This week marked the 40th anniversary of the opening of the Brent Cross shopping centre, an event worth celebrating if ever there was one. Along with the Battle of Britain, Brent Cross has really put Hendon on the map.
This would be enough by itself, of course, but I believe the prepared sandwiches that can still be purchased in Marks & Spencer were, when first displayed in the chill cabinet, the first of their kind on sale anywhere in the Barnet area.
WH Smith also brought editions of The Beatles Book, a fan magazine, to thousands of teenagers who might otherwise not have realised there was such a thing. And these could be bought together with a protractor in one simple transaction.
I’m with Maureen Lipman who said that she would like to be buried in Brent Cross so that she could be sure her daughter would visit her once a week.
Fairway to heaven
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Every week is book week for Jews, obviously, but we have just had eight days of Jewish Book Week (on the eighth day God created paperbacks). And on the last day of the festival I interviewed the former chief rabbi, Lord Sacks, about his new volume, Not in God’s Name. In it, he explains the difference between monotheism (in which we understand that good and evil is within ourselves) and dualism (in which we cast ourselves as good, and merely the victims of the evil of others).
On the day of the event, I was told that Lord Sacks had won the Templeton prize. Worth more than £1 million, it is the leading annual award for spiritual leadership. I hold him in the highest regard, even though he was never actually my chief rabbi. He was the chief of the United Synagogues, you see, and that unites a lot of synagogues but doesn’t unite mine. We Jews like an argument.
There’s a joke about the rabbi who plays golf on Yom Kippur, the holiest of all days for Jews. God’s special advisers demand that something be done. The rabbi should be atoning for his sins, yet here he is, committing a further sin, playing golf when he should be praying.
Eventually God yields to his advisers — otherwise what is the point in having them — and agrees he will punish the rabbi. Moments later, for the first time in his life, the rabbi scores a hole in one.
The rabbi is delirious with excitement, and the advisers are furious. They berate God. “You were supposed to punish him, and now he has achieved his heart’s desire, a hole in one.”
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“Yes,” replies God. “But who can he tell?”
Abbey’s habit
Things are going well with Abbey, our cat, thank you for asking. Except for the fact that she keeps on bringing in mice. Live ones. She doesn’t eat them. She just stares at them. I think she’s a mouse voyeur. What do I do? I’ve tried both the solutions from Tom and Jerry — standing on a chair, and using a broom — but neither is effective. I also tried googling: “What do you do if you’ve got mice?”
The first item suggested: “Get a cat.”
Privy council
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Generally I am a big believer in university degrees, but I have to admit that my own experience of employing graduates has been patchy. I think particularly of a secretary I had who was by far the brightest person in the office, with first-class honours from a top college.
Coming down the stairs, I overheard her on the phone dealing with a request to speak to me: “No, I’m sorry Lord Lawson, he’s on the loo.”