Today, while rummaging through the bran-tub that is the Web, I came across two stories that made me pause and reflect. The first is Peter Wilby’s review of John Simpson’s autobiography: Not Quite World’s End in today’s Guardian. I like John Simpson. Probably more pertinently, I trust John Simpson. When he speaks, I tend to listen, and find his words meaningful.
Now, Wilby’s review points out some of the more sentimental and woolly side of Simpson, complete with some potentially rather un-PC sexism ("Fatherhood – and we perhaps shouldn’t inquire too closely into why two daughters from an earlier marriage didn’t have this effect – has "utterly" changed his view of the world, and particularly of war and death"). But still, the end result is that I continue to trust Simpson, and I’m tempted to purchase his memoir to read for myself.
That memoir, as Wilby says, apparently: "…combines meticulous reporting with attitude. Much of it can be read as an epitaph to the foreign adventures of the Blair era and, as such, it is fair, forensic and utterly devastating".
Which brings me on to Tony.
Unlike my attitude to Simpson, "trust" is no longer a word I personally could now ever associate with Blair. My response to him, from the halycon days of 1997 when I truly believed that Britain was poised to take a step forward, has been poisoned by his deeds and has undergone a complete volte face. Now, he is a "peace envoy" for the Middle East Quartet. yet his language at this event is hardly pitched to be diplomatic. Instead of working for peace he seems determined to pile up the bonfire for the conflagration.
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