BEARING UP: Frame, 80, left, with Geoffrey Levy, 88, on 

their big day with, er, Paddington Bear

Well, that’s out of the way and it’s unlikely I will ever forget it. I refer to my 80th birthday last Monday but, being the house tradition, birthdays last all month (and in this case will be revived in August with a “surprise” trip to Tuscany).

My Big Day began with breakfast in bed and the news that things were stirring in SW1. On with the telly and yes, the trusty lectern was about to arrive. Son of a Toolmaker had chosen MBD to bid us farewell.

Four hours later, sitting down to lunch at the revived Simpson’s-in-the-Strand, my phone pings; the jury of seven men and five women in Newry had delivered their verdict. Jeffrey Donaldson guilty of all charges.

Our little trio, Geoff Levy, celebrating his 88th on that very day, and my beloved Chief of Staff, offered a muted squeal of approval which, given what we know but cannot report, was the least we could do. In other surroundings a blast on the Barmy Army’s bugle or a bang on Donaldson’s mates’ Lambeg Drum would have been appropriate.

Let’s start with Starmer; I don’t subscribe to the Two Haitches’ visceral hatred of the man; indeed we cogitated over lunch if, like Rishi Sunak, had he stayed the course he might have been remembered with some fondness. Sunak was clearly a decent fellow and I believe Starmer is too. Both threw in the towel too early.

I fear a year of Mr Burnham will have us yearning for ‘good old Keir’. You heard it here first!

Now to Donaldson who was once quoted as saying “We’re a very close-knit family”. He also said on GB News (where else?) shortly before his arrest last year that “My faith influences me in how I treat others”. Just to remind you, he was found guilty of all charges of child sex abuse, namely one count of rape, four counts of gross indecency and 13 of indecent assault against two women when they were children.

As one brought up for much of my childhood in the old Northern Ireland I have always had a healthy cynicism of the Presbyterian Bible bashers who were happy to lead their happy clappers on a Sunday and then march against Roman Catholics demanding fairness in jobs and housing the rest of the week. And I’m a Prod since you ask.

Donaldson began his abuse in 1985, the same year he became an MP for the old Unionist Party and was bitterly opposed to any form of bringing together the two tribes of Ulster. Before that he had worked as a gofer for Enoch Powell during his brief foray into Northern Ireland politics. In those days he sported an earring (Donaldson, not Powell, you fool).

He did all he could to undermine David Trimble’s leadership of the Unionists (Trimble later won a Nobel Peace Prize with John Hume for their work to bring about the Good Friday Agreement) so jumped ship to Ian Paisley’s DUP. All the while abusing the two girls who brought the charges against him.

Enoch Powell and Ian Paisley…fine friends. I wonder what they might have thought of their man being forced to repay £555 to the Commons fees office for claiming the cost of ‘adult movies’ on his exes.

Donaldson is now in Maghaberry prison, conveniently in the constituency he was forced to resign from. No dirty vids there, just a lot of men who don’t take kindly to child rapists. He will have spent his first night in the prison hospital for fear of self-harm or suicide attempts.  

It’s been a terrible fall from grace, except that there was never any grace about this Grade A shit of a man. Permanently smug, he carried a Bible when a photographer was in the vicinity, raped a kid and told us his was a “very close-knit family”.

I rest my case.

*****

Back to Monday, we left Geoffrey to toddle home (it was 5.30 so the customary late lunch and quite right too) as we proceeded to the Garrick theatre. There we spent nearly three hours at the uproarious musical The Producers, a triumph and Patrick Marber’s production is, in my none-too-humble opinion, much better than the Mel Brooks’ film version of 1967.

It still amazes me that we can laugh til we cry at a monster who brought about the annihilation of six million Jews. Only Brooks who will be 100 on June 28, could have done it because a) he is a genuine genius, b) a delight and c) is Jewish. He also fought for the US Army in WW2 at the Battle of the Bulge and later cleared land mines and booby-trapped buildings as his battalion advanced into Nazi Germany in 1945.

Hitler is portrayed in this glorious production as a fat camp cross-dresser who dances through a snowfall of swastikas to the song Springtime for Hitler. When the movie came out 59 years ago – just 22 years after the end of the war – no cinema would touch it but, thanks to Peter Sellers who championed it, and the students of America, it soon became a smash hit.

Once when lunching with my late friend Joe Lustig, I asked him how his weekend had been. “Pretty good thanks, we had Mel and Anne to stay in Cambridge, you should have come”. Oh I should, if only he had asked.

How could anybody not wish to spend time with a man who, when in an elevator, was told by a woman: “I have to tell you Mr Brooks that your movie is vulgar”.

He smiled the sweetest smile and replied: “Lady, it rose below vulgarity”.

*****   

AND FINALLY

I was a fan of Roy Hattersley, as politician, journalist, author and as a decent sort. But who knew that his father Frederick was a Catholic priest who, while preparing Roy’s mother Enid for her marriage, fell in love with her and, two weeks after officiating at the wedding, ran away with Enid and 11 months later Roy was born.

I asked who knew. Well, it was only after his father died in 1972 that Hatters, aged 40, found out.

ALAN FRAME

25 June 2026