Keen observers of the political scene will know that there is a very important election going on in the Labour party. No, not the leadership one, but the contest to be Labour’s candidate for London mayor. Party members are being bombarded with emails, phone calls and texts.
A new recruit received more than 40 emails, a handful of texts and three personal phone calls in three weeks. The worst offender appears to be Tessa Jowell, who sent Atticus’s mole three personal emails. These were followed by four from her office and two from MPs backing her.
The canvassing verges on the absurd. Jowell supporter Alan Johnson was even driven to announce that “Tessa is a star. She is Labour’s Kylie — everyone loves her and she only needs a first name.” Laughable rubbish, of course, but he may be on to something. Kylie for Mayor has a certain ring to it.
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If we mention Jeffrey Archer’s jail term, Kane us
Is there a statute of limitations on mentioning the downfall of colourful public figures? No.
Which is why we mention Lord Archer, who is giving the world the benefit of his wisdom in Waitrose Weekend, and, inter alia, bemoaning the fact that only one of his family, second son James, can bear to read his books.
There is something else that rankles with the old Tory. His spell in prison for perjury and perverting the course of justice “was 15 years ago”, he snaps, “and still you’re boring on about it!”
Lest we forget, Jeffrey.
Titbits
• A youthful George Osborne once failed to get a job on The Times, but he is back with a vengeance.
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The chancellor has taken to writing numerous co-authored articles for national newspapers, including The Sunday Times. There was Osborne and Iain Duncan Smith on the “crackers” welfare system, then he teamed up with David Cameron on cheap homes. Last week it was Liz Truss’s turn, for a piece on the countryside.
Either these are the opening shots in Osborne’s leadership campaign, or he is — as we say in the trade — a byline bandit.
• Great news. A heroine has emerged from a most unexpected place: the government.
Tracey Crouch, the sports minister, was doing her civic duty attending Wouldham village fete in Kent when she was called into action for her first-aid expertise after a goalkeeper was felled during a football match.
Organisers feared an ambulance was needed, but instead Crouch sprinted on with the mandatory magic sponge and soon had the player back on his feet.
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Of course, if Chelsea’s petulant self-publicist, Jose Mourinho, had been there, she would instantly have been demoted to the back benches for being a woman.
• They think big in North Yorkshire. A tiny 100-capacity venue called the Band Room, on the moors, has asked Bob Dylan to appear. His UK agent is on the case and talking to the singer’s manager. A Band Room spokesman said: “Why wouldn’t Dylan want to play the greatest small venue on Earth?” Spoken like a true Yorkshireman.
• Oh, dear. Repair work is being carried out on the loos adjacent to the Commons chamber after the discovery of asbestos. MPs have always insisted that the facilities must be used only by elected members and no one else. So the only people at risk are MPs. How selfless of them.
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• Paris Match’s record sale this summer of more than 350,000 copies was achieved by the edition featuring Nicolas Sarkozy and wife Carla Bruni on holiday. Sarkozyites have been crowing that their man is still “box office”. Nothing to do with Bruni appearing in an almost invisible bikini, then?