Bowler hats, Eurocrats and Quails

Eurozone Crisis Summit

As David Cameron flew to Brussels today to take part in the crisis summit, I found myself meditating on the EU and asking one very simple question: What is it for exactly? Is it a trading block? Is it a union of states, seeking closer harmonization for the peace and prosperity of their collective inhabitants? Or is the question itself as elusive as Professor Heidegger's search for a definition of 'being'; is it in essence 'a great unanswerable'?

After much cogitation over a reasonably priced luncheon of quail, hare and gratin dauphinois, I had to admit that I had quite given up. I suspect in the end anybody asking the same question would, just as I did many years ago with regard to the foolish ideas upon which Mr Heidegger based his life-times work.

However, this I know: The EU is doomed and it is so for one very obvious reason. Since the beginning of civilization, no successful 'trading block' has ever been hewn from the rib of peace. From the Akkadians to the Persians, from the Byzantines to the British all 'trading blocks' have in essence been empires and no empire was ever created from anything so disagreeable as 'compromise'. One only has to think of the Romans who built harmony across their considerable domain, only after they had crushed inferior weaklings beneath the sandals of their all conquering legions. The EU, by contrast, has been a piecemeal affair from the very beginning, full of damp squibs, sops to French farmers, 'worthy' human rights acts, sops to Italian cheese-makers, minimum wages, sops to Belgian waffle salesmen, health and safety acts, sops to Spanish fishermen, curbs on bankers trying to make a decent living and sops to the Greeks (full sop). No blood has been spilt, no slaves have been driven before it, no elephants used to intimidate barbarians, no christians executed for sport.

Worse still, the Union has provided us with not one single great unifying figure. No Ghengis Khan, no Earl Grey, no Nebuchadnezzar or Alexander; not even an imitation Napoleon Bonaparte, just the suggestion of one.

As H hour approaches, the closest we are offered by way of an Otto Von Bismark is a Herman Van Rompuy, a man who would seem to personify that old gag about 'the problem with political jokes is they get elected' were it not for the fact that he has NOT been elected.

Bowler hatted council workers

Regular readers of this 'blog' will not have been in the least bit surprised to have heard of my calls in the House this week for council workers to wear bowler hats. This is part of my on-going campaign to 'spruce up' sloppy sartorial standards in the public sector. Some weeks ago I argued that HM Customs and Revenue staff, who present a lamentable first impression for visitors to these islands, should sport crisp 'military style' uniforms and possibly pith helmets. On reflection I have come up with some other 'workers' who might benefit from a 'make-over'.

• Latrine staff at railway stations in ruffs
• Leather jerkins for 'road-sweepers'
• Striped suits for prisoners (with matching hats)
• Frock coats for Railtrack staff
• Top hatted toll booth operators
• Starched wing collars, robes and mortar boards for all teachers in secondary moderns

Although one fears such suggestions will be dismissed without a thought, I feel convinced that they would at the very least offer a wonderful sight to behold.

As ever I welcome your comments and contributions and wish you all a hearty week-end.

Ego vobis valedico

JRM

Hey EU get off of my cloud! (and why one should never leave a puppy with a hungry Korean)

A rich seam of rebellion has run through the Rees-Mogg veins ever since my great uncle Bernard refused to give up the railings of his Eaton Square 'town house' to a Scout Group eager to turn them into a Spitfire. Pa, himself was of course a seminal figure of the 1960's, whose Times leader in defense of Mick Jagger ("Who breaks a butterfly on a wheel") inspired Eric Carle to write a thinly veiled biography of the Rolling Stones and led millions of hippies to realize that if father was defending it, taking 'Mary Jane' was simply not "hip" any more. The resultant increase in heroin 'experimentation' from 1970 onwards has long been credited to him and whilst not always a source of pride, he did feel badly let down when his Spectator review of "Trainspotting" was spiked on grounds of irrelevance.

During the late eighties, while my peers were "getting high" to the musical stylings of Dire Straits, Chicago or "Flock of Seals" I was content to sit a little apart from the maddening crowd, endlessly translating Bachylides into German and von Eschenbach into Greek. And in the process, I suppose and certainly more by accident than design I did indeed become something of an 'Outsider' myself; one who increasingly said what others thought but dared not utter; one who questioned the dress sense of the naked Emperor and the growing ubiquity of 'ready made' bow ties at Young Conservative events.

This 'rage' reached its apotheosis when members of my party openly praised 'Tony' Blair shortly after his elevation to power.

There is an old phrase much beloved of former British residents of Hong Kong: 'never entrust a beloved spaniel to the care of a hungry Korean - however much he may smile and reassure.' I felt much the same way about Blair. Others, sadly, including many in my own party were more than happy to let 'Tony' look after the dogs. As more and more concessions were given to Brussels a great silence fell across the constitutional kennels of our land and I felt increasingly as Thucydides must have done after the debacle of 424 (BC).

Over the last few weeks as the Prime Minister has spoken of the benefits of the 'European Union' the old sense of rebellion has returned. I have nothing but admiration for David and yet, his words have driven me reluctantly to the barricade. The time has come to speak up. The time has come to throw out the squatting Koreans and seize back our puppies. The time has come for noble men (and women if they're not otherwise engaged) to rebel against the European 'project'.

As far back as the treaty of Bretigny-Calais in 1360, our nation has benefitted not one jot from anything 'Continental' - indeed our involvement in matters across the Channel have brought us nothing but blood-shed, taxation and cheap Gorgonzola. The Union is a shower and it is time we turned the knob to 'off'.

To quote Sir Mick Jagger himself one might very reasonably sing: "Hey EU get off of my Cloud!"

NEXT WEEK. The Prime Minister's marvelous speech to Conservative Party Conference.

(with thanks to @zatzi for lending me her Compact Discs)