Enter my friend Will, who works in education and is a much cleverer and more considered person than me.
“So long as he’s bright enough to do well, I think he probably should go to Eton,” Will says. “It’s head and shoulders above most other schools, will introduce him to an unexpectedly broad range of boys and start him on relationships with plenty of intelligent interests that will give him a hinterland.” See? Told you Will was clever (even though he went to Harrow).
Eton is “oddly” the most progressive of all the all-boys’ boarding schools, Will adds, with a thrusting headmaster (nicknamed “Trendy Hendy”) who’s trying to modernise the place by flying a Pride flag from the college roof and expanding the scholarship programme. He also points out that various other options, such as Marlborough, Wellington or Charterhouse, are hardly less associated with privilege, and that Eton has educated a few leading Lefties – Orwell, Keynes, Gladstone – so George wouldn’t automatically leave with the views or morals of our current Cabinet. “I think the gender point is a bit of a red herring,” Will tells me, rather damningly. “He’ll be educated with girls up to the age of 13. Also, single-sex schools exist in the state sector, too, and boys and girls were educated separately for centuries. Who says we know better? It’d be great to see William and Kate not give in to every soft liberal stereotype.”
What does an eight-year-old’s putative choice of school matter, plenty will cry. Others will rant that he should go to state school. But George isn’t just any eight-year-old, poor mite, and like it or not, his education is more significant than most people’s. The good news is we’ve got five years to discuss it.
I trust the A-list wedding guests had a roaring time at Longleat
Congratulations to Vogue editor Edward Enninful and his new husband, Alec Maxwell, on their starry, £1.5 million wedding at Longleat. Seeing snaps of the celebs, including Orlando Bloom and Kate Moss, touring the Wiltshire estate’s safari park reminded me of my days as a motoring critic, when I once took a brand-new VW Golf GTI for a spin through the monkey enclosure. I didn’t inform Volkswagen about this stunt beforehand, but I thought it would make an amusing column to have the macaques clambering over the car. It made smashing copy, as it turned out. The monkeys ripped off the wipers of a Vauxhall in front of me, before scampering up my windscreen. Gently, I tested out the acceleration and they rolled off the back and made for a Nissan Micra elsewhere. I trust Leonardo DiCaprio had a similarly diverting time.
The last thing Ukraine needs is privileged social media platitudes
Last week, as the shelling of Kharkiv intensified, I spotted a young toff’s Facebook post. It was a series of photos of herself at a posh London restaurant, apparently enjoying a lunch with several girlfriends. In the caption, Lady So-and-So had written: “Thinking daily of Ukraine and thankful Polands [sic] accepting all the refugee [sic]. Praying for those holding arms and hoping.” She didn’t much look like she was praying; she looked like she was getting p—-d in Mayfair. Others have done similar, along the lines of: “Isn’t what’s happening in Ukraine awful? Such rotten luck. Look, do you like my new shoes?” I’m not saying I’m about to take up President Zelensky’s call to arms, but how do these dashed-off social media posts help?
