The Guardian was recently commenting on the comparison by the Lord Chancellor (Lord Irvine) of his role with that of Thomas Wolsey, and told us by way of a historical footnote that Wolsey was "given a bishopric by the Pope worth 5,000 duckets."
Hmmm. Maybe it meant ducklets, or ducklings, or even goslings. Perhaps I missed out on the historical period when the currency was farmyard poultry. Then again the paper might have meant ducats, but it's hard to know.
Right. Should you trust your first impressions of other people? The BBC wants to know. It is planning a new programme or series, and has placed a newspaper ad asking this question. It goes on: "Have you ever got it wrong? Can the image you give affect your job prospects or love life? Would you like us to revamp your image?"
Kate is the BBC researcher who wants to hear from you. Meanwhile her colleague Jane asks in another advertisement, "Are you the other woman? Have you ever had an affair with a married man? Or has your marriage been ruined by a third party?" Another TV company advertises on the same day in the same paper, seeking women to talk about their relationships with their fathers. Call Louise.
The BBC is also looking for people who have had IVF treatment. They are asked to call Rebecca.
This is all getting a little out of hand.
Have you ever been a researcher? Is your name Cindy? Have you ever had some of your research misused? Do you feel let down when your research is left uncredited? How stressful is your life? Does your spouse sympathise or not? Call Samantha and tell her all.
There is this horrible recurring vision of Kate, Jane, Rebecca, Louise, Sue, Hillary, Violet, Antoinette, Jilly, Sara and Maryanne sitting around the television canteen swapping stories of terrible confusion.
As a former television programme researcher myself I know what can happen when so many programmes are being researched at the same time. I recall digging up the case histories of Joe, Mick, and Harry (their real names, actually), all of whom had been abused by their wives.
To their surprise they found themselves featuring on a live show about IVF treatment. To no one's surprise except the presenter's, they had no comment. Then Mick was asked to tell about his affair with a married man. He sued. Joe was asked if he was guilty about being the other woman. He sued too. Charlie meanwhile turned down the offer of an image revamp.
All right. This has already run out of steam.
I see that our own Gerry Robinson has been appointed chairman of Britain's Arts Council.
By "our own" Gerry Robinson I mean Gerrard Jude Robinson from Donegal, the "upstart caterer" in the outraged words of John Cleese, who not long ago took control of the entire Forte hotel and catering business, including everything from the luxurious George V Hotel in Paris to the Little Chef caffs. (Mr Cleese's self-revealing objections related to Robinson's appointment as the head of Granada).
Gerry Robinson's appointment to the Arts Council chairmanship has ruffled feathers. These feathers were further disturbed when, on the day following Mr Robinson's appointment, a former manufacturer of light bulbs was appointed chairman of the Royal Opera House.
The worry among the liberal intelligentsia in Britain is that New Labour is now sending in the hard men of the boardroom to hitherto sacrosanct arts areas, and that all the darling little loss-making marionette theatres, and brave shoestring art film houses, and endearingly inefficient avantgarde galleries, are in for a shock.
But not a word has been written about the corresponding appointment of arts gurus to hitherto sacrosanct business areas.
Benjamin ("Benny") CootleyHayes, for example, was recently made chairman of the South Stokes Colliery. Though only 23, he has brought to it a wealth of experience in tie-dyeing, installation art and feng shui.
There were those who were dubious about his suitability for the job until it was shown that his insistence that all personnel dressed every Monday in "cheerful" clothes resulted in an 0.2 per cent increase in productivity for the day. Similarly, Benny's reorientation of the office, which allowed another three staff members have access to direct natural light, resulted in a 2.3 per cent profit increase for the month.
When he hung an enormous pink-framed mirror at the entrance to the mine, Benny encountered a lot of opposition: but when workers were able to see in the mirror how hard they were actually working, and in what a lovely new romantic light the entire scene was reflected, production rose by 4 per cent daily.
