A passable My Little Pony tantrum from the socialite Chris Bryant when asked to sit on a panel created by Hazel Blears, chair of little Labour, and do some liaising with socialist comrades on the Continent. The Rhondda rogue raised hackles by demanding a grand title, suggesting to the Mrs Pepperpot of politics that he should be made a party vice-chair or European secretary - something nice for the letterhead. Major Eric Joyce is to do the job instead, without a Westminster rank.

Tie-and-blazer Freemason Bob Neill would have struggled to make Citizen Dave's Z-team, let alone his A-list, but the thirsty London Assembly member will fly the blue flag in the Bromley by-election. A Whitehall plan was hatched, I gather, with the approval of Sir Humphrey, Gus "I'll Sort It" O'Donnell, to knight Eric Forth on his deathbed. The cancer was swifter than the bureaucrats, so word in Tory circles is of discreet lobbying for an honour for Forth's wife, Carroll.

Red Ken has joined the Barbour brigade. His political odyssey from upstart to respectability is confirmed by the addition to his wardrobe of the waxed jacket so beloved of Tory county types. Mr Mayor picked up the garment on a foray north to South Shields and a public lecture for David "Wellies" Miliband, the city-boy farming minister. Barbour Ken was described as a "good friend" of Wellies, Labour's left and right uniting in the unlikely setting of a Tyneside clothing factory.

Raised eyebrows in a BBC studio as a tieless Francis Maude explored the boundaries of touchy-feely Toryism by running his hand through the hair of the former MP-turned-voice of Middle England, Matthew Parris. The scribbler's confession that he never uses shampoo fascinated the Con, who got close and personal.

Ken Clarke denies buying the croquet set that cost his fellow jazz buff John "Two Shags" Prescott the Dorneywood retreat and what was left of his reputation. "Not me, old boy," clucked Clarke in the tearoom. "The game is far too upper class for a Tory like me." But nothing's too good for the workers, eh John?

A final word on young Minger Nick Clegg's unflattering private views of Ming the Mediocre. Diverted to my desk is a memo by the Lib Dem enforcer Paul Burstow in which he urges his unhappy band to bite their tongues after your correspondent overheard Clegg's trenchant criticisms. The Chief Whip accuses naughty old me of "mischief-making on a significant scale". I plead guilty, happily.

A confession in the Grauniad, prompted by the disclosure here that the organ's grumpy Saturday columnist Norman Johnson is in fact a person called Catherine. In an attempt to justify this, the masquerade was disingenuously bracketed with the need to protect the identity of the Baghdad Blogger! Readers will struggle even harder to laugh knowing it's supposed to be funny.

Kevin Maguire is associate editor (politics) of the "Daily Mirror"

Post your comment

Please note: you will need to login or register before you can comment on the website