Apropos my musings about the changing face of politics, I excerpt this recent review of Jamie’s Fifteen, by Jasper Gerard, writing for the Telegraph:
‘I turned 40 last year and history has suddenly come alive to me. Before then, I was of course aware of major events that have lit up my lifetime, many deemed “historic” the moment they occurred. A man landed on the moon the year after I landed on earth, and I’ve lived through the fall of the Berlin Wall and a prime minister who felt the hand of history on his shoulder every time he brushed his teeth. Since then I’ve seen the election of America’s first black president and even the successful comeback of Take That.
But it is only now I’m 40 that the society in which I live seems sufficiently different to the era of my birth for it to belong to a period of history: 1968 found me bouncing along still rural lanes in a cot chucked in the back of a Morris Traveller, a time almost as distant now as our “finest hour” must have felt then to those exploring the summer of love.
When I was born, the personification of Britain was a pipe-smoking Oxford don, Harold Wilson; 40 years on, I hazard, it is Jamie Oliver. He is successful, classless, cheeky, clever, quirky, attractive and socially concerned; he is also poorly educated, the epitome of celebrity over substance, profane, publicity-seeking, cocky and just a tad fat. I like him, but one can see why some don’t; whether you are at ease with Jamie – it is always “Jamie”, never “Oliver” – probably reflects whether you are at ease with modern Britain.’
So, without further ado, the new face of (easy) Britain:
(another PS: I forgot to mention that, for those of you who still haven’t seen the bacon show, you can also look forward to watching Mr. O masturbating a big pig, and then inseminating a sow. I guarantee it’s “food TV” like you’ve never seen before).