Rejoice, for I bring awesome news to lift the spirits and it’s dressed in a suit and tie. Mark Carney, formerly governor of the Bank of England, has surfaced as the new prime minister of Canada. It’s an improbable trajectory for someone who’s never held elected office but the wise voters of the Liberal Party have overwhelmingly chosen him to replace Justin Trudeau and I commend their good taste. Carney seems to be very clever and competent too, but whatever. Mainly, he’s a silver fox. Welcome, then, Prime Minister Carney and, yes, please do tell me how you plan to deal with Trump’s tariffs as soon as you’ve sent your wife home and bought me a drink.
The fact is, we need all the good-looking middle-aged men in public life we can get and if they’re wearing suits and ties like Carney, so much the better. Jason Isaacs, 61, in The White Lotus, Brad Pitt, 61, in anything, Gary Lineker, 64, Jose Mourinho, 62, Clive Myrie, 60, socking it to the Russians in measured tones and a jaunty scarf, Barack Obama, 63, ditto George Clooney, who’s obviously the captain of my heart but we’ll get to him in a minute.
Back in his pre-Brexit glory days on Threadneedle Street, Carney was excellent at looking stern and yet also benevolent as he explained the workings of the monetary policy committee, which were fascinating then and unaccountably less so since he left. I saw him once, walking down the street in Chelsea, in shorts and a polo shirt, which was disappointing, and seeing as I stand 5ft 10in in my Manolos I’d have to wear flats, which is also disappointing, but still. Think of the monetary policy pillow talk.
Everyone goes on at the moment about how empowering it supposedly is that middle-aged women are dating much younger men, and how 25 is the new 55. Honestly? You can keep Nicole Kidman in Babygirl and Bridget Jones with her puppyish lover. I wish them joy and rejoice at their fictional good fortune while believing that, actually, 65 is the new 55. And while we are shamelessly objectifying half the population — because what else are we going to do on a wet Tuesday in March? — it would be churlish of us to rule out 70. Have you seen Charles Dance recently? He’s 78 and one hell of a flirt. Or Monty Don, who does nothing at all for me, but a lot of things for a lot of other people and he’s 69.
I wouldn’t blame you if you had a soft spot for 68-year-old Richard Madeley, any more than I’d blame you for blinking when Isaacs’ dressing gown fell open in the latest White Lotus. It is true that Clooney, photographed out and about in New York last weekend before his Broadway debut, is doing himself no favors with his dyed brown hair. We will call it the McCartney, because Paul McCartney used to have an unfortunate tendency towards Nice’N’Easy Rich Chestnut, of which he has happily now been cured. Clooney’s is an affront to silver foxes everywhere, a stab in the heart to those who appreciate them, but it’s presumably temporary for his stage role in Good Night and Good Luck. More to the point, his wife, Amal, has never struck me as the sort of woman who would tolerate a husband with dyed brown hair so if we hold our nerve, all may yet be well.
Back to Canada and Carney, who was educated at Harvard and Oxford. He is a former banker at Goldman Sachs and governor of the Bank of Canada, where his stewardship during the financial crash was widely praised. Yada yada, have you heard the man speak? I listened to his dulcet Canadian tones while driving up the motorway last weekend. Speaking a couple of weeks ago on the podcast Leading, before his sudden ascent to high office, he was asked why politics, why now? He replied with words to the effect that times were hard, he thought his country needed him and one should stand up and be counted. Oof. I sang O Canada all the way up the M40.
And without getting too bogged down in Canadian politics, Carney might not be prime minister for very long because he has to call an election this year. The polls are neck and neck with his rival, who looks like a squashed Elon Musk. Obviously I wouldn’t dream of telling Canadians what to do. All I would suggest is that, in these dark and difficult times, after they’ve read the manifestos and weighed up their options, they put a cross next to the silver fox. If you have to look at someone on TV for the next five years they might as well be hot, something the American electorate has so deplorably failed to consider since Obama. Although, to be fair, Obama was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to ruthlessly objectify the most powerful man in the world.
Warming to my theme, I would like, finally, to offer some unsolicited advice regarding James Bond. Amazon has confirmed that the next Bond will be British and male but so much of the chatter thus far has been about age. Two of those touted, Harris Dickinson and Leo Woodall, Bridget Jones’s toyboy, are only 28, which is preposterously young for Bond. I could never fancy a 28-year-old. Others, including Idris Elba, are said to be too old, even though he’s quite obviously coming into his prime.
I suggest they forget who’s the best actor. Nobody cares. I’m sure they can all pretend as well as each other. Instead, I urge the producers to realize that what the world needs now is a silver fox Bond. Carney’s a bit busy but, given his career zigzags, let’s not rule it out. What about Colin Firth or Hugh Grant? If we can get over the American accent, and we can, there’s Patrick Dempsey from Grey’s Anatomy. Brad Pitt! You may scoff, but you are 100 per cent going to pay to see Brad Pitt dressed in a dinner jacket, sipping a martini and saying, “The name’s Bond. James Bond.” It doesn’t make you a bad person. I’ll probably do so myself. But in the short term, there are a few Bank of England clips on YouTube from 2015 that I haven’t yet seen. You wouldn’t believe how interesting monetary policy can be.
Hilary Rose is a longtime columnist and features writer at The Times of London