Ken vs Boris: my verdict

After interviewing both mayoral contenders in one day, I found Ken candid and Boris canny.

Boris Johnson, according to a poll, is the person with whom most Londoners would like to have breakfast. Last Friday, I had mine with Ken at a café in Hampstead, after which I had lunch at City Hall with the popular mayor himself.

The Ken-Boris contest used to boil down to policy v personality. It was Ken, though, who turned out to be an interviewer's dream -- indiscreet, careless, outspoken and funny. Box Office Boris has been banished for the duration of the electoral campaign, replaced by an on-message Conservative politician and media-savvy former journalist, painfully conscious of how he will appear in print and of how his comments will be reported.

For such a notorious maverick, I found Boris maddeningly cautious and unforthcoming and it made him less fun to interview than I had anticipated.

The fact that he knows every journalistic trick, after a lifetime spent working as a hack, may well turn out to be one of Boris's greatest advantages over Ken. He is constantly vigilant, on the lookout for the tripwire that will land him in trouble. Once a quote-jukebox, he answered my questions with non-sequiturs, flattery, prevarication, diversion and digression. He even "pleaded the Fifth" to avoid answering in a way that would give the papers a headline. He stuck frustratingly to his mantra about his achievements and plans.

Boris's dilemma is that what makes him popular is also what stops him from being taken seriously as a politician. It's the likeability factor, though, that got him elected. Boris has always been bafflingly bullet proof. Every past gaffe and glitch has propelled Bounce-Back Boris on to greater glory. The public don't seem to care. In a superficial age, he has always seemed fun, telegenic, the anti-politician. He has by far the highest approval rating of any Tory.

Whereas once Ken was seen as competent and Boris charismatic, I found Ken candid and Boris canny. In the hour I spent with him, Ken told me the following: the BBC director general, Mark Thompson, is "a moral imbecile" for vetoing the word "Palestine" in a protest song; bankers' bonuses are "like penis extensions, among a smaller league of men - mine is bigger than yours"; Margaret Thatcher was "clinically insane" when in power; the Daily Mail "has done an awful lot for making us a more embittered people". Henry Kissinger "wasn't going to get laid until he was powerful, you know".

Spoiling for a fight, he was irrepressibly controversial, despite his press officer's best efforts. It's no surprise that he called his memoir You Can't Say That. After all this is the man who called an Evening Standard journalist, who was Jewish, a "German war criminal", for which he refused to apologise and was given a one-month suspension for bringing the office of mayor into disrepute.

Ken talked more about Boris than Boris talked about Boris -- and even though he usually doesn't talk about his children, he couldn't resist a dig: "We both have five, I can admit to all mine." He was referring to his rival's rumoured illegitimate two-year-old.

What did surprise me about Ken was that for someone so politically intransigent, he was open about regrets and failings in his personal life. I got a glimpse of what this self-confessed "workaholic", currently without a job, who still wants to change the world but who admits that "politics takes over your life", is missing. "No one would ever want to marry a politician," he tells me. I know I say. And I do.

It's hard to imagine Ken ever switching off from politics. He is most alive when he's talking figures, policies, plans. And despite once saying that a mayor should serve only two terms, his plans seem to extend well beyond the next four years. Even while gardening, he told me, he talks through issues to himself out loud.

I have heard people say often that they like Boris but they worry about his ability to run London. I worry about Ken's ability to work with a Tory government in a time of economic crisis. For him, the office of mayor is not just about London: it's about changing the system.

Ken is a revolutionary, by nature. That worries me. It's also why I like him.

Jemima Khan is associate editor of the New Statesman

Photo: André Spicer
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“It’s scary to do it again”: the five-year-old fined £150 for running a lemonade stand

Enforcement officers penalised a child selling home-made lemonade in the street. Her father tells the full story. 

It was a lively Saturday afternoon in east London’s Mile End. Groups of people streamed through residential streets on their way to a music festival in the local park; booming bass could be heard from the surrounding houses.

One five-year-old girl who lived in the area had an idea. She had been to her school’s summer fête recently and looked longingly at the stalls. She loved the idea of setting up her own stall, and today was a good day for it.

“She eventually came round to the idea of selling lemonade,” her father André Spicer tells me. So he and his daughter went to their local shop to buy some lemons. They mixed a few jugs of lemonade, the girl made a fetching A4 sign with some lemons drawn on it – 50p for a small cup, £1 for a large – and they carried a table from home to the end of their road. 

“People suddenly started coming up and buying stuff, pretty quickly, and they were very happy,” Spicer recalls. “People looked overjoyed at this cute little girl on the side of the road – community feel and all that sort of stuff.”

But the heart-warming scene was soon interrupted. After about half an hour of what Spicer describes as “brisk” trade – his daughter’s recipe secret was some mint and a little bit of cucumber, for a “bit of a British touch” – four enforcement officers came striding up to the stand.

Three were in uniform, and one was in plain clothes. One uniformed officer turned the camera on his vest on, and began reciting a legal script at the weeping five-year-old.

“You’re trading without a licence, pursuant to x, y, z act and blah dah dah dah, really going through a script,” Spicer tells me, saying they showed no compassion for his daughter. “This is my job, I’m doing it and that’s it, basically.”

The girl burst into tears the moment they arrived.

“Officials have some degree of intimidation. I’m a grown adult, so I wasn’t super intimidated, but I was a bit shocked,” says Spicer. “But my daughter was intimidated. She started crying straight away.”

As they continued to recite their legalese, her father picked her up to try to comfort her – but that didn’t stop the officers giving her stall a £150 fine and handing them a penalty notice. “TRADING WITHOUT LICENCE,” it screamed.


Picture: André Spicer

“She was crying and repeating, ‘I’ve done a bad thing’,” says Spicer. “As we walked home, I had to try and convince her that it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her who had done something bad.”

She cried all the way home, and it wasn’t until she watched her favourite film, Brave, that she calmed down. It was then that Spicer suggested next time they would “do it all correctly”, get a permit, and set up another stand.

“No, I don’t want to, it’s a bit scary to do it again,” she replied. Her father hopes that “she’ll be able to get over it”, and that her enterprising spirit will return.

The Council has since apologised and cancelled the fine, and called on its officials to “show common sense and to use their powers sensibly”.

But Spicer felt “there’s a bigger principle here”, and wrote a piece for the Telegraph arguing that children in modern Britain are too restricted.

He would “absolutely” encourage his daughter to set up another stall, and “I’d encourage other people to go and do it as well. It’s a great way to spend a bit of time with the kids in the holidays, and they might learn something.”

A fitting reminder of the great life lesson: when life gives you a fixed penalty notice, make lemonade.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.