Give J.D. Vance a glimpse of real Britain

Spectator

2 days ago

We're used to strange sights in north Oxfordshire. The first person I ever met in our small Cotswolds town was a lady who brandished a tin of homemade mackerel pâté at me. It was delicious, but the nature of her greeting gives you an idea of the kind of eccentricity that's familiar in this part of the world. Yet despite the area's high tolerance of the bizarre – hardly diminished by the presence of Jeremy Clarkson up the road – I've lately witnessed a series of events that have stood out as particularly unusual.
I recently took a train surrounded by dozens of confused Americans and their children carrying mounds of luggage bearing 'VP Vance' tags. (One unfortunate passenger tried to squeeze past them to use the lavatory and was told to wait until they'd alighted at the next stop.) They were swiftly met off the train by a bunch of secret service agents who were so obviously members of the secret service that it was akin to bank robbers walking around in stripy jumpers bearing bags emblazoned with 'Swag'. Over in the tiny hamlet of Dean, a giant white gazebo was draped above an unassuming country lane, while police blocked all traffic.
This circus is, of course, the result of the visit by America's Vice-President. J.D. Vance is the second VP we've seen in the Cotswolds in as many weeks.
Vance's visit has presented something of a supply-and-demand problem for British news editors: an apparently limitless need for infuriated locals to interview, not quite enough of them to go around. The best one newspaper could muster was a pair of mildly inconvenienced dogwalkers forced to take a detour to avoid one of the Vance-related checkpoints. My husband, the vicar of a parish close to where the VP is staying, has been asked to speak to no fewer than six media outlets. I suspect that most residents, while bemused by the arrival of incident tents and secret service agents, are not particularly bothered either way.
The reasons for Vance's coming here are fairly obvious. This Oxfordshire patch of the Cotswolds isn't just a nice place, but appears the very essence of the picture-postcard 'Olde England' that appeals to so many Americans and other visitors from around the world. A stone's throw away, Soho Farmhouse offers a kind of VR headset rural experience for city escapees. They flog a kind of Potemkin countryside for those who rarely socialise outside of London's Zone 1 or midtown Manhattan.
The rest of Vance's trip has been a similarly deep dive into a fantasy Britain. From the Palladian splendour of Chevening (which David Lammy confusingly referred to as his own home) to a private tour of Hampton Court and to golf and whisky in the Scottish lowlands, Mr Vance is playing historic Britain's greatest hits. No one can blame him for this: these sites are impressive and beautiful. Yet the government – so eager to impress the American regime despite its sabre-rattling at Canada, its ill-treatment of President Zelensky etc – might consider broadening its scope. Rather than confining Mr Vance's trip to Ye Olde England, it seems only fair that they should take him on a more accurate tour of the 'Yookay' in 2025.
Where could they start? Well, first and foremost, they'll need to sort accommodation. I'm afraid that after a week in the manor house at Dean, the accommodation at the Britannia migrant hotel might seem like a downgrade but Mr Vance can rest assured that the British taxpayer will pick up every single penny of the bill. And I'm reliably informed that within an hour or two of their arrival, guests can hop out again on a moped for an illegal food-delivery run. Play their cards right and they may even end up with more disposable income from doing this than many of their fellow workers who declare and pay tax on their earnings, and aren't housed for free in city centres.
When it comes to eating, there will be no shortage of government cronies who'd be only too happy to have Mr Vance for supper on Sir Keir's say-so. While the idea of going to dinner with any of the current cabinet would be enough to make most American politicians long for Ford's Theatre, of all his potential hosts, surely the one who'd provide the best insight into how Britain is governed in 2025 would be the appalling Lord Hermer. Imagine the scene: over a kitchen table somewhere in Islington, poor J.D. has to chew through his Ottolenghi salad while the Attorney General and special guest Philippe Sands enlighten him as to how foreign terrorists are the real victims and the Chagossians had it coming.
What about entertainment? It feels appropriate that Mr Vance should engage with some of the activities that make up day-to-day life in the Yookay. He might witness dozens of shoplifters cheerfully strolling off with large quantities of merch while impotent staff do nothing. Perhaps he could spend six hours on hold with a GP surgery merely to find that every slot has been given to a council-paid interpreter? Or maybe he could go to a public park in one of our more vibrant areas to watch the theft, slaughter and cooking of some urban wildfowl?
To be honest, whatever entertainment is planned for Mr Vance in this second week of seeing real Britain is moot, as presumably he'll be leaving the Cotswolds on the same railway line that his secret service goons took from Paddington – a station which saw 'significant delays' to journeys on 363 days last year.
With the state of Britain as it is, no one could begrudge Mr Vance his trip into fairyland. What's reprehensible is that the very people who have done their best to undermine the beauty and traditions of the countryside are now only too willing to hawk them for political ends.