Cameron the mafioso

The Tory leader's defence of his shadow cabinet and Andy Coulson reveals a brutal double standard at

Geoffrey Wheatcroft has a fine piece in today's Guardian drawing together a range of concerns over David Cameron. He argues that Cameron's decision to force a number of MPs out over the expenses scandal, while protecting his own shadow cabinet, highlighted a brutal double standard at work:

It was the action of a capo who whacks a few civilians but spares his made men, and it caused considerable, though so far private, resentment on the Tory benches.

Wheatcroft also homes in on the shamefully lenient treatment of Andy Coulson by Tory high command, a man he presciently described two years ago as someone "who makes Alastair Campbell seem a cross between CP Scott and Hugo Young".

The largely muted response to the phone-hacking scandal has been an indictment of our media. To paraphrase Nye Bevan's verdict on Anthony Eden during the Suez crisis, if Coulson did know about the hacking then he's too wicked to be Cameron's aide, if he didnt know then he's too stupid to be Cameron's aide.

Wheatcroft goes on: "Clinging to the Tory team is a whiff of clever-clever cynicism, of game-playing frivolity, of calculation rather than honour."

I would add that there is something spiteful and even sinister about the Tories' increasingly personalised attacks on Gordon Brown, a topic explored by my colleague James Macintyre earlier this month.

As far as I know, George Osborne has never apologised for his description of Brown as "autistic". I recently witnessed another ugly Tory slur when Alan Duncan declared at a private meeting that Brown "looks like he needs a wash". It's hard to avoid the conclusion that such remarks pander to those amused by Jeremy Clarkson's description of Brown as a "one-eyed Scottish idiot".

Unfortunately I can't agree with Wheatcroft's verdict that "the public is repelled" by the Tories' cynicism and frivolity. The supposition that the electorate would welcome Brown as a more substantial and sober figure than Tony Blair has been wholly discredited.

As the politicisation of celebrity and the celebritisation of politics continues, the truth is that the razzmatazz of Cameron will always triumph over the stoicism of Brown.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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An alternative Trainspotting script for John Humphrys’ Radio 4 “Choose Life” tribute

Born chippy.

Your mole often has Radio 4’s Today programme babbling away comfortingly in the background while emerging blinking from the burrow. So imagine its horror this morning, when the BBC decided to sully this listening experience with John Humphrys doing the “Choose Life” monologue from Trainspotting.

“I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got Radio 4?” he concluded, as a nation cringed.

Introduced as someone who has “taken issue with modernity”, Humphrys launched into the film character Renton’s iconic rant against the banality of modern life.

But Humphrys’ role as in-studio curmudgeon is neither endearing nor amusing to this mole. Often tasked with stories about modern technology and digital culture by supposedly mischievous editors, Humphrys sounds increasingly cranky and ill-informed. It doesn’t exactly make for enlightening interviews. So your mole has tampered with the script. Here’s what he should have said:

“Choose life. Choose a job and then never retire, ever. Choose a career defined by growling and scoffing. Choose crashing the pips three mornings out of five. Choose a fucking long contract. Choose interrupting your co-hosts, politicians, religious leaders and children. Choose sitting across the desk from Justin Webb at 7.20 wondering what you’re doing with your life. Choose confusion about why Thought for the Day is still a thing. Choose hogging political interviews. Choose anxiety about whether Jim Naughtie’s departure means there’s dwindling demand for grouchy old men on flagship political radio shows. Choose a staunch commitment to misunderstanding stories about video games and emoji. Choose doing those stories anyway. Choose turning on the radio and wondering why the fuck you aren’t on on a Sunday morning as well. Choose sitting on that black leather chair hosting mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows (Mastermind). Choose going over time at the end of it all, pishing your last few seconds on needlessly combative questions, nothing more than an obstacle to that day’s editors being credited. Choose your future. Choose life . . .”

I'm a mole, innit.