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The bugger, bugged

After a chance meeting with a former News of the World executive who told him his phone had been hacked, Hugh Grant couldn’t resist going back to him – with a hidden tape recorder – to find out if there was more to the story. . .

When I broke down in my midlife crisis car in remotest Kent just before Christmas, a battered white van pulled up on the far carriageway. To help, I thought. But when the driver got out he started taking pictures with a long-lens camera. He came closer to get better shots and I swore at him. Then he offered me a lift the last few miles to my destination. I suspected his motives and swore at him some more. (I'm not entirely sympathetic towards paparazzi.) Then I realised I couldn't get a taxi and was late. So I had to accept the lift.

He turned out to be an ex-News of the World investigative journalist and paparazzo, now running a pub in Dover. He still kept his camera in the car's glove box for just this kind of happy accident.

More than that, he was Paul McMullan, one of two ex-NoW hacks who had blown the whistle (in the Guardian and on Channel 4's Dispatches) on the full extent of phone-hacking at the paper, particularly under its former editor Andy Coulson. This was interesting, as I had been a victim - a fact he confirmed as we drove along. He also had an unusual defence of the practice: that phone-hacking was a price you had to pay for living in a free society. I asked how that worked exactly, but we ran out of time, and next thing we had arrived and he was asking me if I would pose for a photo with him, "not for publication, just for the wall of the pub".

I agreed and the picture duly appeared in the Mail on Sunday that weekend with his creative version of the encounter. He had asked me to drop into his pub some time. So when, some months later, Jemima asked me to write a piece for this paper, it occurred to me it might be interesting to take him up on his invitation.

I wanted to hear more about phone-hacking and the whole business of tabloid journalism. It occurred to me just to interview him straight, as he has, after all, been a whistleblower. But then I thought I might possibly get more, and it might be more fun, if I secretly taped him, The bugger bugged, as it were. Here are some excerpts from our conversation.

Me So, how's the whistleblowing going?
Him I'm trying to get a book published. I sent it off to a publisher who immediately accepted it and then it got legal and they said, "This is never going to get published."
Me Why? Because it accuses too many people of crime?
Him Yes, as I said to the parliamentary commission, Coulson knew all about it and regularly ordered it . . . He [Coulson] rose quickly to the top; he wanted to cover his tracks all the time. So he wouldn't just write a story about a celeb who'd done something. He'd want to make sure they could never sue, so he wanted us to hear the celeb like you on tape saying, "Hello, darling, we had lovely sex last night." So that's on tape - OK, we've got that and so we can publish . . . Historically, the way it went was, in the early days of mobiles, we all had analogue mobiles and that was an absolute joy. You know, you just . . . sat outside Buckingham Palace with a £59 scanner you bought at Argos and get Prince Charles and everything he said.
Me Is that how the Squidgy tapes [of Diana's phone conversations] came out? Which was put down to radio hams, but was in fact . . .
Him Paps in the back of a van, yes . . . I mean, politicians were dropping like flies in the Nineties because it was so easy to get stuff on them. And, obviously, less easy to justify is celebrities. But yes.
Me And . . . it wasn't just the News of the World. It was , you know - the Mail?
Him Oh absolutely, yeah. When I went freelance in 2004 the biggest payers - you'd have thought it would be the NoW, but actually it was the Daily Mail. If I take a good picture, the first person I go to is - such as in your case - the Mail on Sunday. Did you see that story? The picture of you, breaking down . . . I ought to thank you for that. I got £3,000. Whooo!
Me But would they [the Mail] buy a phone-hacked story?
Him For about four or five years they've absolutely been cleaner than clean. And before that they weren't. They were as dirty as anyone . . . They had the most money.
Me So everyone knew? I mean, would Rebekah Wade have known all this stuff was going on?
Him Good question. You're not taping, are you?
Me [slightly shrill voice] No.
Him Well, yeah. Clearly she . . . took over the job of [a journalist] who had a scanner who was trying to sell it to members of his own department. But it wasn't a big crime. [NB: Rebekah Brooks has always denied any knowledge of phone-hacking. The current police investigation is into events that took place after her editorship of the News of the World.]
It started off as fun - you know, it wasn't against the law, so why wouldn't you? And it was only because the MPs who were fiddling their expenses and being generally corrupt kept getting caught so much they changed the law in 2001 to make it illegal to buy and sell a digital scanner. So all we were left with was - you know - finding a blag to get your mobile [records] out of someone at Vodafone. Or, when someone's got it, other people swap things for it.
Me So they all knew? Wade probably knew all about it all?
Him [...] Cameron must have known - that's the bigger scandal. He had to jump into bed with Murdoch as everyone had, starting with Thatcher in the Seventies . . . Tony Blair . . . [tape is hard to hear here] Maggie openly courted Murdoch, saying, you know, "Please support me." So when Cameron, when it came his turn to go to Murdoch via Rebekah Wade . . . Cameron went horse riding regularly with Rebekah. I know, because as well as doorstepping celebrities, I've also doorstepped my ex-boss by hiding in the bushes, waiting for her to come past with Cameron on a horse . . . before the election to show that - you know - Murdoch was backing Cameron.
Me What happened to that story?
Him The Guardian paid for me to do it and I stepped in it and missed them, basically. They'd gone past - not as good as having a picture.
Me Do you think Murdoch knew about phone-hacking?
Him Errr, possibly not. He's a funny bloke given that he owns the Sun and the Screws . . . quite puritanical. Sorry to talk about Divine Brown, but when that came out . . . Murdoch was furious: "What are you putting that on our front page for? You're bringing down the tone of our papers." [Indicating himself] That's what we do over here.
Me Well, it's also because it was his film I was about to come out in.
Him Oh. I see.
Me Yeah. It was a Fox film.
[A pause here while we chat to other customers, and then - ]
Him So anyway, let me finish my story.
Me Murdoch, yes . . .
Him So I was sent to do a feature on Moulin Rouge! at Cannes, which was a great send anyway. Basically my brief was to see who Nicole Kidman was shagging - what she was doing, poking through her bins and get some stuff on her. So Murdoch's paying her five million quid to big up the French and at the same time paying me £5.50 to fuck her up . . . So all hail the master. We're just pawns in his game. How perverse is that?
Me Wow. You reckon he never knew about it?
Him [pause] I don't even think he really worried himself too much about it.
Me What's his son called?
Him James. They're all mates together. They all go horse riding. You've got Jeremy Clarkson lives here [in Oxfordshire]. Cameron lives here, and Rebekah Wade is married to Brooks's son [the former racehorse trainer Charlie Brooks]. Cameron gets dressed up as the Stig to go to Clarkson's 50th birthday party [NB: it was actually to record a video message for the party]. Is that demeaning for a prime minister? It should be the other way round, shouldn't it? So basically, Cameron is very much in debt to Rebekah Wade for helping him not quite win the election . . . So that was my submission to parliament - that Cameron's either a liar or an idiot.
Me But don't you think that all these prime ministers deliberately try to get the police to drag their feet about investigating the whole [phone-hacking] thing because they don't want to upset Murdoch?
Him Yeah. There's that . . . You also work a lot with policemen as well . . . One of the early stories was [and here he names a much-loved TV actress in her sixties] used to be a street walker - whether or not she was, but that's the tip.
Me and Chum MLTVA?!
Me I can't believe it. Oh no!
Chum Really??
Him Yeah. Well, not now . . .
Chum Oh, it'd be so much better if it was now.
Him So I asked a copper to get his hands on the phone files, but because it's only a caution it's not there any more. So that's the tip . . . it's a policeman ringing up a tabloid reporter and asking him for ten grand because this girl had been cautioned right at the start of his career. And then I ask another policemen to go and check the records . . . So that's happening regularly. So the police don't particularly want to investigate.
Me But do you think they're going to have to now?
Him I mean - 20 per cent of the Met has taken backhanders from tabloid hacks. So why would they want to open up that can of worms? . . . And what's wrong with that, anyway? It doesn't hurt anyone particularly. I mean, it could hurt someone's career - but isn't that the dance with the devil you have to play?
Me Well, I suppose the fact that they're dragging their feet while investigating a mass of phone-hacking - which is a crime - some people would think is a bit depressing about the police.
Him But then - should it be a crime? I mean, scanning never used to be a crime. Why should it be? You're transmitting your thoughts and your voice over the airwaves. How can you not expect someone to just stick up an aerial and listen in?
Me So if someone was on a landline and you had a way of tapping in . . .
Him Much harder to do.
Me But if you could, would you think that was illegal? Do you think that should be illegal?
Him I'd have to say quite possibly, yeah. I'd say that should be illegal.
Me But a mobile phone - a digital phone . . . you'd say it'd be all right to tap that?
Him I'm not sure about that. So we went from a point where anyone could listen in to anything. Like you, me, journalists could listen in to corrupt politicians, and this is why we have a reasonably fair society and a not particularly corrupt or criminal prime minister, whereas other countries have Gaddafi. Do you think it's right the only person with a decent digital scanner these days is the government? Whereas 20 years ago we all had a go? Are you comfortable that the only people who can listen in to you now are - is it MI5 or MI6?
Me I'd rather no one listened in, to be honest. And I might not be alone there. You probably wouldn't want people listening to your conversations.
Him I'm not interesting enough for anyone to want to listen in.
Me Ah . . . I think that was one of the questions asked last week at one of the parliamentary committees. They asked Yates [John Yates, acting deputy commissioner of the Metropolitan Police] if it was true that he thought that the NoW had been hacking the phones of friends and family of those girls who were murdered . . . the Soham murder and the Milly girl [Milly Dowler].
Him Yeah. Yeah. It's more than likely. Yeah . . . It was quite routine. Yeah - friends and family is something that's not as easy to justify as the other things.
Me But celebrities you would justify because they're rich?
Him Yeah. I mean, if you don't like it, you've just got to get off the stage. It'll do wonders.
Me So I should have given up acting?
Him If you live off your image, you can't really complain about someone . . .
Me I live off my acting. Which is different to living off your image.
Him Yeah, but you're still presenting yourself to the public. And if the public didn't know you -
Me They don't give a shit. I got arrested with a hooker and they still came to my films. They don't give a fuck about your public image. They just care about whether you're in an entertaining film or not.
Him That's true . . . I have terrible difficulty with him [points to pap shot of Johnny Depp]. He's really difficult. You know, I was in Venice and he was a nightmare to do because he walks around looking like Michael Jackson. And the punchline was . . . after leading everyone a merry dance the film was shot on an open balcony - I mean, it was like - he was standing there in public.
Me And you don't see the difference between the two situations?
Chum He was actually working at this time? As opposed to having his own private time?
Him You can't hide all the time.
Me So you're saying, if you're Johnny Depp or me, you don't deserve to have a private life?
Him You make so much more money. You know, most people in Dover take home about £200 and struggle.
Me So how much do you think the families of the Milly and Soham girls make?
Him OK, so there are examples that are poor and you can't justify - and that's clearly one of them.
Me I tell you the thing I still don't get - if you think it was all right to do all that stuff, why blow the whistle on it?
Him Errm . . . Right. That's interesting. I actually blew the whistle when a friend of mine at the Guardian kept hassling me for an interview. I said, "Well if you put the name of the Castle [his pub] on the front page of the Guardian, I'll do anything you like." So that's how it started.
Me So, have you been leant on by the NoW, News International, since you blew the whistle?
Him No, they've kept their distance. I mean, there's people who have much better records - my records are non-existent. There are people who actually have tapes and transcripts they did for Andy Coulson.
Me And where are these tapes and transcripts? Do you think they've been destroyed?
Him No, I'm sure they're saving them till they retire.
Me So did you personally ever listen to my voice messages?
Him No, I didn't personally ever listen to your voice messages. I did quite a lot of stories on you, though. You were a very good earner at times.

Those are the highlights. As I drove home past the white cliffs, I thought it was interesting - apart from the fact that Paul hates people like me, and I hate people like him, we got on quite well. And, absurdly, I felt a bit guilty for recording him.

And he does have a very nice pub. The Castle Inn, Dover, for the record. There are rooms available, too. He asked me if I'd like to sample the honeymoon suite some time: "I can guarantee your privacy."

-- Listen to the audio now --

This article first appeared in the 11 April 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Jemima Khan guest edit

Ralph Steadman
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Discipline over dazzle: Helen Lewis interviews Yvette Cooper

Yvette Cooper is offering Labour a platform of cautious pragmatism – but will that be enough to take the crown?

In November 1997, not long after Labour’s landslide election victory, the newly elected Yvette Cooper wrote a column in the Independent, where she had previously worked as a writer on economics. “Seven months ago, I was still a journalist, delighting in the healthy scepticism and intelligent individualism that makes broadsheet newspapers so essential to a thriving democracy,” the new MP observed. “In contrast, I fear now that former journalist colleagues will find me earnest, idealistic and breathless. So be it. We have a unique opportunity.”

Fast-forward to 2015, and although few would accuse the 46-year-old of breathlessness, the charge of earnestness has not gone away. When the Labour leadership race began, the conventional wisdom was that Andy Burnham would run a good campaign but ultimately Cooper would triumph by picking up all the other candidates’ second preferences. Her campaign would not be flashy but it would be reassuring. By not making too many pledges, she would win with a clean slate, rather than being hidebound by promises made to assuage one special interest group or another.

The entry of Jeremy Corbyn into the race, and the subsequent surge of support for a conventionally socialist policy platform, upset that calculus. So, I ask Cooper on a visit to her spartan offices overlooking Big Ben, has her campaign been too nebulous? What does she think Lab­our is for? “The simple answer is the Labour Party has to be for a fairer country,” she says in a soft northern accent. “It has to be for greater equality.”

For her, that means weaving together the two strands of Labour identity that have shaped her politics. The first is the “liberation and emancipation tradition”, which takes in feminism and LGBT rights. One of the first political campaigns she was involved in was against Section 28, the legislation banning the “promotion” of homosexuality. “That is probably one of my only . . . well, my few law-breaking moments, when we graffitied these buildings – hoardings – with triangles before a big march.” I look mildly surprised at such youthful recklessness. Where was that? “At Oxford.”

The second strand of her politics is the “tradition of solidarity from the coalfield communities”, with its emphasis on hard work and looking after your neighbours: “Christian socialism but without the God attached”, she calls it. This might seem familiar: in the early days of his leadership, Ed Miliband also used to talk about communities, under the rubric of Blue Labour, an intellectual project championed by the academic Jonathan Rutherford, the independent-minded peer Maurice Glasman and the Dagenham and Barking MP, Jon Cruddas. It was aimed at finding a way for Labour to appeal to socially conservative, working-class voters – essentially, Daily Mail readers who found the party a bit too Guardian.

But Cooper thinks the project was flawed. “I’ve always found the Blue Labour approach to family and community actually just too traditional, too anti-women,” she says. “There’s something in that whole tradition . . . that always assumes all communities are good. You just have strong communities and that’s a good thing. Actually no, some communities are really oppressive and, you know, divisive. Or that all families are a good thing. Well, actually, there’s abuse and there’s violence within the family, and you should be strong about justice as well as about families.”

Cooper is arguably the most experienced of the leadership contenders. Educated at a comprehensive school, Oxford and Harvard, she made her maiden speech in 1997 days after Labour’s first Budget in 18 years, focusing on unemployment in her constituency and the struggle of former mining communities to adapt. “Keynes said: ‘In the long run we are all dead’ – but I say, ‘So what?’ Our children and our grandchildren will still be alive,” she concluded.

In the years that followed she progressed swiftly, serving as minister for housing, chief secretary to the Treasury (during the financial crash in 2008) and secretary of state for work and pensions. Most recently, she has shadowed Theresa May at the Home Office. What reason does she give for May’s longevity in the post, when her predecessors had the life expectancy of a chocolate teapot? “When things go wrong, Labour home secretaries always used to feel we need to go and reassure people that we’re doing something about it, whereas Theresa May just stays way out of the way and blames somebody else.”

In 2001, with the birth of her second child, she became the first minister to take maternity leave, an experience she found relatively stress-free. But when she had her third child in 2004 she found the civil servants in the Communities Department “very unsupportive”. (In 2001 the Daily Mail had nicknamed her “the Minister for Maternity Leave”, noting that “Mrs Cooper [sic] is known as a self-contained character, who gives little away – even to her family”. Fourteen years later, that still sums up the prevailing opinion of her in the party.)

Her political persona has never been that of a firebrand feminist, but during this campaign she has made an explicitly gendered pitch for the top job. First, there is the assertion that “it’s time Labour elected a woman leader”; second, her pledges include buffer zones around abortion clinics and better provision of women’s refuges, where contracts too often go to generic outsourcing companies rather than specialist providers. She names Jane Ellison as her favourite Tory MP, for the work they did together on opposing a crackdown on sex-selective abortion, which Cooper saw as a Trojan horse for attempts to restrict access to termination more generally. “I wish I was here as Labour home secretary having this discussion, because we would have done a Violence Against Women and Girls Bill,” she adds.

Like many women, she says, she has been reluctant to push herself forward. Although she comes from a politically engaged family – her father was general secretary of the Prospect trade union – she “ended up as an MP by accident” after being urged to stand in 1997 by her fellow candidates Ruth Kelly and Lorna Fitzsimons. “Women often need to be asked to apply for things or to stand for things or to be encouraged, whereas men are more likely to think to do something,” she says. “So if you want to encourage more women at the top of an organisation you have to actively ask and encourage.”

Yet not everyone is impressed with her feminist credentials. There have been complaints from Liz Kendall’s camp that Cooper’s pitch as a “working mum” is an implicit rebuke to their candidate’s childlessness (Cooper rejects this, saying the point is being used to divide women unnecessarily). Others in the party complain that she has a record of squashing potential female rivals. When I ask which women in the party she is proud to have mentored or promoted, she says she doesn’t want to “take the credit” for anyone’s career, but names Seema Malhotra, a junior shadow minister in Cooper’s team, as someone who is “doing some great stuff”.

She also believes that a female leader would be well placed to attack David Cameron. “I don’t think he sees or gets women’s lives at all, which is why [the Tories] do things like such massive cuts to tax credits, which will heavily hit women . . . I don’t think David Cameron knows how to handle women in parliament, either, in the chamber, in the Commons. You know, the ‘calm down, dear’ moment was an extreme example of it, but it’s not the only example.”

To prove that she isn’t only interested in feminism when there are partisan points to be scored, she shows me a 1999 parliamentary question she found while clearing out her office. In it, she asks Patricia Hewitt – then economic secretary to the Treasury – about the impact of the Budget on women. That’s depressing, I say. Sixteen years later you’re still having to ask the same questions. “It shows consistency about a problem that’s not yet been solved,” she replies. “But it also shows the contrast . . . Labour governments could deliver.”

That is the heart of the Yvette Cooper pitch, and her rebuttal to Corbynmania. She has been a Labour MP in government and out of it, and she prefers the former.

At leadership hustings, she tells the story of speaking to a constituent on election day who was in arrears on the bedroom tax. In between sorting out the woman’s debt, Cooper urged her to go to the polling booth. “What we were trying to do that day was sort out her bedroom-tax arrears but also abolish the bedroom tax altogether . . . So we persuaded her to go and vote, but what difference did it make? We lost. We let her down; we can’t abolish the bedroom tax.”

Election day brought another blow for Cooper – her husband, Ed Balls, who had hoped to become chancellor of the Exchequer, lost his seat to a Conservative candidate. A polarising politician, Balls had won respect from colleagues for his relentless countrywide campaigning although many marvelled that he did not take more care when his own seat was so marginal. “It was admirable, but mad,” a shadow cabinet colleague of his told me afterwards. “You have to mind your own backyard.”

Cooper says that when the results from Balls’s seat, Morley and Outwood, came through on the morning of 8 May, she was devastated, and struggled with an “immediate emotional feeling . . . of wanting to walk away”. But party loyalty and a sense of purpose won out. “You can’t walk away, because it’s too important.”

The unspoken truth, of course, is that her partner’s exit from parliament made it easier for her to stand for leader. After the Miliband v Miliband psychodrama of 2010, who would want to risk stories about cabinet splits between a husband and wife? There are practical benefits to the new arrangement, too: a few days after the election, Balls was pictured collecting the family’s dry-cleaning, and during the Budget he took their teenage daughter on holiday to Greece. Cooper tells me he has recently baked an impressive Go Ape cake for one of their children’s birthdays, and laughs at my suggestion that he go on The Great British Bake-Off. (For an insight into what Ed Balls might be like as a political spouse, consider this, from a 1996 Independent column by Cooper: “Oh for the days – and the balls – of Denis. Male and retired, Denis Thatcher could play the strong, silent type . . . Denis was never required to slide on to the stage at an English seaside resort to snuggle with Margaret at the end of her speech.” So, no snuggling from Ed. Praise be.)

Both Cooper and Balls have tried to keep their children out of the public eye, and insights into their home life are rare. She has said that work, childcare and demands for a “taxi service” don’t leave a lot of time for hobbies. The last book she read for pleasure was an Agatha Christie mystery – “about how the establishment had to stand firm against a communist conspiracy that was manipulating the General Strike” – and she likes watching Strictly Come Dancing and Doctor Who, though she worries that the latter has become “a bit dark”. (Her favourite Doctor is David Tennant but Peter ­Capaldi is growing on her: “Now I really like him. I just feel like he’s too sad, so I feel worried for him.”)

It’s just as well that Cooper doesn’t have many outside interests, because whoever takes over the party will face a formidable task. If you accept the premise that Scotland is lost to Labour for a generation – and most observers do – then the party needs to win more seats in England and Wales than it did in 1997 just to scrape an overall majority. Unsurprisingly, Cooper sees fighting nationalism as critical to Labour’s rehabilitation: challenging not only the Scottish National Party, but also the English nationalism promoted by Ukip and the Tories.

“The biggest challenge for us is Scotland,” she says. “The heart of that is actually how you stand up against nationalism and how you cope with nationalism. When you’ve got falling living standards for a long period of time, that is always fertile ground for nationalism, and has been all over Europe.”

Her analysis, with its emphasis on UK-wide solidarity, reminds me of the one I heard from Labour’s chief election strategist Douglas Alexander before he was swept away by the SNP wave in May. He reflected that it was hard for a party that stressed solidarity to compete with one that gave priority to identity. “The thing about nationalism is it manages to combine the politics of blame with a false politics of hope,” Cooper says. “Hope for a better, sparkly future that is simply about changing the name of your country.” She does not believe that Labour should back full fiscal autonomy (“that’s just bad for Scotland”), but Scottish Labour does need to have “a distinctive Scottish argument about what they want to do” and be able to oppose “very unsocialist” SNP policies such as cutting college places.

As voting for the leadership approaches, Cooper’s campaign has had mixed fortunes. After a slow start in May she finished almost level with Andy Burnham in nominations from constituency Labour parties, clocking up 109 to his 111 (Jeremy Corbyn secured 152). Early in August she was endorsed by Alan Johnson – who declared she had “the intellect, the experience and the inner steel” needed – and by Jack Straw. Her supporters claim that private polling puts her ahead of Burnham, though critics say this is an attempt to claim the “Stop Corbyn” mantle. A YouGov poll on 11 August put her third.

In response to criticisms that her campaign has been too quiet, a small stream of policy announcements began to dribble out. Cooper wants the minimum wage rise to apply first to care workers; the return of Sure Start centres (which looked after young children); and a freeze on appointing new members of the Lords until the second chamber has been reformed or replaced. She is open-minded about the future of the railways but opposes the return of Clause Four, Labour’s commitment to public ownership of the means of production. She scored a decent hit with a list of “Nine Broken Promises From the First 100 Days of This Conservative Government”, including cuts to tax credits. In line with collective responsibility, however, she abstained rather than voted against the Welfare Reform Bill.

There is talk in the Cooper campaign of a “radical centre” but it remains to be seen if her rather cautious platform can tempt back Corbyn supporters. For instance, when I ask her for her opinion on a universal basic income, an idea fashionable among left-wing economists, she says that “if you have a minimum wage and you have tax credits, then you have effectively a basic income”. But you don’t: UBI is supposed to apply even if you are unemployed.

If you believe the polls, Jeremy Corbyn’s lead now looks unassailable. But there is still a small chance for Cooper, as the vagaries of the leadership vote – in which candidates are eliminated in rounds and their support redistributed to their remaining rivals – mean that second preferences are vital.

Among those who will be voting Corbyn first, it is hard to predict whom they will put second. Many I’ve spoken to do not believe their candidate can win in 2020 – but they don’t believe any of the others can, either. “They might create an effective opposition if they can be shown to believe in something,” is a typical sentiment. I put this to Cooper. No one would deny that her career shows she is clever and hard-working: but discipline can feel cautious, even boring. Is there an unavoidable difference between an effective leader and an interesting leader?

“Yes,” she says simply. “And it’s also the difference between being in journalism and being in politics. The great thing I used to enjoy about being a journalist was the irreverence . . . The downside was that you could feel very strongly about something but not actually be able to deliver it or to change it. Whereas in politics there’s a lot of earnestness. Some of that’s inevitable because you’re trying to change important things and, you know, leadership is serious.”

For Cooper, getting the chance to change policy is worth a life of rictus self-control at the despatch box, in media appearances – and even at the checkout. “You can’t lose your temper . . . if someone pushes in front of you in the queue,” she observes of the downsides to life as a politician. “That’s the responsibility.” And so, the question is: does the party want discipline – or dazzle?

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

This article first appeared in the 13 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, The Battle for Calais