Morning:
8°c
Never mind the analysis of Obama's first 100 days. What about the verdict on America's true President non-elect, Michelle? If Barack's school report so far is cautiously good - let's call it a B minus - then it's in sharp contrast to Mrs O, who's got A-stars all round.
Which is fortunate. Because Barack Obama's presidency is all about overturning prejudice, changing the world and proving that you can be President of the US and not be an idiot, whereas Michelle has a far bigger and more ambitious remit. She has set herself the task of transforming our expectations of the whole of womankind.
Hillary Clinton had half a shot at this when she was First Lady. But she was nowhere near as likeable as Michelle and, in any case, Bill messed it up by making it all about him (and Monica). Michelle now has a chance to show that you can be a woman in a position of responsibility and show grace, charm and intellect. It helps no end that she's the sort of person who could run a small country on her day off. (Secretly, this is probably what she actually does.)
Michelle is the Anti-Cherie. Everything she touches turns to gold. There are whispers of a backlash, of course. Which is inevitable.
Some Republican commentators are wondering whether her obsessive multi-tasking and all-round wondrousness aren't just a tad intimidating. In these past few weeks Michelle has weighed in on military families, national service, women's issues, work/life balance and - her old career specialist subject - community action.
And that's not to mention planting a hundred-plus varieties of vegetables in the organic garden, hosting officially the best White House Easter egg hunt ever and co-ordinating the ins and outs of the arrival of that disgusting dog. Working mothers will appreciate the graft involved. Operation Bo alone would have killed me.
But if that's the worst her enemies can come up with - that she's really amazing and efficient - then she's doing OK. It is no coincidence perhaps that her best friend is Oprah Winfrey, one of the most successful media operators on the planet (and a woman who makes Simon Cowell look like Alan Partridge). It's with Oprah's help that Michelle manages to be an expert media manipulator without appearing remotely slippery.
Not that it hurts that Michelle is preposterously telegenic while somehow "keeping it real". And tempting though it is to get grumpy about the amount of attention paid to her appearance, she has handled it with "f*** you" aplomb, storing up enough fashion brownie points in the first 100 days to last her through a year of wardrobe disasters.
The only danger now is over-exposure - and too much home-making. Michelle has a tendency to over-share about White House pie and her daughters' cushion covers. As the presidency progresses, this feels too cutesy, too "Mom-in-Chief".
We're counting on you, Michelle, to make women look capable and strong. There will be another school report in 100 days' time. Please don't neglect your other subjects in favour of domestic science.
Expensive bust-up
I am not a monarchist. In fact, I only share one thing in common with the Queen: the conviction that a well-fitted bra can change your life.
There is something deeply comforting about shopping at Rigby & Peller on Conduit Street, an oasis of calm which basks in the glorious reputation of being purveyor of undergarments to Her Majesty.
I can report that their upholstery is as robust as ever. The recessional uplift, however, is dubious. I emerged from this temple to lace and underwiring £200 lighter with only three bras to show for it. A princely sum for regal treatment or a right royal rip-off? Their garments seem to defy gravity, so I can't really complain.
* Move aside road rage and South West Trains rage (my default mode). There is a new trend in town: escalator rage. Descending the moving steps at Waterloo, I heard an almighty thump and braced myself for Armageddon and/or some kind of terrorist invasion. But no. It was a diminutive woman on the step in front of me pounding her heel furiously against the metal, demented with anger that the person ahead of her was not moving downwards quickly enough for her liking.
The force of her physical protest was so severe that I worried she might give herself whiplash — or worse, a hefty cobbler's bill. And all because she couldn't quite bring herself to say the (humiliating?) words, “Excuse me.”
Brilliantly bonkers
Hard to believe that it's 10 years since Tracey Emin was nominated for the Turner Prize for her unmade bed. Great to see, though, that a decade on the nominees announced this week are just as brilliantly bonkers. This year we have a cave of crystals, buttocks imprinted on wood and a woman who has placed a diamond and a scorpion on the pavement in Amsterdam.
I'm sure all of these artistic acts and artefacts are just like Tracey's bed: they say something fascinating and deep about the state of the modern world. I just wish we could access their meaning a bit more easily, rather than it all coming across as pretentious and slightly unhinged. Not that we'd want it any other way.
