Julian Cole

You have to feel sorry for Frank Dobson. Well, you don't have to, but I'm going to, for a moment or two. There he is, Tony Blair's anointed candidate to stand for Labour in London's mayoral elections. And in this new role, he can swear his allegiance as a proud son of... of where, exactly?

As my colleague Dick Turpin pointed out the other day, Frank Dobson seems to be having something of an identity crisis, telling anyone who will listen that he is proud to be a Londoner.

As we know, Frank was born in Dunnington near York, and went to Archbishop Holgate's School in the city. Yet now he's a Londoner through to the core.

In my limited experience there aren't many Yorkshiremen who would happily claim to be Cockneys. In fact, it's safe to say that most Yorkshiremen would have their heart ripped out and served to them on a plate rather than stoop to such an indignity.

So, as I said, you have to feel sorry for Frank. A national newspaper diary column has been running a campaign to cheer up the abundantly bearded one. This cheeky journalistic endeavour has been built round the repetition of what is said to be Frank's catchphrase, "Oooh, you amaze me!"

Now it occurs to me that in his confused state, Frank Dobson has a generously two-sided nature. Indeed, this Yorkshireman-about-London is neither a Cockney nor a Yorkie, but a Yorkney.

This is why he can sometimes be heard to sing, "Maybe it's because I'm a Yorkshireman that I love London so..." when he is on one of his trips up and down Old Kent Shambles, eating eel pie sausages by Heck-ney Marshes while wearing his reversible coat. This garment is all shiny Pearly-King mirrors on one side and a dark, sensible colour on its other, waterproofed side. It can be turned to suit the moment, and is equally suitable for a walk on Knavesmire Heath or a trip to Westminster Minster or the Houses Of Guildhall. Indeed such a coat should last as long as Old Father Ouse keeps on flowing.

As a master of the local lingo, Frank will not even be referring to his outer garment as a coat, but a weasel (from weasel and stoat).

And as for the theory that Tony Blair put him up to standing for mayor as a way of spiting Ken Livingstone, I'm sure that Frank would insist that his "pitch" had nothing to do with it. Pitch and toss equals boss, by the way.

You have to hand it to Frank Dobson, he's a 24-carat geezer. Unless visiting Newgate Market, in which case he's a 24-carrot geezer.

Now here's a scary thought. If a son of Yorkshire could end up as Mayor of London, does that mean a Londoner could wind up as Mayor of York? After all, poor Ken Livingstone looks as though he's at a bit of a loose end.

This last statement is made in jest, of course. After all, as a Bristol-born, Manchester-raised onetime Londoner now firmly resident in York, what do I know?

THE editor asks if this column was being particularly clever last week in referring to the film Tory Story 2. Now she doesn't often ask that, so it would be nice to say, yes, of course, it was a fiendish piece of word-play.

Alas, no. It was a Freudian slip. Mind you, it has set me thinking. Tory Story 2 could be Woody Blair's worst nightmare, in which Buzz Dimyear, leader of the Toy Tories, wins the next election against all the odds, thanks to the support of Portillo Potato Head.

But who could be Hamm? Well, John Prescott certainly has the build, which is more than you can say for Slinky-Dog Mandelson. But which one of Blair's Babes could be Barbie? I think it's time to retreat and shut the door.

02/03//00

If you have any comments you would like to make, contact Julian Cole directly at julian.cole@ycp.co.uk

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.