The Fabulous Feat of Clay

Politics, as Clement Raphael Freud might put it, suffers from too many amateur comedians. Clay, as he is popularly known, is a pro. He is also the newest member of Britain's House of Commons. His spectacular upset victory in a by-election last month, combined with that of another Liberal on the same day, has set pundits pondering the possibility of a Liberal Party resurgence (TIME, Aug. 13). But for those who care less about which party is up or down than how entertainingly the game is played, the feat of Clay promises much more: a revival of wit at Westminster. As one of his admirers says, it should be "the next best thing to having Peter Ustinov" in Parliament.

A grandson of Sigmund, Freud has long tickled Britons with his acerbic, urbane humor in print and on television talk shows. Though the contest in the Cambridgeshire constituency of Ely marked his debut in politics, he quickly found the field fertile for his brand of fun. When his Conservative opponent showed a lack of familiarity with rural Ely, Freud labeled him the "identikit candidate." Freud then arranged for somebody to ask the Tory during a TV debate whether he approved of giving funds to MAGPAS. "Oh, yes," chirruped the candidate, a young London stockbroker. "Indeed, yes, an admirable idea. Splendid, splendid." Freud interrupted to inquire whether his opponent really knew what MAGPAS was. "It's one of those agricultural ones, isn't it?" mumbled the Tory. No, deadpanned Freud, it actually was an acronym for Mid-Anglia General Practitioners Accident Service.

His Freudian quips and tricks can be gently disarming. When a woman voter complained to him about the style of new development houses being constructed, Freud replied: "Madam, for you we shall build an old house." He customarily ended campaign speeches by pulling out his pocket watch and looking at it mournfully. "This was my grandfather's watch." Pause. "He sold it to me on his deathbed." As for his contribution to the House of Commons, Freud says, unconvincingly: "It is not my ambition to liven up the debate in Parliament." But, he adds, with a look as baleful as the one he wears (and shares with a bloodhound) on a celebrated British TV commercial for dog food: "A monopolies commission ought to look into the number of bores at Westminster."

Humor has not monopolized Freud's life. Now 49, he is or has been a gentleman jockey, a race-car driver, an apprentice chef at the Dorchester Hotel, a cabaret owner, a trustee of London's Playboy Club and the author of a singularly uncharming children's book about a boy named Grimble whose parents forget things like birthdays and breakfasts. As a journalist, he has written for the lofty Financial Times and the lusty News of the World, as well as others in between.

In his fondness for journalistic stunts, he has put himself through a London-New York air race, a bobsled ride down the famed Cresta Run, a sailing trip from Cape Town to Rio and a Royal Air Force survival course in the Bavarian Alps (which netted him not only a story but frostbite). Always Freud brings his own particular blend of cunning comedy to his high jinks. The 1969 air race was from London's Post Office Tower to the top of the Empire State Building, with contestants using commercial flights and any type of ground transportation they liked. To help him win the $12,500 first prize, Freud arranged for a long line of schoolboys to cross a busy street in London, halting regular traffic and clearing a path for his motorcycle.

Between sips of Pouilly-Fume at his 18th century house in London's St. John's Wood, Freud told TIME Correspondent William McWhirter how he came to try politics. "I seemed to have reached a certain plateau where I felt like I had given the same after-dinner speech for the last five years. I decided to run for the post, and I decided to win the first time I saw the Tory candidate. It would have been too humiliating to have allowed myself to be beaten by him." It also would have been a good deal less profitable: Freud won more than $10,000 by betting on himself at odds as long as 33 to 1.

In taking up politics, Freud does not intend to abandon his other careers. After his election, he signed on as a $20,000 a year columnist with the Sunday Express. He also expects to continue his TV appearances, with some possible exceptions: "Any show in which I have to do a striptease, jump through a hoop or make love to a chicken, I might well give up until after the general election."

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