The Prime Monster gets cuddly

Brown has become all touchy-feely since the Prime Monster bullying row.

Big Gordie is frightening his colleagues again -- this time with hugs. Brown has become all touchy-feely since the Prime Monster bullying row. I hear from a surprised visitor to No 10 that he has taken to greeting ministers and MPs with a mighty embrace instead of a growl. The government's less robust members complain that the Great Hugger's mateyness is intimidating. One said he would rather take his chances with a flying Nokia than a bear hug that squeezed him to within a breath of his life.

The Tory whip Simon Burns is plotting revenge on Speaker Bercow after he denounced Burns's rowdy behaviour at Prime Minister's Questions. A tearoom informant whispered that a seething Burns is threatening to stand against Bercow when the new Commons comes to elect its chair. If David "Daddy-to-Be" Cameron tells Burns to hold fire, the Chelmsford West bruiser has a plan B. He will run for deputy speaker. "I would be," Burns was overheard saying, "the deputy from hell."

"I am the daughter of working-class Italian immigrants," Gloria De Piero wrote on her CV for the Labour candidacy in Ashfield, Nottinghamshire. Twice. It worked. The former GMTV presenter, who came 85th in FHM's 2008 list of the World's Sexiest Women, won the ballot to succeed the rather less glamorous would-be lobbyist Geoff "Buff" Hoon. She was once known as "Tony Blair's favourite broadcaster", but it seems the ex-PM is not quite as popular with her. On her CV she also cited interviews (for this magazine) with Gordon Brown, Alan Johnson and Ed Balls. One name absent from the two pages was Blair.

Cash-strapped Labour is charging hacks £13,000 to sit on a bus to follow Brown during the election. The price smacks of an unsubtle subsidy. Fleet Street is revolting, if you know what I mean. There is talk of a boycott.

The Tory union-basher Michael Gove was a serial striker in his younger days. A snap of the trainee hack on a picket line outside the Press and Journal in Aberdeen two decades ago isn't the only evidence of Red Mike's militancy. A snout recalls Gove downing pens at the BBC in 1994. During unrest at Auntie, he was despatched by union officials to persuade other right-wingers to join the walkouts. By all accounts, he was effective. Up the Tories!

The target of Gove's recent anti-union blasts, Charlie Whelan, evaded the Tory tabloids by tweeting that he had been fishing when the British Airways strike started. But that very same day my spy observed a Whelan-like bloke in Unite House, the union's London office. Fishing for parliamentary seats, perhaps.

Laura Moffatt, MP for Crawley, had her majority at the last election -- 37 -- tattooed on an ankle. Quitting has its upside. Before deciding to step down, fiftysomething Moffatt had originally planned, if she won this time around, to get another tattoo. On her bottom.

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

 

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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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What David Hockney has to tell us about football

Why the sudden glut of blond footballers? A conversation I had with the artist back in 1966 gave me a clue. . .

In 1966, I went to interview David Hockney at a rather run-down flat in Bayswater, central London. He was 28 and had just won a gold medal at the Royal College of Art.

In his lavatory, I noticed a cut-out photograph from a newspaper of Denis Law scoring a goal. I asked if he was a football fan. He said no, he just liked Denis Law’s thighs.

The sub-editors cut that remark out of the story, to save any gossip or legal problems. In 1966 homosexual activity could still be an offence.

Hockney and a friend had recently been in the United States and had been watching an advert on TV that said “Blondes have more fun”. At two o’clock in the morning, slightly drunk, they both went out, bought some hair dye and became blond. Hockney decided to remain blond from then on, though he has naturally dark hair.

Is it true that blonds have more fun? Lionel Messi presumably thinks so, otherwise why has he greeted this brand-new season with that weird blond hair? We look at his face, his figure, his posture and we know it’s him – then we blink, thinking what the heck, does he realise some joker has been pouring stuff on his head?

He has always been such a staid, old-fashioned-looking lad, never messing around with his hair till now. Neymar, beside him, has gone even blonder, but somehow we expect it of him. He had foony hair even before he left Brazil.

Over here, blonds are popping up all over the shop. Most teams now have a born-again blondie. It must take a fortune for Marouane Fellaini of Man United to brighten up his hair, as he has so much. But it’s already fading. Cheapskate.

Mesut Özil of Arsenal held back, not going the full head, just bits of it, which I suspect is a clue to his wavering, hesitant personality. His colleague Aaron Ramsey has almost the full blond monty. Paul Pogba of Man United has a sort of blond streak, more like a marker pen than a makeover. His colleague Phil Jones has appeared blond, but he seems to have disappeared from the team sheet. Samir Nasri of Man City went startlingly blond, but is on loan to Seville, so we’re not able to enjoy his locks. And Didier Ndong of Sunderland is a striking blond, thanks to gallons of bleach.

Remember the Romanians in the 1998 World Cup? They suddenly appeared blond, every one of them. God, that was brilliant. One of my all-time best World Cup moments, and I was at Wembley in 1966.

So, why do they do it? Well, Hockney was right, in a sense. Not to have more fun – meaning more sex – because top footballers are more than well supplied, but because their normal working lives are on the whole devoid of fun.

They can’t stuff their faces with fast food, drink themselves stupid, stay up all night, take a few silly pills – which is what many of our healthy 25-year-old lads consider a reasonably fun evening. Nor can they spend all their millions on fun hols, such as skiing in the winter, a safari in the spring, or hang-gliding at the weekend. Prem players have to be so boringly sensible these days, or their foreign managers will be screaming at them in their funny foreign accents.

While not on the pitch, or training, which takes up only a few hours a day, the boredom is appalling, endlessly on planes or coaches or in some hotel that could be anywhere.

The only bright spot in the long days is to look in the mirror and think: “Hmm, I wonder what highlights would look like? I’ve done the beard and the tattoos. Now let’s go for blond. Wow, gorgeous.”

They influence each other, being simple souls, so when one dyes his hair, depending on where he is in the macho pecking order, others follow. They put in the day by looking at themselves. Harmless fun. Bless ’em.

But I expect all the faux blonds to have gone by Christmas. Along with Mourinho. I said that to myself the moment he arrived in Manchester, smirking away. Pep will see him off. OK then, let’s say Easter at the latest . . . 

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 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times