More Prescience?

My last post was loosely on the topic of how prescient I can be with hindsight. I was particularly miffed because I felt I had anticipated a particularly ludicrous government policy - as an aside, pedants, it is both the government and the policy that I think are ludicrous - but was unable to claim any kudos as I hadn't made the prediction public. This week, I feel slightly more smug.

Regular readers may be aware of a blog I wrote last year on the subject of Boris Jonson and David Cameron. Towards the end of the blog, I queried the now Prime Minister's professed love of the Smiths. I wouldn't want to question the man's integrity, but it has always struck me as odd. It's not so much the idea that he would listen to lyrics he would find it difficult to agree with that I find unlikely, but the idea of him enjoying a band whose whole aesthetic seems founded on a worldview he could not possibly share.

It seems that I am not alone. In the last two weeks, both Johnny Marr and Morrisey have attempted to forbid Mr Cameron from liking the band. Morrisey's comments are particularly pertinent: 'It was not for such people that either "Meat is Murder" or "The Queen is Dead" were recorded,' he writes. I don't like to think of people as types, but I think he sums the position up well. Cameron, I presume, came to the Smiths in his teens. This is an age in which music forms a huge part of many people's identity. In an era in which the country was divided, Cameron and the Smiths were most definitely on opposite sides of the fence.

Cameron is an intelligent man, and (as an Oxford undergraduate) must have been an intelligent teenager. How did he not realise that this band were speaking for people who were excluded from the life he and his Tory chums were enjoying? I'm glad that Morrisey and Marr seem to understand this, even if Cameron doesn't.

Museum of London

How do we judge fame? I'm sure we've all heard the comment "He/she/it can't be that famous; I've never heard of them." Personally I always tut to myself when I hear this - as if your limited frame of reference is the only criterion - but I'm just as guilty of doing it myself. Fame is, by definition, collectively defined. I may know everything there is to know about my nearest and dearest, but if no one else does they are not famous; by the same token if I am the only person in the world not to have heard of the crimewriter Theobald Urquart, the omission hardly disqualifies him from the epithet "well known".

This, of course, only applies in a negative sense. I am pretty sure that Wayne Rooney is famous, not only because I've heard of him, but because I've heard of him in lots of places. If I really am the only person who hasn't heard of the global celebrity that is Mr Urquart, how am I to know I am missing out? You could all be talking about him when I'm not around and I wouldn't know. There would be no point talking about him when I am around because I don't know who he is; even if you did, I wouldn't pay attention.

All this is a round about way of saying I visited the Museum of London last week. I was planning to eulogise about what an underrated gem it is, much more informative and friendlier than more famous museums in the City. It occurred to me, however, that it might actually be rather more famous than I believe. Simply because I hadn't heard of it before, doesn't mean that everyone else hasn't already visited it a thousand times. It was considerably quieter than other museums I visited during the week, but that might be because I am a terrible judge of museums, and while I found it charming and distinctive, you might have found it parochial and narrow.

I am no expert on the subject, but I will say if you are in London and looking for somewhere to visit you could do worse than try this museum (assuming, obviously, that you haven't already been there). I have found in other cities that museums with a local focus are the most interesting: museums that try a broader approach often fail to do anything distinctive. This is something that I thought wouldn't apply in London - the presence of world class collections ensures that there are significant exhibits in most museums and galleries - I have found, however, that even here the local focus provides a wealth of stimulating material.

A popularity contest

I am perhaps unusual – at least amongst people who don’t work for the BBC – in harbouring no serious objections to the TV licence fee. I don’t relish paying it; I don’t relish paying for anything. I do, however, think that at a little under £3 a week – per household, not even per person – it represents excellent value. I think that the principle of funding a public service broadcaster in this way is fine and admirable. And I think that because of the way it is funded, the BBC has produced innovative and envied television.

It shouldn’t be surprising then that I view Culture Secretary Jeremy Hunt’s suggestion that the fee could be reduced with suspicion. His reference to the “very constrained financial situation” is an attempt to link it with wider austerity measures that is disingenuous if not outright deceitful. The finances of the BBC are in no way linked to the budget deficit the government is so desperate to cut. If Mr Hunt believes that the BBC should suffer simply because other people and other bodies are, shouldn’t he suggest some sort of pay cap across the whole of the economy?

The true motives behind this lie, I suspect, lies in the unpopularity of the licence fee. I may be unusual in not objecting to it, but I am certainly not unusual in failing to enjoy paying. This government is acutely aware that it is heading for deep unpopularity with some of its decisions. Ultimately, I suspect that in suggesting the licence fee be reduced they are attempting to offset the effects of massive spending cuts across the board.