A darling reader of Arcati draws my attention to career peregrinations at the Telegraph – and for a change I find myself awed by its commonsense.
First, my congratulations to Celia Walden who has been divested of her Spy editorship and promoted to Senior Features Writer – I had heard of this, but mention here brings closure to my heartless assessments of her goss gathering abilities (basically hopeless). Celia’s true talent lies in the smiley mano-a-mano of the in-person celeb interview wherein she can fillet out a news story. Her pieces in Glamour best exemplify this – she it was who got Simon Cowell to reveal his declined opportunity to become the face of Viagra – even if the magazine’s Q&A format makes no demand on literary or critical ability.
Ms Walden should be thankful to the litigious Nicole Kidman for her career uplift as well as to Arcati for her attentive rigour. It is only ever my intention to steer people to where I think they belong, natally.
The migration of her old Spy deputy Jonathan Isaby to become the Telegraph’s very own Guido Fawkes is also an inspired move. To be blunt, the poppet does not have quite the right type of gravitas for the flim-flam of A-list slebrity. Nature gives her physiognomic hints to mortals as to career destination, and Mr Isaby is well placed in the Gothic environs of Westminster Palace.
Mandrake will replace Spy as a seven-day operation, a forerunner of things to come at the company generally, I suspect. I totally approve of its editor Timothy Walker, an excellent gosser, and he was very sweet to my friend Nesta Wyn Ellis in her John Major period. Arcati’s memory is long as you all know.
My informant adds in his note: “So was Celia 'promoted' or moved out of harm's way? In either case it looks like the Telegraph's risible diary column is no more. First Jasper Gerard, now Celia. You're gaining quite a headcount. Can you please fix it for that odious snob Ben Brogan to be tipped into the hack dumper, please? For all his (alleged) faults as Speaker, Michael Martin's suffering at the hands of La Brogan for the crime of being working class and Scottish makes for an unpleasant read.”
Well, Jasper has recovered from his Observer dumping and is now the Telegraph’s restaurant critic. I note he visited Brighton's veggie eaterie Terre à Terre a few days ago. In his review, he reminds himself of vegetarianism’s old associations, “with schoolboy jibes about lesbian soup and dungaree risotto.” Lesbian soup? Oh dear. I fear that war will have to be re-declared on Jasper. He’d better get his rollerskates on (again).