BY STEWART SLATER

There is a trauma which unites the females of Britain. Which tortures them in the small hours. In Leith, Rotherham, Port Talbot and all across the land, the country’s womenfolk talk of little but the moment they learned that they could never join the Garrick Club.

But relief is at hand. For after a solid month of articles in The Guardian, many of them by Amelia Gentleman (formally Lady Johnson), it appears that the bastion of theatreland privilege is about to throw open its doors to the fairer sex. Across all points of the compass, from Blackpool to Bognor, from Dundee to Derry, a cheer has arisen as the nation’s women learned that shortly, they too will be able to enjoy a glass of wine with Michael Gove.

Except, they won’t. A letter has been circulated among the membership proposing new female members but has not yet been accepted. Let us assume, however, that it is. Who will be the first woman to join? A lollipop lady, perhaps? A single mother holding down two jobs? Perhaps a checkout attendant? No, according to the list, the first female Garrick members will be a Cambridge professor, a Life Peer, a news-reader (no doubt coincidentally, the colleague of one of the proposers) and a former Cabinet Minister. Feminism, perhaps, but feminism of a particularly luxury sort. Less a blow for the sisterhood, more a blow for some of the sisters.

Clubs are, of course, associations of like-minded individuals. I am not, perhaps, a natural Garrick Club type – looking at the list of current and proposed members, I would consider the annual dues of £1,600 well spent for the privilege of never meeting many of them. If the proposed female members are the sort of people who would, had the contents of their trousers been arranged differently, been members then let them join. Assuming that is what the current members want.

There is some evidence that they do. A poll conducted in November showed 51% of members were in favour of females joining. Of course, since, just a few years earlier, many of those leading the current campaign thought a 52% result in an election was, at best, advisory and, in all likelihood, just an amuse bouche before the “real” vote, they will, being honourable and consistent sorts, not wish to rely on this.

Any vote, of course, would have to be fair and, given the current hysteria (a word, interestingly enough, derived from the Greek for “womb”, just saying…), it is hard to see how it could be so. Several members of the club have recently resigned, deciding that continuing would be a “bad look”. The Bar Council has publicly raised an eyebrow about barristers being members. As in the finest traditions of Eastern European elections, it is clear what the “right” answer is.

In these days which prize inclusion almost as much as they do victimhood, clubs like the Garrick can seem anachronisms. But the vision of universal inclusion is a mirage. Society relies on exclusion to function. As a non-Catholic, I cannot take Catholic communion. I am a goat and the faithful are sheep. Football grounds separate fans from the home and away teams. The British Caravanners Club does not campaign for the rights of cyclists. Nor, to the best of my awareness, is there any demand from the nation’s lycra lovers that it should do so.

To this, I think eminently sensible point, The Guardian group would make two counter-arguments. Firstly, the Garrick is discriminating against a segment of society on the basis of its immutable characteristics. I could choose to become a Catholic but a woman cannot choose to become a man (that many, if not most of them, also believe that transwomen are women apparently matters not). But if we are to accept this point, we need to do so in its entirety – there can be no women-only clubs, no “women in media” groupings, no “women-only changing rooms”. It is odd that the war for equality must be fought over a club with 1,500 members rather than, say, the Women’s Institute with 220,000.

Ah, the argument goes, men not joining the WI makes no difference to them, women not joining the Garrick does because membership brings privileges. Not just the opportunity to use a nice club house in the centre of town but the networking opportunities it offers. Women are missing out on promotions and new jobs because they are not propping up the club bar of an evening. Well, possibly. But most clubs generally look down on the discussion of business on their premises. Clubs are clubs (places to while away the hours with like-minded souls), not Linkedin with cheap booze and ropy food. At the risk of appearing slightly snobbish, if you are worried about networking, that is really just a sign that you know, deep down, that you aren’t good enough.

But what sort of opportunities will Garrick membership offer? Mary Beard, to take one name on the list, is a retired Cambridge professor, a Fellow of the British Academy, the Society of Antiquaries of London and the Royal Society of Literature, a trustee of the British Museum, classics editor of the Times Literary Supplement and presenter of a raft of television documentaries. What does she think she has been denied?

Even if there are “networking” (dread word, redolent of name-tags and Americans) opportunities, they should surely be accorded to those most in need of them. That would be (another dread word) equitable. But that is not what is proposed. The putative female members are all at the top of their careers. As is always going to be the case. Elite clubs extend membership to members of the elite. To be eligible, one must have already climbed the ladder.

If there is little reason to think that membership will bring any concrete advantages, a better explanation for the hoo-ha is envy. For people always desire most deeply that which is just out of their reach. You probably want a better car (particularly if your friends and neighbours have one), you almost certainly do not want (in any reasonable sense) your own jumbo jet. Female journalists see male journalists having something they believe they themselves are qualified for and are determined to get it. It is not they who should adapt to the world, it is the world which should adapt to them. There may be consequences to this (Chesterton’s Fence, and all that) but they matter little compared to the satisfaction of metropolitan women’s whims.

Many people, of course, want many things. The nation’s Duchesses may be up in arms that they cannot join White’s. But we do not know. They, the poor dears, must suffer in silence. As must most people, most of the time. The Garrick scandal, by contrast, shows the licence granted to the media class to project the concerns of its small number of the nation’s elite into the mass conversation.  (The irony of those most keen to tell others to “check” their privilege using their own to get what they want is probably lost on them). For the membership of a club is of interest solely to its members and those who want to be its members. It is not a matter of mass concern nor, since we are talking about the recreational habits of 1500 individuals here, can it ever be. But going by the pages of The Guardian, it is a matter of vital importance, to be rammed down the readership’s throat at every opportunity. That is power for, to misquote Orwell, if you would know who rules over you, ask about whom you are told to care.

With great power, Spiderman tells us, comes great responsibility. A responsibility to reflect, in the case of the media, the major events of the day and the concerns of its readership (over 35mn in print and online monthly at The Guardian). But over the Garrick, the nation’s elite are behaving less like that dullest of superheroes and more like a small child in Spidey pyjamas, longer on self-importance than self-awareness. They aren’t getting what they want, and they’ll scream until they do. Perhaps, like most children, they will come to realise that the things which appear most vital are actually the most trivial. Or perhaps not.

Stewart Slater works in Finance. He invites you to join him at his website.