The Wapping Wallet and Comrade Dave - all the gossip from the Westminster Village
MPs thinking of selling their kids into slavery or planning a bank heist as the poor diddums struggle on £61,820 plus perks have a new champion. Step forward that redoubtable defender of unpopular causes (think the Iraq War and Tony Blair), the Times scribbler David Aaronovitch. The well-padded viewsman made jaws drop at an editorial chinwag, muttered my penniless snout, when a rare moment of clarity left humbler hacks wondering exactly how much he earns. "I couldn't live on an MP's salary," pronounced the Wapping Wallet. "Come to think of it, I couldn't live on a cabinet minister's salary." For the official record, MPs are paid £61,820, cabinet ministers £138,724.
The political world has indeed been turned upside down since nationalisation of Northern Crock by new Labour's Gordfather under prodding from the Lib Dem consigliere Vinny Cable. Even Druggie Dave seems to have caught the Red Bank bug. Strolling down a Commons corridor, Cameron was overheard answering his mobile with a cheery "Hello, Comrade". Brother Osborne? Sister May? My radar-lugged informant reckoned it might have been Comrade Ashcroft ringing from Belize. Labour wags dub moneybags the last strongman in the Americas now Fidel's gone.
The curse of the Brits has struck again, the latest ministerial victim that eager new romantic Andy "Eyeliner" Burnham (pictured). The culture vulture, and there's no nice way to put this, was spied dancing with his Tory shadow, Jeremy "Posh Boy" Hunt. Eyeliner is too young to have arthritis, yet he is said to move with the smoothness of a rusty robot. In mitigation, both Culture Vulture's wife and Posh Boy's girlfriend were in attendance, but Eyeliner's hasty exit from the dance floor, on spotting the paparazzi's flashing bulbs, suggests he prays the shots remain undeveloped. He must wish he'd encountered nothing more dangerous than Danbert Nobacon's ice bucket.
Well, well, well. The Prince of Darkness over the water is evidently having second thoughts about leaving Brussels. This column's regular readers may recall Peter Mandelson quit in a huff on live radio when quizzed about a disobliging nugget by your correspondent. The latest word is that he'd like a second term, but is too proud to plead with the Supreme Leader to find it in his heart to forgive an old foe.
What's this? It's the muffled sound of bones rattling in the cupboard of David Prescott as he plots to step into Daddy's Hull East loafers. Little David is one of the shortlisted Unmagnificent Seven, so a public print is sniffing around a bizarre tale involving an unwanted gift plopped on the north London kitchen floor of a woman now working in the government. I'm sure there's an innocent explanation. Where will it all end?
Kevin Maguire is associate editor (politics) of the Daily Mirror
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