Plane speaking

Just back from Cork.

I popped over to catch up with John Mallon who has been Forest’s spokesman in Ireland for 14 years.

Having led the world with the smoking ban in 2004 - something Irish politicians are insanely proud of - the country is now playing catch up on a number of regulations, including a ban on tobacco vending machines and age restrictions on the sale of e-cigarettes.

Incredibly, the Public Health (Tobacco Products and Nicotine Inhaling Products) Bill began its long journey in 2014.

Four years ago it was called the Public Health (Tobacco Products and Nicotine Inhaling Products) Bill 2019, but this year it became the Public Health (Tobacco Products and Nicotine Inhaling Products) Bill 2023.

Now there are plans to add further regulations to the Bill - specifically restrictions on the sale and marketing of e-cigarettes - that threaten to delay it even further.

Thankfully there doesn’t seem to be any desire (yet) to follow in the footsteps of New Zealand or Rishi Sunak and introduce a generational ban on the sale of tobacco, but you know how quickly these things can change.

Anyway, I always enjoy my visits to Ireland, although I was a bit apprehensive on Sunday when I saw the weather forecast for Monday morning, when I was due to fly to Cork from Stansted.

Storm Debi was predicted to hit Ireland before continuing its journey across the Irish Sea and then the UK, with wind speeds of 50-60mph and gusts significantly more than that.

The weather warning for Cork was upgraded from yellow to orange and being a nervous flyer, even in good weather, I wasn’t best pleased.

My flight was due to depart Stansted at 7.55am but when I woke at 4.00 and heard the rain lashing down outside I thought better of it and booked a seat on an evening flight when the forecast was better.

As it happens, the early morning flight on which I was originally booked landed in Cork on schedule, but by the time I got to Stansted for the later flight it was blowing a gale right across Cambridgeshire and Essex.

Sod’s Law.

Thankfully, apart from a slightly bumpy take off and landing, plus some mild turbulence mid flight, it wasn’t too bad. (Sorry to disappoint.)

The (irrational?) unease I feel when flying (I wouldn’t call it fear) harks back to my honeymoon 31 years ago when a small plane we were on in America dived up and down like a rollercoaster as the pilot battled to navigate our way around a thunderstorm.

It was probably no more than 30 seconds, although it felt much longer, but that - and another turbulent flight to the Cayman Islands on the same holiday - has influenced my dislike of flying ever since.

To be fair, I didn’t experience anything like that again until a few years ago when I flew out of Dublin.

The wind was around 40mph (the limit, apparently, for a ‘safe’ take-off) and the plane shook and ‘bounced’ so badly on take-off, and for several minutes as it climbed to cruising height, that I had to hold on grimly to the seat in front as we were thrown around.

Not pleasant.

In contrast to this feeble flyer, my mother, who will be 93 next month, told me recently that she would love to go into space, and she wasn’t joking.

I can understand the appeal of being weightless and looking down on Earth, but it’s the few minutes it takes to get there I don’t fancy, and the re-entry.

Apparently, in the days when you could book a flight on Concorde, my father suggested they book seats on one of those flights that took passengers on a round trip to and from Heathrow and over the Bay of Biscay.

They didn’t do it in the end, not because my mother didn’t want to, but because she felt it was too expensive. I think she regrets that decision now.

Anyway, I’m pleased to report that my return flight from Cork this morning was about as smooth as you could hope for. If only flying was like this all the time!

Above: Returning from Cork this morning. Below: Terrace at the Montenotte Hotel overlooking Cork harbour

Nanny state of the nation

The King's Speech on Tuesday confirmed that the Prime Minister intends to press ahead with legislation to raise the age of sale of tobacco by one year every year until no-one can legally purchase cigarettes and other tobacco products.

In response to a policy that threatens to treat future generations of adults like children (see ‘King’s Speech: Activists decry generational ban’), Forest is inviting opponents of the proposed legislation to join us in London on Monday November 20.

The event, at Old Queen Street Cafe in Westminster, features me, Claire Fox (aka Baroness Fox of Buckley), Henry Hill (ConservativeHome), Reem Ibrahim (Institute of Economic Affairs), and Ella Whelan (Academy of Ideas), but we also want to hear from you.

As well as highlighting the absurd nature of the proposed legislation, the event will also mark the recent publication of a short essay I wrote for the Academy of Ideas’ Letters on Liberty strand. By coincidence (it was written in July), the title is ‘Freedom: Up In Smoke?’.

If you're unfamiliar with Old Queen Street Cafe, it was opened last year by the same people who run the online magazine UnHerd, whose office is next door.

The cafe is open from 8.00am to 11.00pm for breakfast, coffee, lunch, dinner, or events such as this and having visited it for the first time only a few weeks ago I can report that it's rather wonderful and definitely worth a visit.

You'll find us on the first floor where we've booked the Library and Club Bar for drinks and canapés from 6.15pm followed by what should be lively discussion at 7.00.

Places are limited so if you’d like to join us please reserve your place now. RSVP events@forestonline.org or register via Eventbrite.

The Institute of Economic Affairs will also be discussing the issue on Wednesday November 29 when the free market think tank hosts ‘Prohibition 2.0: the future of UK tobacco policy'.

Chaired by Reem Ibrahim, speakers include the IEA’s Chris Snowdon, Madeline Grant (Telegraph), Paul North (Volteface), and retailer Paul Cheema (Association of Convenience Stores). For details click here.

Happy birthday, Andy Partridge

I don't normally mention birthdays here, but I read that XTC’s Andy Partridge is 70 today.

Two years ago, at a rate of one a week, I featured my favourite XTC songs, most of them written by Partridge.

It culminated with this post, XTC – an appreciation, that concluded as follows:

Finally, a word about the sometimes maligned Andy Partridge, the band’s principal singer/songwriter, whose feud with producer Todd Rundgren during the recording of Skylarking in 1986 is still being written and talked about by XTC obsessives decades later.

Ironically Skylarking is many people’s favourite XTC album and the consensus seems to be that Partridge needed a strong producer to curb his excesses and in Rundgren he met his match. Or, as Partridge himself said, it was “like having two Hitlers in the same bunker.”

What cannot be denied is that for all his alleged bossiness in the studio which clearly drove band mates and several producers to distraction, Partridge can be irresistibly engaging and humorous. The evidence, if you want to look for it, is on the Internet – from appearances on the Multi-Coloured Swap Shop with Noel Edmunds, presenting a guided tour of Swindon, his home town, to more recent podcasts and interviews in which he is happy to talk at length about XTC and the process of songwriting. (Listen to him describe the making of 'Easter Theatre' from Apple Venus.)

Arguably the most evocative of the 30 songs listed above is a simple live acoustic version of ‘Train Running Low On Soul Coal’ that was recorded as part of a documentary (XTC - Play At Home) broadcast on Channel 4 in 1984. In my view it's far superior to the longer, over-produced version that appeared on The Big Express and even ends with a knowing, self-deprecating nod to XTC’s legendary ‘popularity’, even in their home town. Available only on YouTube, you can watch it here.

Since the final XTC album was issued 23 years ago, Partridge has kept himself busy releasing demos (the 8-CD Fuzzy Warbles collection), overseeing the release of remastered versions of XTC’s back catalogue, and (occasionally) writing with or for other musicians.

His recent projects include a 4-track EP written and recorded with Jen Olive and Stu Rowe and released as The 3 Clubmen. The lead track, Aviatrix, is worth a listen even if you have no interest in XTC.

A few weeks ago The Big Express, ‘the seventh in a series of expanded XTC album reissues’, was re-released and although it’s still far from my favourite XTC album you can’t fault the ambition of a track like the aforementioned ‘Train Running Low On Soul Coal’.

Meanwhile, I have bought myself an advance Christmas present - ‘Pop Artery’, a ‘deluxe 122 page book collecting 56 unique paintings by Andy Partridge that offer visual interpretations of XTC songs’.

It will go nicely, I think, with the ‘Dig For XTC’ print that’s on the wall of my office (below).

The serious point I wish to make, though, is this. Sometimes, when I read interviews with Partridge, you can sense frustration that XTC never enjoyed prolonged commercial success or greater recognition.

To most people XTC and Andy Partridge are at best a footnote in pop history, if that.

It’s regrettable, certainly, but thousands of talented musicians have fared much worse, and nothing can diminish the pleasure Partridge has brought to people like me (and I’m not even what you might call an uber fan), or the body of work he has created.

He may not be a household name (even in Swindon!) but most people would, and should, be extremely proud of such a legacy.

So happy 70th birthday, Andy Partridge. You’ve earned it.

Instagram? No thanks!

I stumbled on this Instagram post last night.

I have an account but it’s not a platform I ever use and looking at some of the comments (eg ‘What a stinking pile of raw poo coming out of his mouth’) I don’t think I ever will!

The sound of musicals - from Carousel to The Little Big Things

I’m not a huge fan of musicals, but who doesn’t love The Sound of Music?

Film wise, that would probably be my favourite musical, followed closely by Mary Poppins, based largely on childhood memories of watching them in the cinema.

I wasn’t born when the classic Hollywood musicals came out in the Fifties, but Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Carousel had a big impact on me the first time I saw it, but that was on television and in my opinion musicals really need to be seen on the big screen, or on stage.

Many years later I saw Carousel at the Savoy Theatre in London. I enjoyed it but I can’t remember any of the music apart from ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ which I would be happy never to hear again.

For sheer unpretentious fun the best musical I’ve seen on stage would be Me and My Girl starring Robert Lindsay.

Originally written in the Thirties, the book was updated by Stephen Fry in the Eighties and I enjoyed it so much I also saw a later revival starring Gary Wilmot, a wonderful stage performer who should be far better known than he is.

Talking of Robert Lindsay, has anyone seen Bert Rigsby, You’re A Fool? It was written, I believe, specially for Lindsay following the success of Me and My Girl but I’ve never seen it, not even on television.

Rewind to 1981 and in a single month I saw three of the most successful musicals of all time - Les Miserables, Evita, and Cats. How did that happen?

Well, my tickets were paid for by the father of a friend who wanted his son to experience some culture now he was living in London.

I’m not sure if popular West End musicals were what he had in mind, but Peter decided that, since his father was paying, he would purchase the very best seats in the house and he invited me to join him.

Of the three, Les Miserables was my favourite. It gets criticised, but that fate befalls most long-running shows because familiarity breeds contempt - amongst critics, if not the paying public.

Even at the time some critics panned it, but I thought it was great - rousing and emotional but with some nice comic interludes.

Evita was OK, and Cats - well, I couldn’t make head nor tail of it (no pun intended) because there was no story to speak of and only one big song (‘Memory’) which I didn’t particularly like.

If I remember, we were seated very close to the stage (even on the stage) so we were surrounded by lithe figures in skimpy catsuits which was unnerving and a little bit uncomfortable.

After that I gave stage musicals a miss for a few years until I was invited to see the Jonathan Miller production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado at the English National Opera with Eric Idle as Ko-Ko and Lesley Garrett as Yum-Yum.

Technically it’s an operetta or comic opera but, ignoring that, I went with a friend who was a huge Gilbert and Sullivan fan and I enjoyed it so much I went again when it returned to the ENO a few years later. Without Idle, though, who stole the show, it wasn’t quite so funny.

I subsequently saw Pirates of the Penzance and another G&S operetta - both of them at the Savoy Theatre - but neither was a patch on The Mikado.

Some musicals age better than others. When I was young I loved the film of Half A Sixpence with Tommy Steele and Julia Foster. Today, it’s a bit cringeworthy but I still have a crush on the character played by Julia Foster (who was 80 in August).

More recently (ie 15 years ago) I quite enjoyed Mama Mia: The Musical, which I first saw on stage in London, although the hen-night vibe in the theatre was a bit disconcerting and when some people stood up and danced I felt well out of my comfort zone.

The singing in the subsequent film is so bad it’s good, if you know what I mean, but I still came out of the cinema with a smile on my face.

I even liked Mama Mia: Here We Go Again.

And so to The Little Big Things which I saw yesterday and whose co-lyricist just happens to be my godson, Tom Ling.

I’m not going to review it (although the lyrics are great!), but I’ll say this. If an energetic, feelgood musical performed by a young, talented cast appeals to you, I thoroughly recommend it.

It’s based on a book by Henry Fraser, a promising young rugby player who was paralysed from the neck down following a swimming accident when he was 17.

The lead role is played by two actors who represent Henry before and after the accident. One is therefore played by a disabled actor in a wheelchair, and he’s not the only disabled actor on stage.

In other hands this could be rather mawkish material, high on confected emotion, and extremely syrupy, even preachy. But it’s not.

It’s not without emotion, but it’s also laugh out loud funny at times, with some great lines that had the audience roaring with laughter.

The comic timing of the actor who played Henry Fraser’s physiotherapist, also disabled and in a wheelchair, was brilliant.

I should add that the wheelchairs weren’t heavy or cumbersome but zipped about the stage, and in the expert hands of their users they complemented the vibrant pace of the show.

The staging in this brand new theatre was extremely well done. For example, there were run-off ramps on all four corners of the stage that allowed for super quick entrances and exits.

The underfloor lighting was another integral part of the show, with waves of colour washing across the stage.

Sohoplace, the first new build theatre in the West End for 50 years, can accommodate almost 600 people and the audience sit on all four sides of the stage, rather like a basketball match.

We were on the front row on the first of two balconies looking directly down on to the stage, which felt very close. Those on the front row of the stalls were so close they could touch the stage, so it was quite an immersive experience.

The Little Big Things has been well reviewed and the initial run, which was due to end this month, has been extended to March 2 (my birthday!) so I may go back and see it again.

The audience clearly loved it (it got a standing ovation) so I’d definitely recommend it.

Sohoplace is worth a visit too. With an almost full house there were areas when it felt a bit cramped and crowded, but overall they’ve done wonders with the available space.

There’s even a small restaurant on the ground floor that I would also recommend (the Korean spiced chicken wings were especially nice), but pre-booking is advisable.

The price of tickets for The Little Big Things range from £30 to £70 which, in West End terms, isn’t bad compared to some.

I note though that tickets for this year’s panto at the London Palladium appear significantly cheaper than they were a few years ago when I paid £339 for two tickets to see Snow White.

The top price for Peter Pan on the Palladium website is currently £95, while the lowest is £30. Perhaps the more expensive tickets have sold out, or is this a sign of the times?

See also: West End guys (and girls)

Above: The set of The Little Big Things from my seat at sohoplace, the first new built theatre in the West End for 50 years

Chatty man

Remember that podcast I did for the TaxPayers Alliance a couple of weeks ago?

I wrote about it here, and a skilfully edited version was posted online on Friday.

We covered a range of (smoking-related) subjects, from the history of Forest to Rishi Sunak’s bid to ban the sale of tobacco to future generations.

Huge thanks to Conor Holohan (for inviting me to do it), Benjamin Elks (who conducted the interview), and Joe Ventre (for the digital wizardry).

You can watch it on YouTube here, or there’s an audio only version on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and other platforms. Details and links here.

Bangers, indoor fireworks, and sparklers - those were the days

The fun police are coming after fireworks.

Nothing new in that, of course. Fireworks have been on their hit list for decades but, according to a report in New Zealand, even the general public is moving in favour of prohibition:

53% of those surveyed want to see fireworks banned for recreational use, with a further 20% wanting to see them banned altogether.

Meanwhile, in the UK, the Independent reports that, 'There are strict rules about where and when you can let off fireworks - but some think that isn’t enough'.

How did it come to this?

When I was a small boy in the Sixties we lived in Maidenhead, Berkshire, and I remember the excitement of waiting for my father to arrive home from work so we could watch him unpack a box of fireworks in our back garden, before lighting each one in turn.

(And, yes, Bob Mortimer is right, they were called Standard Fireworks!)

Rockets attached to a long wooden stick were placed in empty milk bottles. After the fuse was lit they would shoot up into the sky, exploding several feet above the house.

A rogue rocket might develop a mind of its own, but no-one I knew was ever hit by one.

Roman candles were my favourite, while Catherine wheels were arguably the most unreliable, partly because they had to be nailed to a fence or a post so they could spin round.

If it was too loose it might come off as it was spinning. But if it was nailed too tight it wouldn't spin at all, so the effect was ruined.

As small children we were never allowed to light fireworks ourselves, and if there's one piece of advice I remember it's this: stand well back and never return to a lit firework that hasn't gone off.

The problem was, if a firework failed to go off, everyone would stand there unsure what to do, and precious minutes would be lost until it was agreed it was safe to continue.

Arguably the best moment was being given some sparklers which we would wave around, creating patterns in the dark.

What my parents didn't know is that, at the age of just seven or eight, my friends and I would buy small boxes of bangers from the corner shop and take them to school. Hard to believe now, but that's just the way it was.

Aside from sparklers, bangers were the cheapest firework. They looked innocent enough, a small paper tube not unlike a sherbet fountain.

Inside however it was packed with gunpowder and when you lit the fuse with a match (yes, we were allowed to buy those as well) you had no more than a second or two before it exploded with a loud bang.

I don't remember anyone getting into trouble but what I do remember – very clearly – is a story that appeared in the paper.

It featured a boy (a similar age to us) who lost his, er, wedding tackle (as it was then called) when a banger went off in his trouser pocket.

Apparently, it had over-heated and exploded with no need for a match.

I remember reading this and thinking "That could have been me" because we used to sit in class with bangers in our trouser pockets too.

I stopped buying them after that and eventually the law changed to prevent the sale of fireworks to anyone under 18.

Reading this – 'A brief history of bangers: fireworks of legend' – does make me feel nostalgic though:

Bangers … The name of these once-delightful nuisance fireworks still casts a flash of sentimental mischief across the eyes of people of a certain age.

In my teenage years the magic of fireworks began to wear off to the point where I remember standing in our garden overlooking the River Tay in Fife, shivering, while my father laboriously planted each firework in a pot of soil or sand before lighting them, one after the after, with a suitable interval between each one in order to make sure the previous one had gone out.

And that's the problem with organised firework displays as well – far too much hanging around before the action starts!

When my children were young we would watch the village firework display at the local sports ground, but the largest display I have attended in person was the night before the wedding of Charles and Diana in 1981.

It took place in Hyde Park, a short walk from my apartment (I was sharing a flat near Marble Arch), and was accompanied by music performed by, I think, a live orchestra.

It was a huge event attended by tens of thousands of people, and while I saw the fireworks I was so far away I couldn't hear any of the music, which was unfortunate because the fireworks were supposed to complement the score, and vice versa, so some of the pauses didn't make much sense.

Anyway, I must confess that fireworks don't thrill me in the way they once did, but further restrictions or prohibition? Why would you do that?

Like smoking, the recreational use of fireworks is a personal choice, surely? As long as you don't harm anyone else, what has it got to do with government?

The most important factors here are 'courtesy' and 'common sense'. If people over-step the mark we already have laws designed to regulate against anti-social behaviour. Why do we need more legislation?

Anyway, if, like me, you feel nostalgic for 'the old days', do read this – Bonfire Night in the 1950s and 1960s.

Oh, and the story Bob Mortimer told on Would I Lie To You? referred to an incident in which he inadvertently set off fireworks in his own home as a child.

I've never done that, but as a student I did burn a hole in a formica table when an indoor firework turned into a mini Mount Etna, with burning lava (or whatever it was) pouring on to the plastic surface.

(I know, indoor fireworks. Those were the days.)

Park and pay – an unexpected cost of opposing the generational smoking ban

I can’t believe it.

I have just received a parking charge for overstaying my welcome at a motorway service station.

According to the notifying letter, I arrived at 16:05 on Thursday October 5, and left at 18:46, 40 minutes beyond the free parking limit.

There's no point appealing. They've got me bang to rights. They even have photo evidence of my car arriving and leaving.

On the day, though, it never occurred to me that I had done anything wrong because the reason I was parked up for so long is because I was busy working.

I was driving home from Salford, having already done a number of interviews about Rishi Sunak’s plan for a generational tobacco ban, when I agreed to do four ‘drive time’ interviews - the first at 16:10, the last at 18:20.

Rather than risk getting caught in traffic between services, it seemed sensible to pull off the road and do all four interviews while parked at a single service station.

A similar thing happened some years ago when a breaking news story meant I had to spend the best part of three hours at the Kinross service station off the M90 in Fife.

I wasn’t penalised then so the thought that I might be in breach of parking regulations never crossed my mind.

What happens if you are tired and pull off the motorway to have a break at the nearest services, as you are frequently encouraged to do on long journeys?

If you fall asleep and stay beyond two hours, that little rest could cost you as much as £100.

I'll just have to put it down to experience, but the cost of opposing the generational smoking ban is proving expensive already!