by Brendan O’Neill, spiked
He was the finest and funniest chronicler of the absurdities of our time.
Every death leaves a hole in someone’s life. But it’s a rare death that leaves a hole in public life. Rod Liddle’s does. His passing has robbed us of the finest, funniest and most sardonic chronicler of the absurdities of the 21st century. His writing was brilliant: sometimes brutal, always truthful. He was the only newspaper scribbler of our times whose name could be justly uttered in the same breath as Swift’s. You can feel his loss already. You just know the next time something mad or ridiculous happens, you’ll find yourself thinking: What would Rod have written about this?
He died on Sunday evening after a short illness. Until about six weeks ago – when he backed out of work – he’d been a prolific, heroic columnist. He wrote for the Spectator, the Sun and The Sunday Times. He hosted a Saturday morning show on Times Radio, which I loved appearing on. He was once a speechwriter for the Labour Party. He made TV documentaries and wrote books – my favourite was The Great Betrayal, his stirring defence of the ‘uneducated thickos’ who voted for Brexit against those posh twats malingering in the ‘Brexit Derangement Syndrome intensive care ward, wired up to saline drips, attended to day and night, occasionally afforded a few thousand volts of ECT when things get really bad, but still foaming, still beside themselves with apoplexy’.
His journalism career included four years as editor of the Today programme on Radio 4. A man who went from editing the morning show beloved of the Beeb’s leafiest listeners to being nominated for Islamophobe of the Year Award by the nutters of the Islamic Human Rights Commission (sic)? Truly we shall not see his like again. He and I were nominated for that award in the same year, and we often shared our dismay that neither of us won, not least since the prize-giving ceremony was at the Holiday Inn in Wembley, which would have been a great night out.