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DEAR TONY | ||||||||
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If you haven’t heard by now Tony it must be true what they say – you really are cut off from the world of real people like me. As you ought to have read in the papers, because I leaked it to them, I’ve decided to resign my seat at the next election. I will miss my constituents, which I’m told are somewhere near Birmingham, and if I had a family I’d probably like to be spending more time with it. The truth is I’m not getting any younger and my knees are playing up because of all the nights I have to spend spark out in crippling seats while orchestras tootle on and on and actors stand about shouting insults at one another and prancing around with nowt on. And three quid for a small tub of ice cream! And nearly five nicker for a glass of plonk!! One bitten twice shy on that score – I buy a bag of toffees in the local Paki and take a swig of Buxton Spa in the lav at half time. They say you can’t have too much of the arts but by god Tony I’ve had the arts up to my flaming earoles. Some weeks I’d do anything for a normal night in watching Coronation Street. Thank god I’ll never have to sit through another session of Modern Dance or foreign films I can’t make head nor sense of. All my best friends from years back in the Cheshire Cheese keep asking me why I associate with such a bunch of lying bastards like you and part of the truth is, yes, I’m disillusioned. And completely confused by all the claims we make to have sorted everything out when quite obviously we haven’t. Yes, Tony, and that means confused with you too. We’ve not done what we set out to do. And you’ve never once replied to any of my letters. You obviously never read that book on art by Jilly Cooper I sent you. You’ve never once complimented me on my political savvy or on my command of this demanding brief. Honestly though, you try satisfying all these nancy boys who think the arts are important when so few people really give a monkeys what they do. It’s not been easy you know. Only this week I had to unveil in Liverpool a right bleeding eyesore which had cost thousands and was completely pointless but which I had to pretend was an addition to the lives of the poor people who lived near it. It was only an addition to the career of the Spanish twerp what made it. Why do we have to conceal what we really think about this tripe. I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Perfectly clear. Although I’m surrendering my seat, I intend to stay on as arts minister until then because I know you need me – I wouldn’t want to leave you in the soup. And besides, I can’t do without the extra. I get fifty grand more as a minister so don’t think that because I’m leaving I’m not going to be loyal any more. I am. I can’t afford to do a Geoffrey Howe and I haven’t sat in smoky rooms talking about quorums with sweaty beerswillers for decades only to give up when the lolly’s rolling in by the sack load. And Connie needs a stair lift putting in for her hips and you can’t do those on an MP’s basic. No, you can rely on me to keep toeing the line until the next election and then someone else can come in and hopefully tell that four-eyed skinny sod where to stick his daft topper. I was hoping when I came into this job that I’d be able to get more people like me who are not interested in the arts interested. But I can’t. I keep pretending that access is important but it isn’t really Tony. It’s just a pretend game we play, and we all know it is. You can’t sell art to people who don’t want it. I understand that because although I’ve had my eyes opened to a few things while doing this job I can’t really be mithered either. If it’s a choice between the British Museum and the Cheshire Cheese, the Cheese wins hands down every time. And if it’s between some barmy foreign bonkers at the opera and Midsomer Murders there’s no contest. One of these days someone’s really going to have to get to grips with the taxpayers’ money that goes on the arts. Nearly all the people who go to concerts or theatre could afford to pay the full whack if they had to. And those who fill the museums on the weekend are the better off too. My mate Pickles is right. Why should he subsidise the pleasures of the rich? On that basis we might as well subsidise grouse shooting or Henley Regatta. No, one of these days somebody will have to put their foot down and say that the arts can either sink or swim. It won’t affect me if they shut down the Royal Exchange Theatre or the Royal Shakespeare Company doesn’t grace us with their presence at the Opera House a fortnight every autumn. So don’t worry I won’t rock the boat, but that doesn’t stop me from being bitter Tony. When I look back at how they’ve laughed at me for being northern and ignorant I realise what I should have done that very first week. | ||||||||
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Dear Tony | ||||||||
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MY ARTS! All of this site is | ||||||||
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