"We’re not just a train company, we’re a customer service company that runs trains"

Virgin tries to do grass-roots protest, fails.

I quite like Virgin Trains (the bacon sandwiches, the speed, the way everyone tries not to sit in the quarter of a carriage nearest a toilet – it's the cameraderie it engenders) but they really need to get rid of their PR department. After losing their bid to run the West Coast rail franchise, the company seems to have taken on the arrogant yet flailing persona of an Apprentice contestant hauled up to the boardroom for the first time.

First we had Richard Branson's apprearance on Newsnight, his angry, millionaire face beamed directly from his island retreat (whose idea was that?), and his petulant prediction that: "I think we will be seeing the end of Virgin Trains in the UK." Now Virgin have published a list of 50 reasons why we should sign an e-petition asking the government to reconsider giving them the West Coast franchise. E-petitions are usually the province of charities or grass-roots protests and you can see it in the language Virgin tries to use. This runs uncomfortably alongside their usual corporate-speak, so we get phrases like the one in Reason 30:

60,000 people want to work for us, from over 30 different countries, and we’re always looking for the best people to do so.

(That isn't global outreach, Virgin, it's just basic corporate recruitment.)

Reason 49:

People think what we do is easy, until they try and copy it. You can teach anyone to do a job but you can’t teach somebody to care. We care.

(Though PR is demonstrably harder than it looks.)

Reason 22:

15 years ago people called it Mission Impossible, we read it as I’m possible.

(...as is reading)

...and Reason 45:

We didn’t have to be an Olympic partner to provide a gold medal winning service for athletes and customers alike.

The poor PR team are out of their depth here. Someone from Greenpeace should lend them a hand.

Richard Branson. Photograph: Getty Images

Martha Gill writes the weekly Irrational Animals column. You can follow her on Twitter here: @Martha_Gill.

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Why relations between Theresa May and Philip Hammond became tense so quickly

The political imperative of controlling immigration is clashing with the economic imperative of maintaining growth. 

There is no relationship in government more important than that between the prime minister and the chancellor. When Theresa May entered No.10, she chose Philip Hammond, a dependable technocrat and long-standing ally who she had known since Oxford University. 

But relations between the pair have proved far tenser than anticipated. On Wednesday, Hammond suggested that students could be excluded from the net migration target. "We are having conversations within government about the most appropriate way to record and address net migration," he told the Treasury select committee. The Chancellor, in common with many others, has long regarded the inclusion of students as an obstacle to growth. 

The following day Hammond was publicly rebuked by No.10. "Our position on who is included in the figures has not changed, and we are categorically not reviewing whether or not students are included," a spokesman said (as I reported in advance, May believes that the public would see this move as "a fix"). 

This is not the only clash in May's first 100 days. Hammond was aggrieved by the Prime Minister's criticisms of loose monetary policy (which forced No.10 to state that it "respects the independence of the Bank of England") and is resisting tougher controls on foreign takeovers. The Chancellor has also struck a more sceptical tone on the UK's economic prospects. "It is clear to me that the British people did not vote on June 23 to become poorer," he declared in his conference speech, a signal that national prosperity must come before control of immigration. 

May and Hammond's relationship was never going to match the remarkable bond between David Cameron and George Osborne. But should relations worsen it risks becoming closer to that beween Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling. Like Hammond, Darling entered the Treasury as a calm technocrat and an ally of the PM. But the extraordinary circumstances of the financial crisis transformed him into a far more assertive figure.

In times of turmoil, there is an inevitable clash between political and economic priorities. As prime minister, Brown resisted talk of cuts for fear of the electoral consequences. But as chancellor, Darling was more concerned with the bottom line (backing a rise in VAT). By analogy, May is focused on the political imperative of controlling immigration, while Hammond is focused on the economic imperative of maintaining growth. If their relationship is to endure far tougher times they will soon need to find a middle way. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.