Fantasy Cabinets: who do we know will be shadow ministers?

Douglas Alexander for shadow foreign?

As part of this week's coverage of the Labour party conference, I'm tipping a few outsider-ish names to win election to the shadow cabinet next week. I'm not including the "usual suspects", but that ushers in the question who it is that will definitely be there.

It is widely believed that "all" of the five leadership contenders will be in, though I am told Diane Abbott will not stand and risk defeat. Given that there are no unelected appointments to the shadow cabinet, that means she is likely to remain on the back-benches criticising fromt he side-lines and pursuing her national media profile. But of course the losing Miliband, Ed Balls -- whether he is or isn't shadow chancellor -- and Andy Burnham can all expect senior roles.

So, too, can Yvette Cooper, described by MPs as "the darling of the PLP [Parliamentary Labour Party]". She, though, may also have forfeited her role as shadow chancellor by backing Balls's position on the deficit. Harriet Harman is the only person other than the leader ensured a shadow cabinet role, thanks to her position as the elected deputy leader. She tells me in an interview for this week's magazine that she will "probably" take on a seperate portfolio as well. There are other certs, such as Jim Murphy.

But of course, the question of who gets which jobs depends on who is leader. Which brings me to my final name to watch: Douglas Alexander, tipped by Tony Blair in his book 'A Journey' as a potential future Labour leader. The articulate former international development secretary is at the heart of what I first termed "Next labour", and close to both Miliband brothers. He first met Ed Miliband -- with whom Alexander traveled to Bangladesh last year -- 20 years ago in David Miliband's kitchen, and having agonised over which to back opted for David and, with Murphy, is running the elder brother's campaign. If David Miliband wins, I would not be surprised if he took on the new leader's former role as shadow foreign secretary. If Ed Miliband wins however, that post would appear to be the only one he could appoint his brother to, as a continuation. That's if David sticks around.

James Macintyre is political correspondent for the New Statesman.
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If there’s no booze or naked women, what’s the point of being a footballer?

Peter Crouch came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

At a professional league ground near you, the following conversation will be taking place. After an excellent morning training session, in which the players all worked hard, and didn’t wind up the assistant coach they all hate, or cut the crotch out of the new trousers belonging to the reserve goalie, the captain or some senior player will go into the manager’s office.

“Hi, gaffer. Just thought I’d let you know that we’ve booked the Salvation Hall. They’ll leave the table-tennis tables in place, so we’ll probably have a few games, as it’s the players’ Christmas party, OK?”

“FECKING CHRISTMAS PARTY!? I TOLD YOU NO CHRISTMAS PARTIES THIS YEAR. NOT AFTER LAST YEAR. GERROUT . . .”

So the captain has to cancel the booking – which was actually at the Salvation Go Go Gentlemen’s Club on the high street, plus the Saucy Sporty Strippers, who specialise in naked table tennis.

One of the attractions for youths, when they dream of being a footballer or a pop star, is not just imagining themselves number one in the Prem or number one in the hit parade, but all the girls who’ll be clambering for them. Young, thrusting politicians have similar fantasies. Alas, it doesn’t always work out.

Today, we have all these foreign managers and foreign players coming here, not pinching our women (they’re too busy for that), but bringing foreign customs about diet and drink and no sex at half-time. Rotters, ruining the simple pleasures of our brave British lads which they’ve enjoyed for over a century.

The tabloids recently went all pious when poor old Wayne Rooney was seen standing around drinking till the early hours at the England team hotel after their win over Scotland. He’d apparently been invited to a wedding that happened to be going on there. What I can’t understand is: why join a wedding party for total strangers? Nothing more boring than someone else’s wedding. Why didn’t he stay in the bar and get smashed?

Even odder was the behaviour of two other England stars, Adam Lallana and Jordan Henderson. They made a 220-mile round trip from their hotel in Hertfordshire to visit a strip club, For Your Eyes Only, in Bournemouth. Bournemouth! Don’t they have naked women in Herts? I thought one of the points of having all these millions – and a vast office staff employed by your agent – is that anything you want gets fixed for you. Why couldn’t dancing girls have been shuttled into another hotel down the road? Or even to the lads’ own hotel, dressed as French maids?

In the years when I travelled with the Spurs team, it was quite common in provincial towns, after a Saturday game, for players to pick up girls at a local club and share them out.

Like top pop stars, top clubs have fixers who can sort out most problems, and pleasures, as well as smart solicitors and willing police superintendents to clear up the mess afterwards.

The England players had a night off, so they weren’t breaking any rules, even though they were going to play Spain 48 hours later. It sounds like off-the-cuff, spontaneous, home-made fun. In Wayne’s case, he probably thought he was doing good, being approachable, as England captain.

Quite why the other two went to Bournemouth was eventually revealed by one of the tabloids. It is Lallana’s home town. He obviously said to Jordan Henderson, “Hey Hendo, I know a cool club. They always look after me. Quick, jump into my Bentley . . .”

They spent only two hours at the club. Henderson drank water. Lallana had a beer. Don’t call that much of a night out.

In the days of Jimmy Greaves, Tony Adams, Roy Keane, or Gazza in his pomp, they’d have been paralytic. It was common for players to arrive for training still drunk, not having been to bed.

Peter Crouch, the former England player, 6ft 7in, now on the fringes at Stoke, came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage