George Osborne: Why I’m going into banking

Spring in Somerset — again. If someone had told me last February that I’d spend seven of the next 12 months here, I’d have explained that was impossible: I’ve always been a city boy. Three lockdowns later, and we’ve bought a home here. I love it. Snow, then snowdrops, now daffodils — and the wild garlic is coming up in the woods. Covid has converted me to the countryside. Bruton Place in Mayfair? Not for now. Bruton itself? Yes.

There’s a Bruton Set, of course. They spend a lot of the time explaining why they didn’t want to be part of the Chipping Norton Set. I’ve met one of my heroes: Sir Don McCullin, the war photographer. He’s lived near here for decades. Before Christmas he showed me his archive of prints. It’s an amazing chronicle of 60 years of inhumanity told through the faces of the victims: the mother standing over her murdered family in Cyprus; the starving child in Biafra; the traumatised soldier in Vietnam. In his eighties now, he still follows the latest conflicts. But most days he goes out to photograph the ancient landscapes of Somerset. He tells me he’s seen too much of what’s wrong with our world; he needs to remind himself of what’s right with it too. It’s a good approach to take at times like these.

Another thing that’s helped us is a lockdown labrador puppy. She’s perfect. It means I’ve taken a particular interest in Dilyngate. Dilyn, in case you haven’t been following, is the beloved dog of Carrie Symonds and her boyfriend. He’s being briefed against and can’t bark back. Apparently Dilyn is not properly house-trained. Historic books have been chewed. Handbags have been peed in. Who is behind this malevolent campaign? It’s hard to tell.