It was an evening to remember, a fundraiser at London’s Grosvenor Park Hotel to fight glioblastoma, the brain cancer that killed former Labor general secretary Margaret McDonagh, cabinet minister Tessa Jowell and many others. In the most tense moment in recent Labor history, he brought together in one room most of the cabinet, Keir Starmer, Wes Streeting and much of Blair’s old team. Table after table, the Labor factions glared at each other.
Everyone, I must report with some disappointment, was well behaved. Streeting – fluent, confident, looking his critics in the eye – delivered the keynote address, which was about cancer. Starmer moved around the room, relaxing and joking at his own expense. Everywhere, people were discussing the near inevitability of a change of leadership. But being in a country where the heroes were neurologists and their patients—not politicians—kept people in check.
There is a conundrum for the prime minister. He has told loyal cabinet ministers that he will certainly fight, and he was in good spirits, yet he seems to lack basic human survival skills. I know two recently fired seniors who were both abruptly fired by phone and, humiliatingly, not by Starmer. In one case, the person asked if he could speak to the prime minister and was told, “That’s not an option.” It is this kind of treatment that has made so many old Labor people hostile. Starmer has said and done some good things in the last couple of weeks, but, frankly, that seems over now.
Badenoch recovers its conservatism
Meanwhile, even her opponents in the Conservative Party think that Kemi Badenoch is doing better. Her “I don’t want to hear about black lives matter, I don’t want to hear about ‘white lives matter, everybody matters'” response to the killing of Henry Nowak is seen as mainstream Toryism, an important dividing line with Reform. I’m told she is reaching out to former Tory leaders, particularly David Cameron – a shift that falls to her new parliamentary private secretary, Salisbury MP John Glen, who has been described to me as the most influential conservative you’ve never heard of.
Bermondsey red painting
The national situation remains grim. Apparently nothing has been done better. Across Britain, we are told, everywhere is going downhill. Well, it’s not true. Bermondsey, where I will be holidaying this summer, is better than ever. Once a center of London’s leather industry, it is now a food and art haven.
Charles Dickens would have been surprised and delighted to discover what has become of an area he described Oliver Twist as “dirt-stained walls and rotten foundations, every abominable line of poverty, every abominable indication of filth, decay, and dung.”
Now it’s different. I have smeared the walls there with my drawings and paintings – my true passion, when I’m not talking about politics. Every year, I have a summer show at Eames Fine Art, and this year it’s especially scary because I’m sharing the space with a great hero, Gillian Ayres. Sometimes you come across art that speaks so directly that you never recover. Gillian, Britain’s finest abstract artist, and a charismatic, pioneering woman, had this effect on me. This year’s Eames show is either an act of self-deprecation or pure homage; maybe both. All readers are welcome.
Wisdom in intelligence
There have been many tributes to Alex Younger, the former head of MI6, who sadly died earlier this month. They’ve included funny stories and lavish praise, but they haven’t captured his wonderful character. He was a neighbor and he was becoming a friend. He seemed to be looking straight at you – as you would hope a spy would – but with humor, skepticism and wisdom.
A scion of a Scottish brewing dynasty, Alex graciously avoided inappropriate questions, including some 007 life-or-death choices. But another local resident, who had also served in obscurity, now in her eighties, was less reticent. Approached by a would-be robber, she told him, “Boy, you should know I can kill you with my little finger.” She waved at him. He thought for a moment. And then he was killed.
Alto, contralto, castrato
Meanwhile, I went to Longborough Festival Opera to hear Handel’s Orlandoa big hit in the 1730s, but then, like many early operas, forgotten for several centuries. It features some great music, the eponymous hero sung by fast-rising star Beth Taylor. Why a woman? Because Handel wrote the piece for Francesco Bernardi, the Italian contralto who was castrated at the age of 13. I wonder what Handel would make of our modern gender politics?
(Further reading: Meet Andy Burnham’s Northern Queens)
