As far as birthdays go, Keir Starmer’s first in Downing Street is a party without cake, candles or fizz. The vanquished optimism of a year ago is producing no shortage of advice on how to recover after winter fuel, welfare, island of strangers and grooming gangs dizzying U-turns leaving Labour dazed, divided and directionless. One grandee grumbling, “I would be amazed if there was anything in No 10 that could be described as ‘an operation’,” spells trouble for Morgan McSweeney. The chief of staff’s position isn’t sustainable or recoverable, concluded the bigwig: aides become liabilities when they begin to be portrayed as the boss, rather than their PM.
The old hand’s solution is for Starmer to cede essential authority to unflappable Pat McFadden. On a Tube to Wembley to watch his beloved Bruce Springsteen, the Cabinet Office minister, hiding under a baseball cap, was informed by a passenger that he resembled the Pat McFadden he’d stacked Glasgow supermarket shelves with in their glory days. The minister was that very shopworker. Perhaps it’s a sign he was born to run the government.
Starmer’s an atheist and Alastair Campbell famously decreed religious Tony Blair didn’t do God in interviews, but maybe faith is all that’s left in No 10. Politics director Claire Reynolds – responsible for liaising with revolting MPs and in the welfare bill firing line – opened a meeting about growth by, I hear from a snout, praying for growth. Reynolds and Business Secretary hubby Jonathan are Christian socialists. The snout growled that attendees thought Mrs R was joking, but then were aghast as she appealed for divine economic intervention.
Andy Burnham’s name is heard once again as Labour’s more excitable MPs cast around for an alternative. The strategy put forward by a champion of the King of the North is that Burnham stands for and wins a by-election, Starmer steps down, and the now former Greater Manchester mayor routs Nigel Farage and Reform by rallying the white working class north of the Trent. Fanciful or possible? Burnham, who at Glastonbury encouraged Labour rebels to vote down the welfare bill, isn’t universally admired in Westminster. A Labour veteran dubbed him Mr Flip Flop, a bloke with as little ideology as Starmer.
Starmer’s dismissal of Get In, Patrick Maguire and Gabriel Pogrund’s acclaimed account of his election triumph, must have been uncomfortable for his chief of staff. The PM resents taking a supporting role in what reads like the McSweeney story. No surprise, when the latter co-operated with the authors, unlike Starmer. Wags joked the book should have been credited to Maguire, Pogrund and McSweeney. History is written by the interviewed; you’re either a source (McSweeney) or a victim (Starmer).
Shouty Chris Philp, the Tories’ hyperactive, never knowingly under-outraged shadow home secretary, is a wannabe Robert Jenrick. Philp regularly suffers amnesia, conveniently forgetting what he did and didn’t do as immigration and policing ministers. A former Tory cabinet minister revealed the permanently scandalised Mr Angry doesn’t drink coffee. “Chris is aware he lives on the edge and said he would explode with added caffeine,” recalled the fellow Con, “and he’s right.” No chance of popping a chill pill, then.
Ed Davey’s gone a stunt too far for Daisy Cooper, I hear. The Lib Dem leader informed colleagues that their leader must get off his hobby horse after jumping mini fences on an actual hobby horse to launch the May local elections campaign. Strait-laced Cooper believes his embarrassing dad japes are no longer funny. It’s back to boring for the earnest Libs if she has her way.
It’s hard to be a new MP, especially if your more experienced colleagues aren’t stepping up. Frustration is growing among the 2024 Conservative intake at how much they’re expected to be in the Commons chamber. Instead of bedding in to their constituencies and getting to grips with mountains of casework (which might help them get re-elected), the 25 newcomers are being dragged into debates to fill in for veterans and make the opposition benches look a bit more lively. Their distinguished elders have, in the words of one fresher MP, “checked out”, leaving the grunt-work to the newbies. At least they have their own WhatsApp group to air grievances. Ideas for the chat’s name on a postcard, please.
Down the corridor in the Lords, recently ermined Labour reinforcements are also finding it a tiring slog. The governing party is in a minority, mustering a maximum of 212 peers in a 834-strong House, whereas the Tories are able to summon as many 286. With the Cons forever threatening ambushes, and Labour’s leader in the Lords, Angela Smith (aka Baroness Basildon), keeps her forces on alert to deter and defeat enemy attacks. One group of Labour peers, contemplating the likelihood of another late night without discouraged Tories actually forcing a division, agreed to quietly slip the whip and sneak away. On their way out, though, they bumped into the stern headmistress herself and pretended to be going on a cigarette break (even the non-smokers). It was, cried an unsuccessful escapee, like being caught climbing over the school railings then hauled back into lessons.
[See also: The meaning of the Chancellor’s tears]
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This article appears in the 02 Jul 2025 issue of the New Statesman, Just Raise Tax!