writer's moll

It’s bad enough that students are so well fed and kitted out these days that they no longer have any appetite for protest - political or otherwise, that Germaine Greer has matured into a rational debater, saying a lot of what she wrote in her youth was tosh and that David Frost, one of those responsible for that great sixties satire programme That was the week that was is now a Sir and has become the epitome of Establishment, doing grovelling interviews with the likes of the Prime Minister, but now our sports firebrands of yesteryear have tamed their tempers and are willing to sip champagne with anyone who cares to pay the asking price of a lunch with them. So if you’ve got a bit of hero worship going for John McEnroe, Pat Cash and Boris Becker, the newspapers are currently offering you the chance to get up close and personal with them. I feel a bit queasy about both the 'stars' who’d sell such a package and those who’d buy it. Sure it’s fun to meet someone famous by chance and maybe get to know something about them not generally known or bask in their reflected glory for a few minutes but what are the chances of that when you’re sharing the experience with a hundred others and they’re totally on their guard against awkward questions. It may not have been a pretty sight seeing John snarling and spitting at umpires and fans, Pat clambering over the heads of the sedate Centre Court crowd to get to his camp after winning the Wimbledon final or Boris bonking in the broom cupboard, but that’s who they were. Of course maturity brings a dampening down of the fire of battle, but can’t they do it quietly at home in their armchairs? It’s like learning that Arthur Scargill has become an admirer of Margaret Thatcher – I don’t want to know!