The Morning Briefing is a Westminster institution for the smartphone age. Photo: Getty
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My year as Benedict Brogan’s “little slave”

Now that Benedict Brogan has departed the Telegraph, Tim Wigmore – who used to help write his Morning Briefing email – remembers how it used to come together.

Few places do tradition like Westminster. For the past three years, politicos had a new ritual. Just before 8.30am – and it had to be just before, to arrive in time for the first Downing Street meeting of the day – Benedict Brogan’s Morning Briefing would land in in-boxes.

When the email began, it was circulated to 500 of Benedict’s political contacts. By the time he left the Daily Telegraph on 18 June, the number of subscribers had grown to 25,000. Yet the email’s importance lay in who read it: there were 50 subscribers in No 10 alone.

If the impression was of a well-oiled machine, the truth was very different. For a year from last May, I worked with Benedict on his briefing. To the BBC’s Daily Politics show, which did a feature on the email, I was his “little slave”. Every morning presented a battle against capricious alarm clocks, sleep deprivation, dodgy phone signal and lousy IT software.

My day would begin at 5am, as I stumbled out of bed, and seven minutes later – I learned to savour every possible minute of sleep – into a cab bound for the Telegraph’s offices in Victoria. I was met by a bundle of morning papers, which passed for company in an otherwise deserted office.

A little after 6am came my first human contact when Benedict and I discussed, usually by email, the most important stories of the day. While waiting for him to punch out the top items on his BlackBerry as he took his daughter to school on the number 344 bus, I wrote the smaller news items, in between wrestling with the software’s infuriating penchant for making all the text bold.

As my stint on the briefing progressed, I honed my ability to mimic Benedict’s style, coming to treasure his idiosyncrasies – Tony Blair was always “Mr Tony”, Ed Miliband was “Mili E” – as my own. We even had the same taste in holidays: we both went to Hvar in August, though, mercifully, not at the same time.

Above all, I learned never to be surprised when something went wrong. Simply waking up was the first obstacle. On several occasions when my alarm clock failed, there might never have been a briefing had it not been for the cab driver ringing the doorbell. (My mum was less grateful for his persistence.)

Even Benedict was not immune to finding the hours a challenge. One morning during the Liberal Democrat conference, I didn’t hear from him until almost 8am; he confessed to having had a whisky too many. But because he had written a column for the day’s paper I was well briefed on his thoughts.

Unreliable phone signal, in places from Afghanistan to the south of France, was another challenge posed by Benedict’s onerous schedule. Particularly problematic was his trip to China with George Osborne, when he feared (correctly, it turned out) that his computer had been bugged. Not that this stopped him filing despatches by BlackBerry.

It was gratifying to learn that our efforts were noticed. Ed Miliband’s leading adviser, Stewart Wood, was among those most inclined to take issue with the email’s wording, frequently voicing his displeasure within minutes of receiving the briefing. Mili E may claim that he doesn’t follow the day-to-day news but his team does. The daily emails and tweets from politicians looking to influence the briefing affirmed its clout.

Yet it was more than just a respected email. As the outpouring of thanks to Benedict on Twitter from across the political spectrum showed, his Morning Briefing (now ably produced by Stephen Bush) was a Westminster institution for the smartphone age.

Tim Wigmore is a contributing writer to the New Statesman and the author of Second XI: Cricket In Its Outposts.

This article first appeared in the 25 June 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Who was Franz Ferdinand?

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Watch: The evidence Nigel Farage said money sent to the EU should go to the NHS

After the EU referendum result, Nigel Farage said it was a "mistake" for Leave to suggest funds could go to the NHS. But what's this?

Remember Friday? (I know: it's not necessarily a pleasant thing to do, but bear with me.) On Friday, hours after the result of the EU referendum was announced, Nigel Farage appeared on Good Morning Britain and said that the Leave campaign advertising which linked the extra "£350m a week" Brexit would allegedly gift us with the NHS was a "mistake".

Sure, it was on posters, and emblazoned on a bus, and he didn't speak up to disabuse anyone of the notion. But let's give Farage the benefit of the doubt and pretend he does sorely regret the fact that, through no fault of his own, members of the electorate may have been led to believe that that money would be put into healthcare. It must be tough, when you ought to be high on your victory, to have to answer for other people's mistakes

Ah. Hold that thought.

It looks like the Independent has unearthed a video of Nigel Farage on television before the vote, and  strange thing  he tells Hilary Benn that the money currently being sent to Europe should be spent on, er, "schools, hospitals and the NHS".

Well, this mole isn't sure what to say. Maybe Farage doesn't remember this specific moment? Maybe when he said "schools, hospitals and the NHS" he actually meant something different, like "negotiating our exit from the EU", or "paying to access the common market despite no longer being a member"? Or maybe when he said that money should be spent on these things, he didn't mean it necessarily would be, and it would have been entirely unreasonable for the voting public to make such an absurd leap?

All I can suggest is that you watch and decide for yourself, dear reader.

I'm a mole, innit.