Forget Rio, we don't need role models

Rio Ferdinand: the morals of a bishop?
12 April 2012

England's sports captains should no longer be expected to have the morals of a bishop or be moral exemplars to the young, Rio Ferdinand's lawyer argued this week. Well, of course not, especially as Ferdinand has been accused of illicit affairs with eight girls. And that is the least of it: he has also been convicted of drink driving.

Something would be seriously wrong with our society if Ferdinand was held up as role model.

But I am not sure we even expect modern-day bishops to have the morals of a bishop. Paedophile priests have put paid to that notion. Even the Pope has been tainted by association with the Hitler Youth. Parliamentarians have proved themselves to be as venal as the rest of us when it comes to lining their own pockets.

Footballers, pop stars and celebrities tend to top the polls as an inspiration for the young. But they are no better or worse than the old role models.

Bob Geldof, for example, is often cited as someone who has done good for others. Yes, his heart may be in the right place but is his head? Some argue that aid to Africa does more harm than good and empowers corrupt governments while disempowering the very people it's meant to help. U2's Bono apparently doesn't pay any tax in his native Ireland. Hardly a model citizen.

And what of Andy Murray? He may be a fine tennis player but he is prone to foul-mouthed outbursts. What's more he can't even win Wimbledon. Not exactly an example to emulate. I am not sure we want to produce a nation of perpetually ill-tempered losers.

Cherie Blair was supposed to be a supermum who could juggle career and motherhood. But do we necessarily want women to do so much at the expense of their health and mental well being? Sir Richard Branson and JK Rowling were last year cited by British mothers as perfect role models for their children. But earlier this year Sir Richard admitted smoking marijuana with his son on a surfing trip. I am sure some of those mothers might now have second thoughts. JK Rowling donated £1 million to the Labour party. Why not give it to charity? Enough said.

Surely the time has come to stop this patronising quest for role models. Nobody can measure up to the unnecessarily high expectations foisted upon them.

The only role models should be your parents. They are the best mentors you could ever have. And if you found them wanting as well, then you will just have to set a better example to your own children.

No rest for the wicked

Friends of Rebekah Brooks have invoked the "holiday defence" in her favour - she can't have known what was going on about Milly Dowler's phone being hacked when she was editing the News of the World because she was on holiday at the time.

It raises an interesting question of responsibility. Surely you are still de facto the boss even when you are on holiday ? When the Jonathan Ross-Andrew Sachs scandal broke a few years ago, BBC director-general Mark Thompson was on holiday in Sicily. Only after 72 hours did he fly back to Blighty to deal with the mess, and by then the damage was done. You are never off duty, even when you are on holiday. That is the price you pay for being a high-powered executive.

Here's to the two-lunch

Lunching may not be what it used to be and the long boozy business lunch may be a thing of the past, but reports of the death of the lunch are greatly exaggerated.

This week I had two lunches in the same day. I had a sandwich at my desk, only to receive a call from a contact at a restaurant. Had I forgotten our appointment? Oh yes, I had. I belong to that breed of oppressed workers who don't have time to put lunch appointments in their diary but half-commit them to memory. I expect many more two-lunches to come. Keith Waterhouse would be proud of me; he used to list his recreation in Who's Who as "lunch". Kingsley Amis used to order two puddings at restaurants. But I doubt either of them had two lunches - unless it was through alcoholic absent-mindedness.

Give me fast culture and a pint, please

When my wife told me she had tickets for us to see Richard III, my heart sunk into a winter of discontent. The prospect of spending four hours on a Saturday night in darkened theatre in the company of Kevin Spacey did not immediately appeal. So imagine my delight when I was told it wasn't the Spacey production we were off to see but Ed Hall's all-male Propeller production at the Hampstead theatre. Duration? Just two-and-a-half hours. Yippee! Shakespeare on speed.

I like culture as much as the next man but preferably in small, abridged doses. It was absorbing, pacy (sometimes too pacy) and time flew by, allowing me to drown myself in a butt of malmsey afterwards. Well, a pint of lager
or two.

Why are there two Richard III productions on simultaneously? Is Hall cocking a snook at the Old Vic? It makes me rather want to see how Kevin Spacey measures up. Even if it does mean spending another four hours in the theatre.

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