Vladimir Voinovich, Russian wiseacre and author of the commendable Life and Amazing Adventures of Soldier Ivan Chonkin, once developed a political theory called the Bald and the Hairy.
He held that Soviet/Russian leaders who were thinning on top tended to be relatively decent losers. They ended up being marched off to house arrest (Khrushchev, Gorbachev) or dying of clap or whatever before achieving much (Lenin, Andropov).
Top Bolsheviks with the glossy coat of a labrador retriever, on the other hand, were their own men who didn't play by the rules but got results, whether in the fields of mass murder and world conquest (Stalin), collecting Mercedes and ballerinas (Brezhnev) or having it large on the world stage like a goose in a bad suit (Yeltsin).
Even Malenkov and Chernenko, usually dubbed pasty failures despite their shaggy manes, at least managed not get stomped to death by coked-up dwarves in the Lubianka cellars, unlike so many other Soviet also-rans.
Humbly following in the path of Voinovich's tennis shoes, I would like to propose the political theory of the Mismatched Collar and Cuffs.
It posits that British financial supremos whose silvery hair jars with their black and owlish eyebrows are doomed to career misery and alcohol-related humiliation - and not necessarily the fun type I enjoy most evenings either.
In evidence I cite George Brown, Wilson's buffoonish pisswizard, Norman Lamont, the cheap-bubbly berk who mislaid the pound sterling for several months, and current cashbox clown Alistair Darling.
As far as I know Mr Darling has yet to hit the bottle, but I'd certainly back Senator Blutarksy in advising him to start drinking heavily. Things can only get worser, so he may as well observe them sullenly through the bottom of a whisky tumbler.
Back home in Wales, having more than one eyebrow marks you out as a fairy child destined for greatness in the Land of Men. But at least our politicians are content to watch badgers rather than putting them in charge of the Mint.
8 comments:
I'm going to grab a few beers and peer review this, if I may.
My grandfather was called Arthur, and he was from Machen. Small world.
Gosh, that was quick! I look forward to your drunken candour.
I sit here into the early hours... just waiting...
Spooky. My excuse is that I'm inducting one of our new recruits into the arcane lore of the newsroom night shift. Otherwise I'd be happily asleep while Mrs Boyo burns my clothes in a strange beehive construction she's built in the garden.
My excuse is...oh wait, I don't need one.
Didn't Nye Bevan have a fine head of hair and bushy pair of Welsh eyebrows? Whereas Neil Kinnock was as bald as an egg and never made it into government. I think there may be something in your theory, Mr Boyo.
A good point, GB, although there are problems with applying this paradigm to Wales, as there are with applying anything to Wales. Nye was hairy and successful whereas Neilo was a loser, it's true. However, Nye was in my opinion an honourable and courageous politician, whereas Kinnock was an incoherent booby who managed the singular feat of losing an election to John Major. Nor was a friend of our glorious, vowel-free language. The both upheld the great Welsh tradition of having problems with the sauce, though but. Iechyd!
To start drinking heavily is always a good advice I would heed automatically. But yeah, you have a good point here.
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