The next chapter in Blair’s pursuit of wealth

New reports reveal that he has registered a “Mayfair bank” with the FSA.

It's not great timing for the man who was once credited with being a master of spin. After a week of speculation around Tony Blair's decision to donate the proceeds of his memoir, A Journey, to the Royal British Legion comes news that the former premier has set up a Mayfair investment advisory firm.

The company, Firerush, was apparently set up to manage the finances of his consultancy firm, Tony Blair Associates (TBA), but, as the Bloomberg report points out, Blair has hired former investment bankers -- including an ex-Lehman Brothers employee -- and has registered the firm with the Financial Services Authority (FSA). A spokesperson has denied, however, that the outfit will operate as an investment bank.

Whether it's a bank or not, it's a sign of the continuing expansion of the Blair empire (he is now said to be worth about £20m -- oddly, the Labour Party is apparently in debt by the same amount, according to John Prescott). How far the former Sedgefield MP has travelled from such petty, parochial issues. He is now able to swan between seven homes, various high-paid positions and lucrative public speaking fees.

Blair still has a few defenders, but surely their cause can't be helped by this latest twist in the tale of endless wealth accumulation. But why is it so ugly to behold? It is cynical (though understandable) to question the motivation for his charitable donation -- a consequence of his wealth. And there are no rules to say a former premier cannot go on to financial success after leaving office.

But, in Blair's case, there's that sense -- just as there was when he was in office -- of a gulf between the external presentation and the inner reality. He gives a highly publicised donation and, on the quiet, registers an investment vehicle in Mayfair. He makes occasional but well-documented appearances in the Middle East and, again, almost silently, receives cash from a South Korean oil firm.

It's the sense of duplicity that stinks.

Sophie Elmhirst is features 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.