Goodbye Andy. And good riddance

Some random thoughts on Coulson’s resignation.

1) Where's Jo Moore these days? Remember the good ol' "good day to bury bad news" and 9/11? The problem for the Tories is that the news hasn't been buried – by Blair's return appearance at the Iraq inquiry or by Alan Johnson's resignation as shadow chancellor – and is leading all the bulletins, even on the BBC, which basically ignored the story for as long as it could.

2) That Coulson couldn't spin his own departure in a suitable manner speaks volumes about his skills (or lack thereof) as a top-level spinner.

3) That Cameron decided to back his director of communications so publicly – on Monday morning's Today programme – less than 72 hours before Coulson handed in his resignation speaks volumes about the Prime Minister's political judgement (or lack thereof) and so, too, of course, does his decision to hire Coulson in the first place.

4) It's been a bad 24 hours for the Chancellor, George Osborne. He'll have to raise his departmental game as he's now facing Ed Balls across the despatch box – Labour's most formidable economist (just ask Samuel Brittan of the FT!) and a brilliant political strategist, too. Plus, Boy George is the man who convinced Cameron to hire Coulson in order to (re-)build relations with the Murdoch empire and the right-wing press. Bad move.

5) Vince Cable's "war" against the Murdoch empire may have backfired but hats off to the Guardian's Nick Davies and the Labour MPs Tom Watson and Chris Bryant for leading the charge against the News of the World and the pathetic efforts by the Murdoch and Coulson apologists to shut this story down.

6) The Press Complaints Commission, the CPS and Scotland Yard should all hang their heads in shame and I'm sure they'll have to, at some stage in the near future. This story ain't going away.

7) On the issue of resignations, isn't it fascinating, in this era of leaks, gossip, 24-hour news channels, blogs and tweets, that both Labour and the Tories were able to keep their respective resignations (of Johnson and Coulson) under wraps and leak-proof? Johnson told Ed Mili that he was quitting on Monday; Coulson told Cameron he was standing down on Wednesday.

8) My then colleague James Macintyre predicted that Coulson would be gone within six months . . . four months ago. Semi-prophetic.

9) The political obituaries of Coulson seem to be glossing over his "bullying" of colleagues while editor of the News of the World. If you need a reminder, check out my NS column from September 2010 for the details.

10) Who succeeds Coulson as the Tories' – and the government's – spinner-in-chief? Will Cameron go for a Murdoch empire appointee? Ironically, Ed Miliband did (in the form of the ex-Times hack Tom Baldwin). Is the ex-Sun political editor George Pascoe-Watson the natural replacement? Or will it be the more thoughtful and Cameroonian ex-speechwriter and former Indie deputy editor Ian Birrell? Will the Lib Dems get a say in the appointment? Just kidding . . .

Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the co-author of Ed: The Milibands and the Making of a Labour Leader. He was the New Statesman's senior editor (politics) from 2009-12.

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Byron burgers and bacon sandwiches: can any politician get away with eating on camera?

Memo to aspirant world leaders: eating in public is a political minefield.

Miliband’s sandwich. Cameron’s hot dog. Osborne’s burger. The other Miliband’s banana. As well as excellent names for up-and-coming indie bands, these are just a few examples of now infamous food faux pas committed by British politicians.

During his entire mayoral campaign, Sadiq Khan refused to eat anything in public. When journalist Simon Hattenstone met him in his local curry house for the Guardian, the now-mayor didn’t eat a single bite despite “dish after dish” arriving at the table. Who can blame him? Though Ed Miliband had been pictured blunderingly eating a bacon sandwich an entire year earlier, the national furore around the incident had not yet died down. “He can make me look Clooneyesque or make me look like Ed eating a bacon sandwich,” Khan said of the photographer at the time.

Miliband’s bacon sandwich is now so infamous that I need offer no explanation for the event other than those words. There is an entire Wikipedia page dedicated to the photograph of Ed, lips curled and eyes rolling, as he tucks into that fateful sarnie. Yet politicians frequently bite off more than they can chew – why did Ed’s mishap inspire multiple headlines and an entire front page of The Sun?

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“The momentum got behind the bacon sandwich story because he was awkward, it showed him in a light which was true - he was an awkward candidate in that election,” says Paul Baines, a professor of political marketing at Cranfield University. “He didn’t come across right.”

The photograph of Miliband fit neatly within a pre-existing image of the politician – that he was bumbling, incompetent, and unable to take control. Similarly, when David Cameron was pictured eating a hot dog with a knife and fork months later, the story reinforced popular notions of him as a posh, out-of-touch, champagne-swilling old Etonian. Though Oxford-educated, two-kitchen Miliband is nearly as privileged as Cameron, and Brexit-inducing Dave equally as incompetent as Ed, the pictures would not gain the same popularity in reverse. There are many, many less-than-flattering pictures of Cameron eating, but they didn’t fit into a workable narrative.

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No one, for example, focused on the price of Ed’s sandwich. Purchased at New Covenant Garden Market, it was undoubtedly more expensive than Greggs’ £1.75 bacon roll – but no one cared. When George Osborne was pictured eating an £8 Byron burger whilst cutting £11.5 million from the British budget, however, the picture spoke to many. The then-chancellor was forced to explain that “McDonalds doesn't deliver”, although, as it turned out, Byron didn’t either.

“The idea was to try and display him in a good light – here's a guy eating a burger just like everyone else. The only problem was it was a posh burger and of course he didn't look like everyone else because he was spending ten quid on a burger,” explains Baines.

But Dave, Ed, and George are just the latest in a long, long line of politicians who have been mocked for their eating habits. Across the ocean, Donald Trump has been lambasted for liking his steak well done, while in 1976, Gerald Ford was mocked after biting into the inedible corn husk of a tamale. Why then, do politicians not copy Khan, and avoid being pictured around food altogether?

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“Food connects everybody, food is essentially a connection to culture and the 'every person',” explains Baines. “[Nigel] Farage's appearance in the pub has definitely had a positive impact on how he's perceived by a big chunk of the working class electorate which is an important, sizeable group.” Though Cameron, too, has been pictured with pints, his undeniably weird grasp on the glass make the pictures seem inauthentic, compared to Farage whose pints are clearly at home in his hands. In America, Joe Biden managed to capture the same authenticity with an ice-cream cone.

“I think when it comes across badly is when it comes across as inauthentic,” says Baines. “If I were advising, I certainly wouldn't advise Theresa May to be seen in the pub having a pint, that would not shine with her particular character or style. But could Tim Farron come across better in that way? Possibly but it does have to be authentic.”

Food, then, can instantly make a politician seem in or out of touch. This is especially true when food connects to national identity. Tony Blair, for example, publicly claimed his favourite dish was fish and chips despite earlier saying it was fettuccine with olive oil, sundried tomatoes and capers. In the 1980s, Lord Mandelson allegedly mistook mushy peas for guacamole, insulting us all. In the States, you’d be hard pressed to find a politician who hasn’t been pictured with a hot dog, and there are entire articles dedicated to US politicians who eat pizza with a knife and fork. Again, the food fits a narrative – politicians out of touch with the common person.  

Then again, sometimes, just sometimes, no narrative is needed. We’d advise any candidate who seriously wants a shot in the 2017 General Election to not, under any circumstances, be pictured casually feeding a Solero to an unidentified young woman. 

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.

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