Now the Mail has sacked our greatest author of whimsy,
it exists solely on anger,
rage  … and the  Beckhams

LAST LAUGH: Craig Brown has been ‘let go’

Well done the Mail. It has lost its last vestige of humour, satire and genuine eccentricity. I refer to my old friend Craig Brown who has been “let go”. This is the man who, when we were on a trip to the Barrier Reef, strolled through a shopping mall in Brisbane wearing just a striped dressing gown, Panama at the jauntiest angle and broad grin to the bemusement of the locals. Out too goes Tom Uttley (fotp) who did his best to lighten his Friday column with tales of his fag habit, Mrs U and his sons who wouldn't leave home.

Now the Mail and MoS are monotonic, they exist on an unhealthy diet of anger, rage and the Beckhams. The paper that was once home to Bernard Levin, Keith Waterhouse, Ann Leslie, Vincent Mulchrone, Barry Norman, Bron Waugh, Lynda Lee-Potter, Geoffrey Levy, Ross Benson and Ian Wooldridge, every one capable of a range from deadly serious to brilliantly bright, now 'boasts' a disgraced former prime minister and Dotty Dorries and the coven of Platell, Vine and little Andrew Pierce. 

This week it is running a series of 'essays' to mark the first year of the Starmer government. I don't need the Mail to tell me it hasn't gone well, at least not on the domestic front. It's been a veritable car crash (car crashes are so often caused by U-turns remember) but at least it's not been as awful as the passing parade of Johnson, Truss and the decent but hapless Sunak. 

I've yet to read in the Mail even the mildest criticism of Kemi Badenoch, the current here-today-gone-tomorrow leader who, according to the once funny Quentin Letts, wins every PMQs (she doesn't). Meanwhile the man who should be leading the party, Jeremy Hunt, is on the back benches, biding his time we can only hope.

Newspapers, whether print or online, should reflect the world and the times we all live in; the good, the bad and the barking mad. The Mail is still excellent in its reporting, it runs good campaigns and has the outstanding Robert Hardman for the big events and the splendid Jan Moir who still delivers the light touch. And dare I say, dear old Peter Hitchens for the barking brigade. But with the exit of Craig Brown it loses possibly the country's greatest author of whimsy. The man who could write the zillionth biography of the Beatles and of Princess Margaret and find a way of making them both informative, hilarious best sellers.

To prove my point, what was probably his swansong last week was headlined Acropolis Now: Off the beaten track in Greece. There followed a genuinely laugh out loud guide to the various Aegean islands including Typos ('Welmoce To Typos Airpot'); Pathos ('six must see sights on Pathos include a one-eyed, three-legged dog called Lucky and Liz Truss complaining that Donald Trump still hasn't returned her call').   

Meanwhile there are still things in the Mail to laugh at (but not with). Such as the report from Venice on the tasteless Bezos wedding where guests 'were serenaded by Matteo Bocelli, son of the operatic legend Andrew' (sic). Or the insistence that any report by retired sports reporter Jeff Powell be by-lined By Jeff Powell MBE.

*****

My friend Dismore wrote approvingly last week of England's performance in the first Test. He was right. It was cricket at its very best, and fielding aside (thank you India), all the great ingredients were on display throughout five breathtakingly tense days. But the highlight for me was on the second day of Test Match Special's coverage. During the luncheon interval (this is cricket, so luncheon it is is, not lunch) when a 12-year-old blind boy called Ravi spoke to Jonathan Agnew and Phil Tufnell about his love of the great game.

Ravi is articulate, knows all the stats, his hero is Ben Stokes (and why not) and won over Aggers and Tuffers and doubtless everyone who listened. His knowledge and ability to put it across was infectious and I kept having to remind myself that young Ravi has never actually seen a ball bowled or hit to the boundary.

He plays blind cricket where the ball is larger than standard and contains ball bearings so the batsman can judge by hearing where and when to hit it. Given my history in village cricket it's probably the only way I would get into double figures.

My paternal grandfather was a devoted lawn bowls player and was not going to retire when he went completely blind by the age of 70. After two years he became his club's champion in the disability category.

Like young Ravi, he never gave up. 

*****   

"There is no art in the White House. There is no literature, no poetry, no music. There are no pets in the White House, no loyal man's best friend, no Socks the family cat. 

"There are no images of the First Family enjoying themselves in a moment of relaxation; no Obamas on the beach in Hawaii moments or Bushes fishing in Kennebunkport, no Reagans on horseback or Kennedys playing touch football on the Cape. Where'd that country go? Where did all the fun, the joy and the expression of love and happiness go?

"We used to have a president who calmed and soothed the nation instead of dividing it. We have lost our mojo, our fun, our sense of happiness, our cheering on of others — our shared experience of humanity that makes it all worth it."

This was Bruce Springsteen in 2020 quoting the poet Elaine Griffin Baker which in just a few lines sums up the appalling reality of Trump. He was urging people to vote out the 45th president. Springsteen has continued and intensified his attacks on the 47th incumbent and says he is moving to Canada.

Of course Trump is never lost for words. Here's his reply to his best-known arch critic: "The guy is over-rated, an obnoxious, dumb-as-a-rock dried out prune."

Donald J Trump, sheer class. He aches for the Nobel Peace Prize but surely he's a shoe-in for the Literature Prize in the meantime.  

*****

A friend of ours, staying with friends in deepest Lancashire receives a call from her eight-year-old grandson Mikey. " Where are you Grandma?"

"I'm in Chorley."

"Where's that?"

"Near Manchester, but further up."

"Man City or Man United?"

"No, it's near Wigan."

"Oh Wigan, they've been relegated."

*****

And Finally

Only in Brighton...

ALAN FRAME

1 July 2025