BBC – Turner Prize

 There must be thousands of Brits who watched the announcement of this year’s Turner Prize with profound gratification and contentment, perhaps many thousands. Let us start with the winner, whatshername, who, having achieved this apotheosis, must be pleased not only with the cash but with the vindication of her lifelong struggle against the philistines who had hitherto neglected her genius and creativity. The Art Establishment must also be thrilled by the public recognition of the importance of Art, of Society’s implicit embrace of Art’s place in our world. The bureaucrats who administer this award, the journalists who announce it, the commentators who grace our TVs to give us the benefit of their opinions and next year’s hopefuls must be enormously relieved that at least the BBC has endorsed this fabulously important event.

Not me!

Beauty, Imagination, and Truth (not to mention talent and skill) were entirely absent from this dreary video compilation. Indeed, it seems to me that to exclude all the above is patently a prerequisite for all aspiring contenders.

Of course, it may be my peculiar blindness that prevents me from rejoicing in this award, as it has with respect to all the others I can remember. It is, undoubtedly, a blindness I share with 95%+ of my fellow Brits.

My beloved readers will perhaps remember snotty remarks I have made about Democracy, a system whereby the electorate is encouraged to vote for their narrow short-term interests. Damn them (the electorate, not my readers) for doing so – actually they damn themselves, their children and generations unborn by doing so.

My majority is not, insofar as public endowments of the arts are concerned, narrow and short-sighted in their view. They simply do not give a s**t. But, if you were to draw their attention to the £tax spent on this idiocy, I wager that they would be nauseated. Public money spent on Art is trivial, compared to public money spent on “education”; and does less harm. And yet, take their cash and spend it on this rubbish and there will be hardly one in a thousand who does not retch at the thought.

Some will compare money spent on “high-brow” stuff with that spent on football or pop music. I welcome the comparison. I never go to pop concerts or football matches and I may deplore your taste if you do. Call me a snob if you like; I can take it.

Nobody is forced to go to a Manchester or Liverpool Derby. Nobody is compelled to buy a Lady Ga-ga album. Taxes are taken from all of us to fund the Arts Council and Covent Garden.

Sir Humphrey is the truest representative of our political masters in recent fiction. Jim Hacker is his tool. Mrs Thatcher was the greatest fan of “Yes, Minister”; and yet, when the f**king PM allowed that this programme revealed more political reality than the chattering classes ever do, who noticed?