Jane Horrocks doesn't do things by halves. Some people bite the hand that feeds them, she rips off the whole arm at the shoulder. Or so it seemed with her comment about Tesco being "full of chavs". Not forgetting the "pensioners holding everyone up" and "screeching kids". Wow, such contempt, even though their commercials bought Horrocks the home she dubbed "Tesco Towers" and, as she said herself, gave her the financial security not to have to do "crap" work.
I wasn't surprised. I interviewed Horrocks years ago, presuming she'd be nice, but she was awful. With every question, she eyed me like a cobra weaving up out of a basket. I asked at one point whether she'd ever fancied doing my beloved Corrie, and she was really snotty about it. "Why would I do Coronation Street?" (Erm, because it's a British institution, because it's well written and acted, because the likes of Sir Ian McKellen don't seem to think it's beneath them.)
Shortly after we'd spoken, I got word not to write up the interview, because of lack of space. What a relief. It was as if Horrocks had been given myriad blessings (talent, intelligence, quirky beauty, that engaging Lancashire accent), and instead chose to turn her back on her own working-class background, and become a dreary snob. Talk about going over to the luvvie dark side. On a wider level, how depressing that this is what "doing well" means to some people – the opportunity not to look back in anger, so much as to look around and sneer.
There has always been mockery for people, who bang on about their working-class origins, their impeccable council house credentials – guilty! And I get it, I understand why this kind of thing (competitive retro-poverty?) can seem hilariously overdone, in that Monty Python "We lived for three months in a brown paper bag in a septic tank" kind of way. The question is, do you "get" us? Do you register that it's not all about chippy chest-beating and mindless class war, great sport though that undoubtedly is?
Rather it's an intricate jumble of memory, insight, respect, affection, identification, and even survivor's guilt. Never mind that some of us feel as if we're only a couple of paychecks from ending up back there anyway. There's the sense of not wanting to forget where you "came from" (maan), because this feels like betraying the people who are still there.
This is why the casual contempt directed at the "masses" never fails to make you flinch. I always thought "common" was the truly offensive C-word, but it was a dark day when "chav" showed up – simply because it was a new way to make sneering sound respectable. These days, Horrocks might think twice about using the word "common", but it's fine to speak of "chavs" marauding around Tesco.
Thing is, I remember Horrocks talking about "Tesco Towers" in our interview, how the commercials freed her to be more choosy with work. Then, as now, there seems nothing wrong with that – I'm sure many actors do commercials for the same reasons. It wasn't Horrocks's view, it was the charmlessness, which I know wasn't a one-off.
It's easy to lampoon those who are misty-eyed for the working class. But I'd still take their good hearts any day, over those who seem to think their success is a free pass to opine on the horror and hilarity of the "lower orders" they once belonged to. Note to Jane Horrocks: the only people who are truly common, are those who stoop so low as to call others common – or chavs, or whatever the hate-lingo is these days. If you don't know that by now, Ms Horrocks, you're as thick as Bubbles, your character in Absolutely Fabulous.
The latest list of the most popular baby names is out. A fascinating barometer of changing times, it's usually studied with shrieking anxiety by parents, hopeful that their children's names aren't positioned too high (too ordinary?) or too low (they're freaks!).
You can tell how "hot" your child's name is by whether it appears on novelty key rings or drinks bottles. Adults also like to check how their own names are doing, but I have no sympathy for the once dominant, now fallen, Susans and Pauls. They have had their moment.
Barbara (and variants thereon) never made it on to popular names' lists, drinks bottles or even those ceramic plaques for the bedroom door.
Barbara was considered tragic and passe when I was born and remained so through many different eras.
There seems no male equivalent to its enduring low-level unpopularity (Barry? Derek? Ken?). Consequently, I love my name, simply because someone has to. It's got two Bs, two Rs and three As; it means "foreign or stranger"; what's not to like?
Obviously I would appreciate a mention of Barbara in the next list, even if it is just a pity party.
Baroness Scotland, chair of the National Catholic Safeguarding Commission for England and Wales, and its child protection chief have said that churchgoers should take Roman Catholic priests to football matches, or invite them to have a glass of wine, as this would stop them feeling "lonely, isolated and unsupported emotionally" and turning into paedophiles. Hmm.
This past year, abuse allegations have doubled against the Catholic church, which Baroness Scotland rightly cites as a positive sign that victims are less afraid to come forward. However, is she seriously suggesting that, if people were more sociable towards priests, the molesters wouldn't be sexually attracted to children any more? That the occasional fun night at the bingo with worshippers would be enough to unravel the complex psychosexual tangle of the average pederast? As in: "Invite me around for Christmas drinks or the kid gets it"?
It's arguable whether loneliness is a reliable indicator of paedophilia. While one could accept the direct link between loneliness and general depression, child abuse seems rather too specialised. Paedophiles often choose professions that give them access to children, also the kind of status that makes them slow to spot and hard to catch. While some may be loners, other paedophiles are gregarious and charming, duping adults as well as children. All this sounds less "isolated" and "unsupported" than chillingly well-organised.
Whether such levels of sickness, calculation and cunning could be neutralised with an invitation to watch a footie match or share a glass of sancerre seems unlikely. Baroness Scotland makes a valid point about the isolation of Catholic priests, but twinning it with paedophile tendencies seems random to say the least. Conviviality is a wonderful thing, but, the last time I looked it wasn't a cure for paedophilia.
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