Sir Peter Tapsell "keeping his seat warm for Boris"

The Father of the House would apparently be willing to give up his safe seat to allow Boris to return to the Commons.

The "Boris for Tory leader" mutterings continue in today's Sunday Telegraph, where Patrick Hennessy and Robert Watts report that Sir Peter Tapsell has apparently been overhead by Tory MPs telling David Cameron that he would be prepared to give up his seat to allow Boris Johnson to return to the House of Commons.

Tapsell, who is 83, holds the constituency of Louth and Horncastle in Lincolnshire with a majority of 13,871. He's also the longest continuously-serving MP in Parliament, having been in the Commons non-stop since 1966 as well as having served from 1959 to 1964.

The Sunday Telegraph says:

Last night the MP denied being part of any Boris “camp” and said his Louth and Horncastle constituency in Lincolnshire, where his majority is nearly 14,000, could be too far from London to suit Mr Johnson. However, he said the Mayor would be an “excellent” leader of the Opposition and “perhaps” a good prime minister.

It's probably wise not to give too much credence to Tapsell's remarks - after all, over the past few years there have been a number of rumours about how Boris is going to get back into Parliament - his brother Jo Johnson, Richard Ottaway and Zac Goldsmith have all been said at one time or another to be willing to step aside to allow him an eventual shot at the Tory leadership. Tapsell might be willing to resign, but whether Boris is as keen to take his place is another matter. As George observed earlier this week, he's keen to succeed Cameron, but playing a long, safe game.

It's less clear whether Boris would even want to return to Parliament at this juncture - after all, being Mayor of London is a far more high-profile position from which to audition as a potential leader of your party. Barring accidents, I, for one, would doubt that we'll see him departing from City Hall before his term is up in 2016.

 

Boris Johnson. Photograph: Getty Images

Caroline Crampton is web editor of the New Statesman.

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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

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 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism