David Lister: An alternative cultural manifesto

There seemed to be something missing from the cultural manifesto, launched on Thursday by the great and the good of the arts world at the British Museum. You certainly couldn't argue with the timing. Before the political parties have published their own election manifestos, the arts got in first and put culture on the political agenda.

You couldn't argue either with the justifiable boasting of how much money the arts are currently contributing to the British economy, even if one could have wished for more emphasis on how they improve the quality of life, a more convincing argument for investment in culture than economic return.

Nor indeed could one argue with the nervousness that lies behind the robust defence of the arts – a nervousness that we are likely to see spending cuts in an arts budget, which has already seen money siphoned off to help to pay for the Olympics.

What was missing for me from this manifesto, with the biggest names in British culture behind it, was any sense of the arts putting its own house in order. A manifesto, surely, should not be solely about proclaiming how well you are doing. It should also contain some hints of change and improvement.

Yes, most of the public, I hope, would endorse the notion that the arts contribute hugely to the British economy and the nation's quality of life. But the emails and letters I receive from Independent readers tend to dwell on other matters which affect them as consumers of the arts. My own long-running campaign for cheaper theatre tickets and an end across the arts to iniquitous booking fees and handling charges provokes more correspondence than anything else, way more than the possibility of government cuts.

Yet there is not a single word about this in the cultural manifesto. Two of the worthies launching the cultural manifesto were the head of the National Theatre, Sir Nicholas Hytner and the artistic director of the South Bank Centre, Jude Kelly. The National Theatre rightly deplores the idea of booking fees and has no truck with them; the South Bank Centre next door charges them. There's consistency for you.

The rather shocking article in The Independent recently by my colleague Alice Jones about watching Waiting for Godot from a £20 seat in the gods and not being able to hear, not finding a single usher or a single programme and having a generally awful time was conveniently ignored by all those involved. Let's not accuse Mr Brown or Mr Cameron of threatening to alienate new audiences from the arts, when the arts themselves often seem to exploit those same new audiences and care little about how they are treated.

So here's the opening salvo of my cultural manifesto. "We strongly oppose any cuts to the arts budget, as there is incontrovertible evidence that the arts are a British success story, contribute enormously to the economy, enhance the quality of life of every British citizen and offer the nation a continuing exploration of its own identity.

"While opposing any prospect of cuts, we also promise to improve immediately the service we in the arts give audiences. We guarantee that the price printed on a ticket will be the price that ticket buyers actually pay. We will abolish all booking fees, service charges and handling fees. We will encourage new audiences by guaranteeing that at all arts events the cheapest seats will be under £10 and there will always be concessions for the under-25s."

A manifesto with not a single word about change is unlikely to get many votes.

A degree of snobbery? Never

A new sex-and-sandals TV mini-series Spartacus will arrive here in May from America. Its US broadcast received some poor reviews and distaste at the more graphic scenes. The British actor John Hannah (of Four Weddings and a Funeral fame), right, is one of the stars of the series. He hit back at the critics, labelling them "slightly superior university-educated snobs". I've never before heard critics being written off for being university educated. It seems a bit much to have to hide one's head for the crime of going to college. After all, Richard Curtis, the writer of Four Weddings, responsible for much of Mr Hannah's fame, was university educated. So are an awful lot of other people. And does going to university really mean one is a snob?

My one encounter with Mr Hannah was at the Cannes Film Festival one year, when he was launching a production company and entertained me on a yacht. Some wicked souls might say that was almost snobbish. I did, though, find him engaging and charming. Thank goodness I didn't mention that I had been to university. It could have been a case of man overboard.

Stick to the music and leave the legal side alone

Goldfrapp, made up of Alison Goldfrapp and Will Gregory, are an interesting, experimental band. And clearly they are lawyers manqué. Copies of their new album were sent to critics with a two-page confidentiality agreement, which refers to Alison Goldfrapp and Will Gregory as "the project" and instructs recipients of the album to remain silent on the subject of recordings, vocals, discoveries, concepts, ideas and techniques. It adds: "You shall restrict disclosure of information solely to your employees, principals, agents, directors and contractors with a need to know such information."

Blimey, as they might say in the High Court, it's only an album. And, dare I say, Goldfrapp are not exactly the most famous band in the world. Is such a heavy hand necessary? What about us ordinary listeners? Are we allowed to talk about the album to our families and friends? Or only to those who have a "need to know"?

They should chill out. Pomposity and music seldom go well together.