Tag Archives: National Union of Students

Volesoft interviews Jeremy Paxman’s dog. Come on, come on!

A Loidensian, it transpiresNewsnight celebrity Jeremy Paxman is a national celebrity. An English national celebrity, of course – he has written a number of books celebrating England. He was born in Leeds in 1950. I was born in Aberdeen in 1949 but spent my time between 1961 and 1973 in Leeds, going to possibly the worst Jesuit school in the known universe, the now demolished St Michael’s College. Paxman’s Wackypedia entry doesn’t say which school he attended.

Nor does it say whether Paxman has a dog.

We mention the dog because we watch Paxman interrogate students on University Challenge. Sometimes, we watch him interrogating politicians on Newsnight, too.

If he has a dog, and he has had a bad day at the orifice, we imagine this conversation when he gets home.

Paxman to dog: “Stop barking at me, Fudo, you remind me of myself.”

Fudo (in high voice): “Have you had a good day, master?”

Paxman (in mock surprise): “You are a talking dog! So I have some questions to ask you Fudo, Wien College Austria and for you Fido Doggywoggy College Braemar!

“It is your starter for 10. What is the Bessemer Process?”

[Fudo, Wien, buzzes]
”It is to do with steel.”

[Paxman looks smug because he has the answers on a card. He slaps one down, with a contemptuous look at the poor stude.]

Paxman: “This is the music round.” [Paxman looks triumphant]

[Wien College Austria, Shoshtakovich] “Bach.”

Paxman: “Well done!” [patronisingly]

[Paxman’s Dog] “Come on, come on. Feed me, now! [barks loudly]

[NUJ representative enters stage left, says there’s a strike on and perhaps Jeremy might, with his reputed million quid a year salary, buy his dogs the equivalent of cats’ Dreamies]

Mike meets Parris in Great Portland Street

I BUY THE TIMES of London every day, and for only one reason, because I used to work for David Aaronovitch at the National Union of Students (NUS) and I don’t like his column that much, defector from the Grauniad that he is. I buy The Times for Matthew Parris’ columns.

Matthew Parris used to be the lobby correspondent on The Times, was once a member of the mother of all parliaments, and I buy the paper so I can read his column, twice a week. I can always skip Aaronovitch.

Today,  I was lucky enough and Parris was unlucky enough that we briefly crossed paths with each other at  Great Portland Street tube.

I was headed up the stairs and briefly chatted with him – once I recognised him,  I said how much I admired his writing. I envy his writing style. He was gracious and modest about his skills, acknowledging me as a fan boy and a fellow journo. At the top of the stairs, I asked him if the yellow shirt he was wearing was a new one. He looked at me with a sharp glance and then laughed, because obviously I had read this column.

It is certainly worth paying an extra 20 pence or so to get his wit and wisdom, even if he sometimes has to scrabble around in fountains and get “Kim” to bale him out by giving him a quid. I’m not sure about his grey suit, but his yellow shirt certainly looks like it was a bargain.