Jowell is the candidate to beat in Labour's London mayoral race

The frontrunner announces she will stand down as an MP at the next election just days before debating Adonis, Abbott, Khan and Lammy.

Tessa Jowell is leaving parliament but, one suspects, not politics. Her announcement that she will stand down as an MP at the next election is the biggest hint yet that she is planning a bid to become Labour's London mayoral candidate in 2016. 

When questioned on the subject at the Labour conference, Jowell replied: "I am thinking about it and I am sure others [Sadiq Khan] on this panel are thinking about it." She will have been further encouraged by a YouGov poll published last month showing that she is the frontrunner for the post. Asked who would be "the best Labour candidate for London Mayor in 2016?", 21% said Eddie Izzard (who has said that he will not stand until 2020), with Jowell in second place on 17%. Diane Abbott was third (9%), followed by David Lammy (7%), Andrew Adonis (6%) and Sadiq Khan (5%), all of whom have publicly expressed interest in the job. (Although the one officially declared candidate, transport expert Christian Wolmar, was not included.) 

The race will heat up next week (as Adam Bienkov notes) when on Monday evening Progress hosts what is effectively the first hustings (disguised under the title "How can we win a mandate from London in 2015?") with Jowell, Khan, Lammy, Adonis and Abbott all on the panel. Other possible contenders include Oona King, Livingstone’s defeated rival from the last selection contest, and Margaret Hodge, the redoubtable chair of the public accounts committee. 

Jowell is undoubtedly the candidate to beat. She is lauded for her role in bringing the Olympics to London, well liked across the party despite her Blairite politics and, as I've noted, ahead in the polls. But keep an eye on Sadiq Khan. The shadow justice secretary is one of Labour’s most articulate and energetic performers (as he demonstrated again on Question Time last night) and was recently named shadow minister for London, a post that will allow to regularly meet and engage with the Labour activists and supporters who will determine the outcome. Borrowing the metaphor used by Boris Johnson to describe his prime ministerial ambitions, he has remarked: "If I was at the edge of the box and the ball came free and I thought I had the best chance of shooting and scoring, then I might do it. But let’s see if the ball comes free."

Whether "the ball comes free" may yet rest on the result of the general election. "Sadiq might feel duty-bound to serve as justice secretary if Labour wins," one party figure told me, noting that he had held the brief since Miliband’s first reshuffle. For this reason, Labour is likely to delay the selection contest (which will be a closed primary) until after 2015, to avoid candidates’ bids being viewed as a judgement on the party’s election chances. 
 
The (literal) joker in the pack is Eddie Izzard. The stand-up comedian will not run this time (despite leading in the polls) but has pledged to do so in 2020, suggesting that he either expects a Labour defeat or plans to challenge an incumbent. The announcement prompted one Labour MP to refer me to "the curse of Izzard": "He campaigned for the euro and for AV. What could possibly go wrong?"
Tessa Jowell speaks at the Labour conference in Brighton last year. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Qusai Al Shidi/Flickr
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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war