Cry Me A River
I enjoyed this article written by Victoria Coren in the Observer - it's a warning to politicians everywhere.
Spare us the details of your more human side - it just makes you look ridiculous and contrived.
To my mind there's something seriously wrong anyone - who cries at The Antiques Roadshow - they need help not empathy and understanding.
Ed Balls - that's enough crying.
It took guts for Ed Balls to admit he cries at Antiques Roadshow, but do we need to see his human side?
People complain that children these days watch TV programmes that are completely unsuitable for them. Well, so did I; I was a regular viewer of Antiques Roadshow. Never did me any harm.
But I have cried in front of that series many times. From sheer bored frustration. I somehow sensed I'd been born ON THE VERY BRINK of 24-hour cartoon channels, yet a fraction too early. The other programmes in my top three all-time tear-jerkers would be Ski Sunday and Walden.
That's not why Ed Balls cries. Ed Balls cries when "the expert says, 'Do you know how much this is worth? It's valued at x thousand pounds' and they say, 'I'm amazed it's worth that much, but it means more to me than money'. Incredibly emotional."
Interesting, isn't it? Total Politics magazine had asked the shadow chancellor what makes him cry. He could have said anything. Memories of lost love. Kramer vs. Kramer. Standing on an upturned plug.
Instead, the man who helped build a government's doomed economic policy surveys a crippled nation and sobs when a pensioner says: "There are more important things than money." Well, Ed has to hope so.
Perhaps his tears are set off, during this familiar Antiques Roadshow scene, by flashbacks to the moment when Gordon Brown (with Ed Balls as his economic adviser) stood clutching the nation's gold, heard its value and shrieked: "How much? Wow! Sell, sell, sell!"
Perhaps he imagines whizzing back in a time machine, shaking his head and stoutly saying: "We've had this gold for generations, it's worth more to us than money" – thus saving the nation about £700bn.
If Ed Balls really does cry at Antiques Roadshow, there must be something unconscious going on, to do with nice old Middle Englanders and money. The trigger can't be a coincidence, surely? It would be like Tony Blair saying the one thing that makes him cry is Dad's Army.
I don't mean to attack Ed Balls, by the way. I don't quite buy the idea that governments are as flummoxed as the rest of us by international economic chaos (the opportunity to slash welfare budgets and tighten control on a federal European state, both of which will long outlast the current crisis, seems too close to some power-mongers' best interests), but I certainly couldn't have done a better job myself. If I were chief economic adviser to the Treasury, my fiscal strategy would be: 3, 7, 14, 26, 28, 31 and bonus ball number 10.
Besides, I've always liked Ed Balls because he didn't change his name. He deserves respect for that, like a teacher who's prepared to walk into a classroom on the first day of term and honestly write "Mr Smellie" on the blackboard.
We aren't children, of course, and I wouldn't bat an eyelid if he were actually called Smellie, or Sidebottom or Gropetit. I'm never been especially amused by rude words or funny names. But come on, his name is Balls. Not Balles or Bauls or something which has "balls" within it, to be found if you're looking. Just Balls. Nothing more than that; pure, unadulterated Balls. We've got used to it now, but seriously, think about it again: his name is Balls. And he went into politics anyway. I truly believe that shows strength of character. George Osborne didn't even stick with "Gideon".
I'm not joking; I think it's a genuine sign of something good. There are very few of these short cuts available for pre-judging our prospective rulers. On our first glance at Baroness Warsi, the unusual combination of Muslim woman and government ministry reveals she must have motivation, self-belief and strength of character beyond the ordinary; this has something in common.
I'm not saying that being a Muslim woman and being called Balls are of equivalent status, obviously; only that both give us an immediate surface clue of something resilient. I'd probably have more confidence in the strength of our current leadership if the prime minister was called David Cock. (Which perhaps, at school, he was.)
Beyond that, I'm not sure it's helpful to know anything about a politician's personality anyway. Ed Balls has been ripped apart for saying he cries at Antiques Roadshow, both by those who don't believe him and think it's cynical (as he himself anticipated, when he went on to say: "I don't think I'm ever going to persuade you that I'm an emotional wreck, am I?") and by those who do and reckon he's a sap, having long tired of the damp-eyed, reality TV culture.
Personally, I'm prepared to believe it and to like him more for it; I'm sure the vulnerability is warm and genuine. I'm just not sure it's a vulnerability I want to know about. It's like the Red Queen introducing Alice to the mutton, then explaining: "It isn't etiquette to cut anyone you've been introduced to."
"I won't be introduced to the pudding, please," says Alice, "or we shall get no dinner at all."
I am terribly sympathetic to MPs who (while almost exclusively hard-working and well-meaning) find themselves attacked, feel hurt and want to show their "human side". But a more helpful approach would be to swallow it and try harder to remember the gap between office and person. Governments are obliged, sometimes, to raise tax or cut benefits or fund armies while turning a deliberate blind eye to the human cost. Well, it works both ways. When we rage against the machine, we can't be worrying about their tears in the night.
As for the misery it brings Ed Balls to watch Antiques Roadshow, I'd recommend he follows my own policy with that show. It's based on the old Tommy Cooper joke: "I told the doctor, it hurts when I do this. He said, 'Don't do it.'"
