widen inequality, encourage intolerance and promote greed?And to take us briskly up to the present, the last thing we need to remember is the Anthony Wells-inspired Google-bomb (remember Google-bombing?) that ensured that, around the end of 2004, anyone who entered the phrase "swivel-eyed loons" was immediately directed to the UKIP home page. (This was mentioned at the time on the Virtual Stoa here.) But that is all history. The rest, as we might say, is politics. [Thanks to Anthony Wells and Matthew Turner for assistance with this post.] UPDATE: Jamie K: "I’d say it’s more ‘the first time as farce, the second time as panto'."
The poor man's son, whom heaven in its anger has visited with ambition, when he begins to look around him, admires the condition of the rich. He finds the cottage of his father too small for his accommodation, and fancies he should be lodged more at his ease in a palace. He is displeased with being obliged to walk a-foot, or to endure the fatigue of riding on horseback. He sees his superiors carried about in machines, and imagines that in one of these he could travel with less inconveniency. He feels himself naturally indolent, and willing to serve himself with his own hands as little as possible; and judges, that a numerous retinue of servants would save him from a great deal of trouble. He thinks if he had attained all these, he would sit still contentedly, and be quiet, enjoying himself in the thought of the happiness and tranquillity of his situation. He is enchanted with the distant idea of this felicity. It appears in his fancy like the life of some superior rank of beings, and, in order to arrive at it, he devotes himself for ever to the pursuit of wealth and greatness. To obtain the conveniencies which these afford, he submits in the first year, nay in the first month of his application, to more fatigue of body and more uneasiness of mind than he could have suffered through the whole of his life from the want of them. He studies to distinguish himself in some laborious profession. With the most unrelenting industry he labours night and day to acquire talents superior to all his competitors. He endeavours next to bring those talents into public view, and with equal assiduity solicits every opportunity of employment. For this purpose he makes his court to all mankind; he serves those whom he hates, and is obsequious to those whom he despises. Through the whole of his life he pursues the idea of a certain artificial and elegant repose which he may never arrive at, for which he sacrifices a real tranquillity that is at all times in his power, and which, if in the extremity of old age he should at last attain to it, he will find to be in no respect preferable to that humble security and contentment which he had abandoned for it. It is then, in the last dregs of life, his body wasted with toil and diseases, his mind galled and ruffled by the memory of a thousand injuries and disappointments which he imagines he has met with from the injustice of his enemies, or from the perfidy and ingratitude of his friends, that he begins at last to find that wealth and greatness are mere trinkets of frivolous utility, no more adapted for procuring ease of body or tranquillity of mind than the tweezer-cases of the lover of toys; and like them too, more troublesome to the person who carries them about with him than all the advantages they can afford him are commodious. There is no other real difference between them, except that the conveniencies of the one are somewhat more observable than those of the other. The palaces, the gardens, the equipage, the retinue of the great, are objects of which the obvious conveniency strikes every body. They do not require that their masters should point out to us wherein consists their utility. Of our own accord we readily enter into it, and by sympathy enjoy and thereby applaud the satisfaction which they are fitted to afford him. But the curiosity of a tooth-pick, of an ear-picker, of a machine for cutting the nails, or of any other trinket of the same kind, is not so obvious. Their conveniency may perhaps be equally great, but it is not so striking, and we do not so readily enter into the satisfaction of the man who possesses them. They are therefore less reasonable subjects of vanity than the magnificence of wealth and greatness; and in this consists the sole advantage of these last. They more effectually gratify that love of distinction so natural to man. To one who was to live alone in a desolate island it might be a matter of doubt, perhaps, whether a palace, or a collection of such small conveniencies as are commonly contained in a tweezer-case, would contribute most to his happiness and enjoyment. If he is to live in society, indeed, there can be no comparison, because in this, as in all other cases, we constantly pay more regard to the sentiments of the spectator, than to those of the person principally concerned, and consider rather how his situation will appear to other people, than how it will appear to himself. If we examine, however, why the spectator distinguishes with such admiration the condition of the rich and the great, we shall find that it is not so much upon account of the superior ease or pleasure which they are supposed to enjoy, as of the numberless artificial and elegant contrivances for promoting this ease or pleasure. He does not even imagine that they are really happier than other people: but he imagines that they possess more means of happiness. And it is the ingenious and artful adjustment of those means to the end for which they were intended, that is the principal source of his admiration. But in the languor of disease and the weariness of old age, the pleasures of the vain and empty distinctions of greatness disappear. To one, in this situation, they are no longer capable of recommending those toilsome pursuits in which they had formerly engaged him. In his heart he curses ambition, and vainly regrets the ease and the indolence of youth, pleasures which are fled for ever, and which he has foolishly sacrificed for what, when he has got it, can afford him no real satisfaction. In this miserable aspect does greatness appear to every man when reduced either by spleen or disease to observe with attention his own situation, and to consider what it is that is really wanting to his happiness. Power and riches appear then to be, what they are, enormous and operose machines contrived to produce a few trifling conveniencies to the body, consisting of springs the most nice and delicate, which must be kept in order with the most anxious attention, and which in spite of all our care are ready every moment to burst into pieces, and to crush in their ruins their unfortunate possessor. They are immense fabrics, which it requires the labour of a life to raise, which threaten every moment to overwhelm the person that dwells in them, and which while they stand, though they may save him from some smaller inconveniencies, can protect him from none of the severer inclemencies of the season. They keep off the summer shower, not the winter storm, but leave him always as much, and sometimes more exposed than before, to anxiety, to fear, and to sorrow; to diseases, to danger, and to death. But though this splenetic philosophy, which in time of sickness or low spirits is familiar to every man, thus entirely depreciates those great objects of human desire, when in better health and in better humour, we never fail to regard them under a more agreeable aspect. Our imagination, which in pain and sorrow seems to be confined and cooped up within our own persons, in times of ease and prosperity expands itself to every thing around us. We are then charmed with the beauty of that accommodation which reigns in the palaces and oeconomy of the great; and admire how every thing is adapted to promote their ease, to prevent their wants, to gratify their wishes, and to amuse and entertain their most frivolous desires. If we consider the real satisfaction which all these things are capable of affording, by itself and separated from the beauty of that arrangement which is fitted to promote it, it will always appear in the highest degree contemptible and trifling. But we rarely view it in this abstract and philosophical light. We naturally confound it in our imagination with the order, the regular and harmonious movement of the system, the machine or oeconomy by means of which it is produced. The pleasures of wealth and greatness, when considered in this complex view, strike the imagination as something grand and beautiful and noble, of which the attainment is well worth all the toil and anxiety which we are so apt to bestow upon it. And it is well that nature imposes upon us in this manner. It is this deception which rouses and keeps in continual motion the industry of mankind. It is this which first prompted them to cultivate the ground, to build houses, to found cities and commonwealths, and to invent and improve all the sciences and arts, which ennoble and embellish human life; which have entirely changed the whole face of the globe, have turned the rude forests of nature into agreeable and fertile plains, and made the trackless and barren ocean a new fund of subsistence, and the great high road of communication to the different nations of the earth. The earth by these labours of mankind has been obliged to redouble her natural fertility, and to maintain a greater multitude of inhabitants. It is to no purpose, that the proud and unfeeling landlord views his extensive fields, and without a thought for the wants of his brethren, in imagination consumes himself the whole harvest that grows upon them. The homely and vulgar proverb, that the eye is larger than the belly, never was more fully verified than with regard to him. The capacity of his stomach bears no proportion to the immensity of his desires, and will receive no more than that of the meanest peasant. The rest he is obliged to distribute among those, who prepare, in the nicest manner, that little which he himself makes use of, among those who fit up the palace in which this little is to be consumed, among those who provide and keep in order all the different baubles and trinkets, which are employed in the oeconomy of greatness; all of whom thus derive from his luxury and caprice, that share of the necessaries of life, which they would in vain have expected from his humanity or his justice. The produce of the soil maintains at all times nearly that number of inhabitants which it is capable of maintaining. The rich only select from the heap what is most precious and agreeable. They consume little more than the poor, and in spite of their natural selfishness and rapacity, though they mean only their own conveniency, though the sole end which they propose from the labours of all the thousands whom they employ, be the gratification of their own vain and insatiable desires, they divide with the poor the produce of all their improvements. They are led by an invisible hand to make nearly the same distribution of the necessaries of life, which would have been made, had the earth been divided into equal portions among all its inhabitants, and thus without intending it, without knowing it, advance the interest of the society, and afford means to the multiplication of the species. When Providence divided the earth among a few lordly masters, it neither forgot nor abandoned those who seemed to have been left out in the partition. These last too enjoy their share of all that it produces. In what constitutes the real happiness of human life, they are in no respect inferior to those who would seem so much above them. In ease of body and peace of mind, all the different ranks of life are nearly upon a level, and the beggar, who suns himself by the side of the highway, possesses that security which kings are fighting for.
The Theory of Moral Sentiments, IV.i.8-10.
So this morning everyone's fuming about Jeremy Hunt, for obvious reasons. The man's both a fool and a knave. I think he's more the former than the latter, but I can appreciate why other people, especially women, might think it's the other way around. I joked on Twitter earlier today that future historians might see the Autumn of 2012 as the moment when the Tories entered the "taking the piss" phase of the Parliament, and I think there's probably something to that. But I wonder whether something else is going on, and what we've been seeing recently is a bunch of Tory politicians trying out different strategies to position themselves in a post-Cameron, post-Coalition, very probably post-being-in-Government Conservative Party future, with Boris Johnson, Michael Gove, and Jeremy Hunt each taking a different approach. Johnson and Gove are obviously the more substantial politicians, Johnson as a populist critic of the Coalition (while also sucking up to the bankers), with Gove casting himself as The Future of the Right (the subtitle of the book he wrote about Michael Portillo once upon a time). But Hunt's engaged in the same kind of game: David Cameron rescued his career when he moved him to Health, and now he's signalling to the wackier part of the Tory Party that he's on their side in the culture wars, setting up a marriage of convenience: both the Tory Right and Jeremy Hunt now need all the friends they can get, as they look to an uncertain future. The political strategies are different, though what Johnson, Gove, and Hunt do have in common, I think, is that they're the three senior politicians who are most publicly betting that Leveson will prove in the end to be a paper tiger, and standing by the Murdoch gang. But for these three--as for much of the rest of the Tory Party, I suspect--the Cameron & Osborne show is almost over, and the jockeying for position after the electoral disaster they anticipate in 2015 has already begun.
For National Poetry Day, I've dredged much of the #chloesmithpoetry out from the depths of my Twitter timeline to archive it here. People may remember the Economic Secretary to the Treasury, Chloe Smith MP, who appeared on Newsnight on 26 June 2012 to defend the Government's recently-announced delay to the introduction of a planned increase in fuel duty. It is widely reckoned that she didn't do especially well in the interview--the words "car crash" sprang to many minds, which judged her to be hopelessly out of her depth. Criticism was spread around, to be sure: some found Jeremy Paxman's interviewing style objectionable; others--well, everyone, actually--thought it cowardly of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, George Osborne MP, to send the most junior minister he could find into the lion's mouth, rather than defend the U-turn on television himself. But in a small corner of Twitter the following day, some of us were more struck by the way in which English literature graduate Chloe Smith's words lent themselves so easily to poetry, and we started experimenting with the literary form made possible by reflecting on the transcript of the interview in the context of a strict 140-character word limit. So many thanks to Eleanor Crawford, whose marvellous idea it was, and to the others who joined in. It made me happy for days.
- el_crawford: They fall across and in different ways/ And that figure will progress, if you like.../that figure is evolving somewhat. #ChloeSmithPoetry Wed Jun 27 09:34
- el_crawford: Two roads diverged in a wood and I-/I took the one less travelled by/And that has helped households and businesses. #ChloeSmithPoetry Wed Jun 27 09:35
- el_crawford: For reasons which are interesting in themselves/the figures are interesting in themselves. #ChloeSmithPoetry Wed Jun 27 09:36
- chrisbrooke: It's valuable to help / Real people in this way / And I do think that is valued / By people who drive. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 13:06
- el_crawford: I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox/and which you were probably saving for households and businesses/Forgive me #ChloeSmithPoetry Wed Jun 27 13:11
- chrisbrooke: It’s an aggregate figure / If you look at the data / It’s an aggregate figure / And I think that’s what’s important here. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 13:47
- chrisbrooke: On Tuesday's Newsnight / A slogan was unfurled: / Jeremy, I don’t think many things / Are certain in this world. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 13:49
- thhamilton: In front of Parliament we revealed to Parliament / As is right and proper, by the way, to Parliament / Help #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 14:07
- chrisbrooke: When I am not sure what to think / I find it helps to say / "The figure is evolving somewhat / As per the data today." #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 14:16
- woodscolt79: We are the hollow men/We are the stuffed men/Leaning together/Listening to families and businesses. Alas! #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 14:19
- chrisbrooke: They do relate / To rather one-off factors / Specifically in terms / Of when some payments were made. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 14:20
- chrisbrooke: I woke up in this morning / And know actually that some of my constituents will really value not having to pay... [etc] #chloesmithblues Wed Jun 27 14:23
- chrisbrooke: In a world that we’re facing / Where things are very hard / You have to do what you can / In these hard times. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 14:28
- chrisbrooke: Things fall apart / The centre cannot hold / They fall across / And in different ways. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 14:32
- chrisbrooke: We had a collective discussion / Of that in due course / Although I can’t tell you / The ins and the outs. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 14:47
- chrisbrooke: Households and businesses / Families and businesses / Households and businesses / And families. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 15:02
- ejhchess: It doesn't matter if you're shite / You'll get support from Michael White #chloesmithpoetry #sortof Wed Jun 27 15:20
- chrisbrooke: As Chloe Smith was fumbling with fuel duty / Old Aaro, watching, thought, "You gorgeous beauty." #chloesmithpoetry https://t.co/RYsfh1IK Wed Jun 27 15:24
- chrisbrooke: The question being asked in May / Was about full cancellation /But as you'll be aware today / We’re talking about deferral #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 15:39
- chrisbrooke: That is of interest perhaps / In a different conversation / But the fact is here / We are sticking to the overall plan. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 16:05
- chrisbrooke: It’s not just a Westminster Village / Story, Jeremy / It’s real money / In real people’s pockets. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 16:12
- el_crawford: @chrisbrooke I find her turn of phrase Audenesque. Almost chillingly so. Wed Jun 27 16:15
- chrisbrooke: As a Minister / In the Treasury / I’ve been involved in the discussions for some time / As a Minister in the Treasury #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 16:15
- chrisbrooke @el_crawford Yes: some of the rhythms of her speech esp. at the end of sentences & the partial repetitions are very twentieth-century verse. Wed Jun 27 16:17
- chrisbrooke: It’s not that, I’m afraid, Jeremy. It's not that I'm afraid, Jeremy. It's not that. I'm afraid, Jeremy. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 16:22
- chrisbrooke: Mortal, guilty, but to me / Rightly what we seek to use for the credibility of our fiscal plan. #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 16:34
- chrisbrooke: I think the point to be made out of that / And out of what’s been said today / Is that it’s important to do what you can #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 16:44
- microlambert: I love you Twitter, because you did this: #chloesmithpoetry Wed Jun 27 20:08
From this week's TLS:
It is one of the many strengths of Christopher Brooke’s fascinating new study, Philosophic Pride, that he is aware of the multifarious nature of his subject; he knows that he is dealing with a fluid cluster of ideas and themes, not as a unitary philosophical movement. Not that he has set out, in any case, to write a history of (Neo-)Stoicism; his task is both narrower and harder than that. The subject of this book is the relationship between Stoicism and early modern political thought; since there was scarcely such a thing as a worked-out body of Stoic political theory (unless we count Seneca’s fanciful portrayal of the monarchical ruler – Nero, of all people – extending the empire of reason), this means that an already elusive subject is considered here from a variety of oblique angles...It's a long review, too, filling all of p. 5.