What is it that people do not understand about the concept of retirement for politicians? Those who think I should not have participated in Strictly Come Dancing seem to believe I am doing a job called ‘ex-politician’. I have no idea what it involves. I have left the House of Commons and have not been
The other day my husband and I went to Winter’s Bone, the much praised (overpraised, we thought) film set in Missouri. Both of us have normal hearing but neither of us caught more than about half of the dialogue. Naturally, we didn’t fully grasp what was going on. It was a familiar experience. In many
One of the joys of working early mornings is not having to work after 9 a.m. But there are pitfalls. My colleague Jeremy Bowen, during a stint on morning television, went for a pleasant lunch in central London and emerged from the restaurant to see a 176 bus. This goes close to the unfashionable area
Harry was so scared when we entered him in the Best Veteran category in the Friends of Tooting Common Dog Show that he tried to jump out of the ring, and when he found he couldn’t break free he clung on to me for dear life. Harry was so scared when we entered him in
Nick Clegg opens up his diary Waiting in the Scottish sunshine to meet the Pope, my eye is drawn up Arthur’s Seat. I feel a sudden, strong desire to climb it. A long walk is overdue, especially after a night on the ‘sleeper train’ — surely one of the crueller oxymorons in the English language.
Carla Powell opens her diary Few state visits can have stirred up more advance controversy than Pope Benedict’s, though I do recall Private Eye’s cover ahead of the visit of the Japanese Emperor in the 1960s: ‘Nasty Nip in the air’. There was the child abuse scandal, the juvenile antics of the Foreign Office planners,
I have of late, for the most cheerful of reasons*, been getting up early to work. All well and good — deadlines have been met — but now I can’t break the worm-catching habit. Long before dawn the eyelids flutter open and the brain begins its spinning machine whirl. I force myself to stay in
I am organising a memorial service at All Souls Church next to Broadcasting House for my oldest and greatest friend: Allan Robb, the BBC journalist and broadcaster, who died last month. He was 49 and, from the day we met as five-year-olds on our first morning at the Edinburgh Academy, we were like brothers. Allan
When I finally croak, this is what it’s gonna say on my headstone: ‘Ozzy Osbourne: born 1948; died whenever. PS: He bit the head off a bat.’ It’s been almost 30 years since I mistook that bat for a rubber toy — it’s not like I wanted to get rabies shots for the next two
‘New is not generally a word to use in politics. It is exhausted before it even begins: it generally means that the user of it has no ideas of any depth, and runs out of steam early on.’ I came across this observation in Norman Stone’s wonderfully unorthodox ‘personal history of the cold war’, The
Barack Obama seems to have been eating his way around the Gulf of Mexico, munching through a plate of crawfish tails, crab claws and ribs at Tacky Jack’s in Alabama, posing with a super-sized ice cream in Mississippi. The message is, of course, that the Gulf coast is open for business. The wider message is
Monday Gids in a stinky mood. He’s still traumatised after having to travel economy class to Korea. Rang from the airport to say, ‘I don’t turn right on planes.’ But Poppy said you could tell from his voice that he knew the game was up. We all turn right on planes now. It’s a bit
Monday What a way to spend the bank holiday weekend, up to my eyes in sleaze on the Lib Dem vetting unit. Dave rang from Chequers on speakerphone to read us the riot act while playing tennis. Balls ponging v angrily. So far we’ve found a couple of affairs, some flipping, a cash-for-planning row and
Monday Frantic Queen’s Speech rewrites. We’re having to take out references to ‘Dave’ and insert ‘my government’ — boring! I don’t see what’s wrong with ‘My Dave will build a Big Society where Britain is no longer broken, and chocolate oranges are kept well away from the cash tills at WH Smith.’ It didn’t help
Monday I finally got the call! I hadn’t been left behind, they’d just forgotten to tell me I was hired until they realised there weren’t any pot plants. I’m pleased as punch to have my old job of Ambience Management back. I don’t mind if Poppy is Chief-of-staff-to-the-chief-of-staff. I wouldn’t want the responsibility. You know,
The last election in which I voted was that of 1997. On Blair’s brave glad morning I flew to Edinburgh for something, and as we touched down the intercom said, ‘Welcome to Scotland, a Tory-free zone.’ I thought — not a good thing for the national airline to be taking sides. On the way back
Sunday Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?! Ok, we’d have liked the voters to grasp just how brilliant Dave is — if only so I could have knocked back that bottle of champagne with Poppy and Wonky Tom on election night. And I’m sure Gary is feeling a bit embarrassed after calling nice Mr
Alastair Campbell had a cynical term for the attempts to recruit Tories and others to Tony Blair’s big tent: ‘Operation Gobble’. In 1916, the Tories went into coalition with Lloyd George’s liberals. They gobbled them, spat out Lloyd George and reduced the Liberals to third-party status. In 1931, the Tories formed another coalition, with some
Monday Hoorah! After our triumphant hung parliament noose broadcast we are planning an even more direct appeal to the British public to give Dave the majority he deserves. In our next public information film — entitled ‘Britain, beware stupidity!’ — we will argue that the Lib Dem surge is proof that Gordon has made the
Monday Could barely drag self out of bed this morning. Mummy came in to draw the curtains in the end and reminded me I have to do it for Dave. Rang Gary Barlow as soon as got into office. He’s been racking his brains but says there may be nothing more he can do for