Podcast mania continues at Westminster. Discarded grandees from all parties have noticed the success of The Rest is Politics, the hit podcast by Rory Stewart and Alastair Campbell, which has now become a lucrative roadshow. The two gasbags sold out the Albert Hall in a matter of minutes, and their popularity has drawn new players into the marketplace.
Yesterday, George Osborne and Ed Balls showcased their contribution to the hot-air industry with Political Currency. The old prize-fighters buried their differences and treated listeners to 50 minutes of rambling chitchat about their half-forgotten careers. Ostensibly the ageing chatterboxes focused the discussion on financial matters but they kept shifting aimlessly from topic to topic. The alleged Westminster spy triggered a debate about the practicalities of visiting China. Osborne recalled his mistreatment during official trips to Beijing as chancellor. His hotel suite was invariably bugged (so that his most brilliant off-the cuff remarks could be reported straight to the Chinese politburo). He said that as soon as he left the room for an engagement, covert agents would burst out of the wardrobes and crack open his Louis Vuitton suitcases. Having rummaged through his nicknacks they would send a confidential memo to their bosses.
The ex-Chancellor sounded very sanguine about these intrusive raids but of course they underlined his importance as an international figure. Back then, the contents of Osborne’s washbag were of interest to military dictators. Not anymore. Ed Balls chipped in with his own espionage tale. A low-level Treasury wonk once received a free coffee mug from a Chinese diplomat but it disintegrated inside the dishwasher at home. Sifting through the broken shards, the Treasury man discovered a listening device partially concealed inside. The lesson is clear. Never accept kitchenware from Chinese officials.
Then came a burst of excitement in the studio. Balls’s computer lit up with an item of breaking news about HS2. A government source had just dropped a hint that the Manchester leg of history’s most expensive railway might be scrapped. The yammering has-beens took up opposite sides of the argument. Osborne wailed about the folly of cancelling transport mega-projects, irrespective of how much they cost.
But Balls saw merit in halting the diggers. Live on air, he improvised the route of a brand new superfast trainline, the Balls Express. Starting in Liverpool, this vital transport system will race to Manchester, sprint east to Leeds and then take a sharp left before zipping up the coast to Newcastle. How to pay for Balls’s new L-shaped trainline? With the cash generated by cancelling the Manchester-to-Birmingham link, he said. If completed, the Balls Express will leave passengers with two high-speed railways to choose from but no easy way to travel between them. Madness, obviously. Osborne chipped in and said that binning any part of HS2 will damage all infrastructure projects in the long-term. Their meandering chit-chat was short of detail but it offered a fascinating glimpse into the culture of the Treasury. It’s easy to imagine groups of bureaucrats sitting around like this and dreaming up mega-schemes that can be sketched out with an ordnance survey map and foisted on an unsuspecting public.
Turning to pensions they discussed the triple-lock mechanism. Osborne was swift to claim credit for this gold-plated guarantee which has boosted pensions while putting our public finances in jeopardy. Might a small haircut be due? Osborne thought so. He imagined himself back in Number 11 and he articulated the mindset of a sitting chancellor. ‘I’m in command of this great ship, the British economy, and I can turn it left or I can turn it right.’ He then improvised the autumn statement on behalf of Jeremy Hunt. Osborne’s plan is to cut the benefits and pensions bill and to create a pot of cash for a tax giveaway in 2024. He explained why he loves this idea. Not because it returns money to those who earned it but because it ties Labour’s shadow chancellor in knots. Labour will be forced to choose between two tricky policies: either increasing benefits (embarrassing) or declining to give workers a tax-break (even more embarrassing). One could almost hear Chancellor Osborne snickering with glee at his devilish cunning from within his oak-panelled lair at Number 11. Unwittingly perhaps, this gave us another glimpse of Westminster’s rotten culture. When Osborne managed the economy, he had no interest in moral principles or the greater good. Politics was just a cynical war-game in which the ultimate goal was to make a shadow Treasury minister squirm during a press conference. What a sad ambition for an elected public servant. These days Westminster is not necessarily better but at least Vampire George has been chased from power.
The podcasters kept up the flow of friendly natter until their 50 minutes had expired, along with the listener’s patience. It was like a daytime session at Wetherspoons led by two loudmouths with economics degrees from the Open University.
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