Commons Confidential

Mandy: Labour’s Simon Cowell.

Thirty thirsty MPs have made the most significant decision of John Bercow's reign: selecting the ten-year-old malt for the House of Commons shop (sipping from a shortlist of three, in order to comply with EU tendering rules). I hear that the drink-off in the state room was preceded by a vigorous debate as to whether the decision should be made using first-past-the-post or the Alternative Vote. Tradition triumphed, in a blow to electoral reform; but the middle bottle won, AV-style, in the blind taste test. Thick-headed tipplers later wondered if it was worth the hangover. Speaker Bercow rarely indulges; his whisky is a Macallan, just like that of his teetotal predecessor, Michael Martin.

Peter Mandelson isn't just re-forming the band, with Tony Blair and John Prescott as Gordon Brown's backing singers. The Labour Party's Simon Cowell is recruiting old roadies, too. Spied at a campaign session, escorted by Douglas Alexander, was Benjamin Wegg-Prosser, Mandy's one-time little helper. Benji fled Britain for Russia when Blair quit No 10, but has agreed to return for a final tour. Other blasts from the past are expected. Weepy Alastair Campbell isn't alone in coming out of retirement for one last gig.

A Jack Russell named Mars may be another reason why the hokey-cokey "Cameron cutie" Joanne Cash is in the doghouse with the Westminster North Tories. The in-out-in candidate Cash looks after Michael Gove's pooch when the leader's pet (and shadow schools minister) is on his Surrey Heath patch. Notting Hell's more rabid Cons suspect that she prefers walking Mars to spending time with them. My snout muttered that they may not be barking up the wrong tree.

Yomping over Westminster Bridge, your correspondent was asked by a spotty youth in a fluorescent jacket to cross the road, as a "commercial" was being filmed. Prius-like, I sped on and bumped into the star -- a sheepish Nick Clegg. I can see him sold as political Flora: neither Cameron butter nor Brown margarine.

Mandy fancies himself as king-maker when Brown is dethroned. That may explain an intemperate text to Ed Miliband, advising the jolly green minister against fraternising with Labour lefties.

John Bercow is to introduce a Mr Speaker bottled ale to the gift shop. Old Peculier, perhaps?

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

This article appears in this week's New Statesman.

Kevin Maguire is Associate Editor (Politics) on the Daily Mirror and author of our Commons Confidential column on the high politics and low life in Westminster. An award-winning journalist, he is in frequent demand on television and radio and co-authored a book on great parliamentary scandals. He was formerly Chief Reporter on the Guardian and Labour Correspondent on the Daily Telegraph.

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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.