Britannia rule the digital waves: Five British online columnists.
No-one beats the Brits at writing columns. No other geographically based collective of journalists have the necessary wit, the style, the acerbity – or if need be, the glorious peevishness to beat the Brits at this game.
‘But what about the arguments, the contents, expertise etcetera?’, I hear the rest of the world moan.
Well, they can do that too, of course – if they must.
Still, a columnist has this short space and distance to cover: he or she will only ever have so many words, so many inches to play with.
So, it’s not merely about contents, or the arguments. Style and presentation are as important – maybe more important even, in order to grab and hold the attention of the reader. Newspapers and blogs are filled with arguments and chock-full with content, some of which even (somewhat) close to factual.
In other words, you need something extra to pull the punters – and the Brits have it.
Here’s just a few examples – just five of them, haphazardly collected.
1) food & TV columnist, A.A. Gills:
Just when you thought you couldn’t swallow another soupçon, three new autumnal cookery shows are plonked on the already groaning board. First, the moreish Nigella Express (Monday, BBC2), offering speedy things to do in the kitchen. As far as I’m concerned, there isn’t anything like enough Nigella or voluptuous coquetry on television. She has developed a sort of gastronomic Method preparation, a sort of Stanislavsky cooking. Before our eyes, she becomes the thing she’s making: a slinky-fingered dish of baby squid dipped in mayonnaise, a darkly sumptuous and tempting chocolate mousse, a brazen splayed poussin. Nigella is an ingredient shape-shifter, an organic transformer. One minute, it’s merely bread and butter pudding; the next, it’s the goddess’s heaving breasts.
Sadly, much the same is true of Raymond Blanc to the Manoir Born, the man who brought us the joy of baby vegetables tied up with parsley stalks. He’s now fronting The Restaurant (Wednesday, BBC2), the hospitality version of The Apprentice. He looks and sounds like Peter Sellers crossed with a small carrot, and speaks the sort of effortless accented bollocks you generally find in the mission statements of overpriced menus in country restaurants.
2) Sports writer, Giles Smith:
We’re four days into the rugby union World Cup, but it will be a lot longer, I hazard, before any of us can say with confidence that we fully understand what is going on in ITV’s credits sequence. So many questions. What, for instance, is that woman doing up a tree in her underwear? Who are those men in white underpants and why are they turning cartwheels? And what, in the name of Scott Quinnell’s battered ears, has any of this got to do with rugby?
Also, does that look like France to you, in the background of these strange, underdressed tumblings? To me it looks like Nevada after an atomic test. Either that, or the set for a truly unwatchable production of King Lear.
Sometimes one tires of seeing the Eiffel Tower sent out on the big sporting occasions to serve as a cover-all emblem of Frenchness. At the same time, there is only so much incomprehensible ballet in a post-apocalyptic landscape that viewers can take before they start pining for reassurance in the form of a shot of a Paris landmark or two, or even an old bloke in a stripy jumper with onions around his neck. Help us out here, ITV.
3) political columnist, Mike Hume:
Hard as it may seem to believe, I was a Direct Action Man in my time. In the 1980s I went on many a march, protest, picket line, blockade and occupation – in support of striking miners, nurses and students, against wars, invasions and police brutality, in defence of abortion rights, immigrants and free speech. And I would not apologise for any of it. Anybody with an idealistic bone in his youthful body ought to have taken some direct action, along with the drugs.
However, at the risk of sounding like a grey talking head on the “Grumpy Old Marxists” show, I feel obliged to point out that young eco-protester puppies today don’t know they are born, are degrading the good name of direct action, and would not know a police state if they found one in their muesli.
4) current affairs columnist, Rod Liddle:
Osama’s beard was looking pretty foxy, wasn’t it? Midnight Raven by L’Oréal, I would reckon – because you’re worth it, inshallah. Possibly the same shade as Davina McCall, if I’m not mistaken. Probably a home delivery from the Hindu Kush Grooming Products for the Modern Metropolitan Muslim.
There’s nothing in the Koran to stop a Muslim dyeing his beard, or even adding minxy blond highlights for his next important video appearance. Allah, PBUH, seems uncharacteristically indulgent on the whole issue.
Have to say his skin was looking a bit sallow and tired, though. My girlfriend recommends Clarins Beauty Flash Balm. Gay? Nobody said gay, Osama. Don’t worry about it.
5) ‘confessional’ columnist, Ariel Leve (writing as ‘Cassandra’):
There’s nothing better than having the man you love be sick with a cold. Some of the best times I’ve ever had are nursing boyfriends who are unwell. They’re usually bedridden, so they’re in one place. I know where they are and they’re reachable at all times.
They listen to me because they have no choice. I can talk about anything I want and they’ll pay attention. And even if they’re not paying attention, they can’t move. I can get away with asking the same question twice and not have to worry about being snapped at. They don’t have the energy to argue.
Also, they need me. And they’re grateful. When else would getting a glass of water be considered a charitable act?
The perfect situation is when a man is mildly ill. A serious illness is a different matter. Ideally, he should have a slight fever — no more than 101. Any higher than that and all they do is sleep.
Even better is when they’re on antibiotics. Handing him a pill makes me look useful. Being nauseous is also a plus. No matter what I feed him, I’m Martha Stewart. But he can’t be nauseous to the extent he’s vomiting — that’s too much work.
As you may have noticed, all of these columnists write for the Times. I’ve chosen to concentrate on one online newspaper for two reasons:
1) Because I’m lazy.
2) To drive home my earlier point about Brits being the best columnists. So, all of the examples above come from just the one newspaper, and all of them were written in the last few days…
I rest my case.
(P.S.: I know it’s a stretch: from columnists to ghost writers to ghost riders… Okay, more than a stretch, or a stretch limo even but I don’t give a damn. I just like this clip, so there:)
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