The Cutty Sark has burnt down and I, in common with most other London-dwellers, can't remember if I ever went to see it. Adam Nicolson, who knows a thing or two about boats, is talking on page 31 about how Britain is not terribly good at looking after its maritime heritage. The French are better, he says, and he describes being a member of the crew of a boat called the Belem. He tries to help out the landlubber reader by describing that the tricolour floating from the mizzen gaff was 'the size of a tennis court'. Such layman's terms are helpful up to a point. So it feels ungrateful to admit that I wouldn't know a gaff if I met one. And I'd certainly have no idea if it was mizzen or not.
John Major used to run the country, a fact that is strangely easy to forget, especially considering he did it for nearly seven years. He's written a book on the history of cricket, so he's profiled on page 33. The by-line mentions that, 'There are only two living former prime ministers. Soon there will be a third.' Newspapers have a responsibility in its reporting of the future to distinguish certainty from speculation – and this is speculation masquerading as certainty. While Tony Blair has promised to leave office at the end of June, we have no reason to think he won't be as good as his word. Where the arithmetic strays into speculation is concerning the other living former prime minister. Margaret Thatcher has given no guarantee not to die in the next five weeks.
Journalists tend to be careful these days about using the word 'literally', as its misuse is a favourite of many a cuttings column. Mike Selvey, writing a report from the test match on page 1 of Sport, is careful in his use of the word. But not quite careful enough. A Lancaster bomber performed a fly-past at Headingley, and Selvey says that 'nostalgia quite literally was in the air'. Nostalgia does not come in literal and non-literal versions. It's the air, I think, to which Selvey wanted to apply literality. 'Nostalgia was quite literally in the air,' is what he probably wanted.
Canterbury has a bookshop with an amazing record for employing people who later became very successful – mostly as writers. Alan McArthur is one of them, and he recalls on page 2 of Work his time there. 'The guy who organised the [academic and political] section was an anarchist with rally shiny black hair.' This particular anarchist seems to stick in McArthur's mind mainly because of his hair, and his 'massive political rows with other members of staff'. What seems not to strike him as noteworthy was the choice of an anarchist as the best person to keep something in meticulous order.
'Literally' is back on page 3, when an undertaker explains his career, and the less satisfactory pre-funeral period of his working life. 'I was literally putting the glue on Sellotape.' The charge here is of redundance, rather than inaccuracy. I am unaware of any metaphorical instance of this phrase. Though the next time I feel dissatisfied with 'gilding the lily' and 'reinventing the wheel' and want something with a more fingery feel, I will say, "Gentlemen, at this point in our discussion, I feel we are very much 'putting the glue on the sellotape'."
Someone's daughter is 12, and has started smoking. The Someone in question has sought the advice of the FamilyForum on page 6 of Family. One suggestion is to 'get her involved in…ice skating, dance classes, capoeira, trampolining or something'. Apparently she would then look after her health, and feel disinclined towards smoking. Or maybe she would try to do these things while smoking – this hugely increasing her skill. The average trampolining move is a challenge at the best of times. It requires even greater skill when you've got a fag on.
And, from our archive:
Guardian, 27th January
For any reader unclear of the precise preferred nomenclature for dogs which are above average size, the title of the wallchart advertised on page 1 provides unambiguous clarification: 'Big dogs'.
Another dog (though probably not a big one) appears on page 15, a bush dog puppy Pico, making an appearance at Edinburgh zoo. The photo caption states clearly, 'Bush dogs come from Central and South America.' In case we thought the dog's name referred not to the terrain of its habitat, but its political affiliation.
Marina Hyde on page 34 opines that, for all our faults, the British people do not have an appetite for a 'Fox-news style channel'. Such a channel would presumably concern itself principally with the fashion and beauty tips of leading neo-con figures. Mainly how Condi Rice does that thing with her hair.
Denis Law on page 2 of Sport recounts the day that he scored six goals for Manchester City, only to find the game abandoned before the end, and the result erased from the record books. 'Every time I touched the ball it went in the back of the net,' he recalls. While six goals is an impressive tally by any standards, only managing to touch the ball six times suggests to me a player not pulling his weight. Perhaps if he had mucked in a little more the gods might have smiled on him and let the result stand.
Page 4 starts with a football story with the headline: 'Victory for president Platini provokes panic in the Premiership'. We can all rue how different that headline might have been if there was a synonym of 'victory' that starts with the letter P.
Brian Clough's words are imagined on page 5 pooh-poohing the achievement of his successor. Frank Clark was now the Nottingham Forest manager as the side were promoted, but Clough sounds unimpressed. 'My cat could have got that team promoted. My granny would have made the play-offs.' Whether the analysis is accurate is neither here nor there. The point is, given that getting promoted is harder than making the play-offs, the suggestion is that the man's cat is a better tactician than his granny. I trust Clough's grandmother was safely dead, and never got to hear the slur.
Ruth Kelly has her photo on page 2 of Work, where she is answering questions about women's working rights. Her photo sits opposite a photo with some black on it and, not for the first time, my Guardian has managed to deface itself, this time with a black stripe across the minister's right cheek and nose. The effect is quite New Romantic, as if the minister for women is attempting her own twist on the Adam Ant stripe. I have scoured the article for further evidence of homage ('maternity leave is nothing to be scared of,' perhaps) but without success.
In graduate news on page 36, 'You've got to take your hat off to L'Oreal,' for innovative recruitment ideas. Yes, if you want to get recruited by a top shampoo manufacturer, perhaps you should take your hat off.