2012 – the year of the Diamond Jubilee, the Olympics and Paralympics - was bound to end in tears.
So let's make a resolution for the New Year: scrap the dishonourable Honours system.
Gongs and patronage is society’s way of telling us that, whatever we might think, we are not all born equal, and some of us have the badge to prove it
I’ve always been a fan on the annual dishing out of gongs. Though in the past they were doled out to the nation’s unsung heroes, the magical lollipop man, or the lady who fostered and gave hope to legions of troubled children; to the men who kept the engines of Britain working by clocking on at the factory for decades.
Today honours are given, in the main, to “celebs” - stars of stage, screen and sport. And it’s that question of sport causing so much acrimony this year.
Bradley WigginsAs soon as Bradley Wiggins won his bike races there were front page tabloid headlines: “Arise Sir Bradley”. Deciding which of the Olympians and Paralympians got what, if anything, was always going to cause trouble.
There was a prolonged discussion on one of the main news channels: on a pro-rata basis there should have been far more gongs given to Paralympians than Olympians. How come Sir B has arisen, but not people’s favourite Mo Farrar?
I think there should have been, for this year only, a BOM – British Olympic Medal – given to everybody who took part from Seb Coe – he’s already a Lord – to the stadium janitors, and those merry gamesmakers. A single honour handed to all to wear with pride, no pecking order for the posh.
Around 80 athletes and people associated with the games were gonged. Who can say whether the efforts of a gold medal winner were any greater than the amazing feats of some competitors battling against almost impossible odds? Just taking part, for many of them, was as good as winning.
These days, egged on by the media, as soon as somebody makes headlines there is that demand for a Queen's Honour.
Some recipients will stand up and say: “Thanks. This isn’t for me, it’s for the team who pulled it off.” Yeh, mate, but you’ll still be expected to be referred to from now on as "Sir2 or put those important little letters, CBE, OBE or whatever, on your card.
Bruce Forsyth: Didn't he do well?
I asked one titled person whether he used the letters after his name at all. “It comes in useful when I’m booking a table at a ‘full’ restaurant in London,” came the reply.
On that basis I’m almost tempted to change my name by deed poll to Lord Lawrence of Aigburth.
When entertainers are enobled or knighted they tend to go down a little in my esteem, rather than up. Isn’t the loadsa dosh they are earning for entertaining us reward enough?
“But it’s given for their charity work,” is the usual excuse. The best benefactors are those who give and don’t expect, want or need any further rewards.
This craze for rewarding celebrity with gongs and other goodies doesn't stop at Buckingham Palace.
Universities are clamouring to award honorary degrees to famous people, ideally “stars”, and one cannot help but wonder if some of the motivation is to generate publicity for the institution in question
Gongs and patronage is society’s way of telling us that, whatever we might think, we are not all born equal, and some of us have the badge to prove it.
The honours system should be rested until a better way is found to reward the real unsung heroes of society.
The only exception would be the bestowal of a knighthood to the Squire of Knotty Ash.
Who among us does not want to hear those Queenly words: “Arise Sir Kenneth.”?
The real badge of honour?
Danny BoyleDanny Boyle, who triumphed as director of the London 2012 opening ceremony, is said to have been offered a knighthood this time around.
Instead he carried a torch for a long list of refuseniks and indicated he could not accept. He said the theme of his ceremony had been about citizens being equal — and a knighthood would have made him “unequal”.
Other who have turned down a gong include LS Lowry (several times), Lucien Freud, Aldous Huxley, Robert Morley, Francis Bacon and Roald Dahl.
