I RECENTLY DISCOVERED
that I was having an affair with an
MP, which was very much news to
me. Over a drink, a journalist men-
tioned in passing that he knew I’d
been shagging said MP. It wasn’t
even posed as a question, simply pre-
sented to me as a matter of fact. But
no, I really had not.
This is the hazard of working in
British politics. ‘This place basically
runs on gossip,’ said the SNP Deputy
Leader Kirsty Blackman. That state-
ment currently feels truer than ever.
Negotiating the choppy waters of
Brexit has churned up friendships,
entrenched feuds and caused re-
markable clashes of personalities.Just think of those Michael Gove
drug stories, our now Prime Minister
Boris Johnson’s relationship troubles
and the sexting exploits of Stephen
Crabb. In the country’s most power-
ful place, careers depend not just on
an MP’s professional credentials in
the chambers, but also on gossip
spread through myriad WhatsApp
groups, imparted during hushed chats
in the Portcullis House atrium, or
served up with spritzers at the Red
Lion pub on Parliament Street. As a
former Labour aide put it: ‘There are
the stories in the newspapers or on
Twitter, and there’s another level of
things people are willing to tell you
when they’re pissed...’
The personal matters a tremendous
amount in Parliament. Here, who
you are, who you like and who hates
you is crucial. As Tory MP Bim
Afolami explained: ‘It’s a bit like
boarding school. At university people
at least pretend to be grown up. Heregetting told a lot of things, but not
all of it is true. Politicians are party-
political, factional and have their
own ambitions. There is probably a
reason they are telling you some-
thing, usually for their own gain.
For instance, there is an MP who,
not so long ago, was believed to be
gay. Rumour has it the story was put
out by people who didn’t want him
to progress within their party. So
when his name was mentioned, the
first reaction was not: ‘Is he a rising
star?’ but ‘Ooh I hear he is gay, is it
true?’ It was a sneaky way of chang-
ing the narrative around a rival.
Narratives like these have only
grown louder. Gossip has always
been a part of political life, but the
growth of social media has made re-
porting even harder, as rumours
travel at the speed of text.
WhatsApp groups and Twitter
DMs deliver a deluge of (not always
correct) information from politicians
vying to bring each other down,
cause trouble or simply pass the time.
Someone hears a rumour and might
put it straight on a WhatsApp group.
From there it spreads to other groups,
making a story all the more difficult
to corroborate. Pre-WhatsApp, you
would hear something from one
MP, then seek out a second source
and ask if they had heard the same
thing. If they had, there was a strong-
er chance the story was true.
Now, though, you can talk to
three different MPs who all say: ‘Yes,
I’ve heard this as well’, and think you
have a scoop – until it turns out that
all three are on the same WhatsApp
group where the original rumour
started. Then it’s back to square one.
Of course, for hushed discussion,
it’s often best to simply meet in
person. Everyone has their preferred
Westminster haunt, and some will
be more unexpected than others.
My favourite is Greg Hands’, the
Tory MP for Chelsea and Fulham
and former whip, who met his
colleagues in the McDonalds on
Whitehall. McNuggets of gossip can
be a great unifier in Westminster. (
Haven’t You Heard? A Guide to
Westminster Gossip and Why Mischief
Gets Things Done, by Marie Le Conte,
is out 5 Sept (535, Bonnier Books UK) PHOTOGRAPHS: GETTY IMAGES; SHUTTERSTOCKTatler October 2019 tatler.comFeuds and scandal abound
as WhatsApped whispers
add grist toWestminster’s
rumour mill
By MARIE LE CONTEBYS TA NDE R
C U LT U R Eno one does. It’s really childish. People
fall out and make up.’
Michael Gove’s drug exposé was a
prime example of how gossip can
grease the wheels of an MP’s down-
fall. It was long assumed he’d be the
one to face Boris Johnson during the
last round of the Conservative party
leadership. He was doing pretty well,
until a preview extract from an un-
authorised biography was published
in a newspaper, revealing that in his
twenties, Gove had taken cocaine a
number of times.
The story stuck, and his expected
position as one of the final two can-
didates for the premiership was
yielded to Jeremy Hunt. So what’s
interesting about this? That most
leadership contenders have confessed
to drug use (including, somewhat
absurdly, Rory Stewart’s admission of
having once smoked opium), but
Gove was the only one to suffer a
death knell. Now Chancellor of the
Duchy of Lancaster, he is also, of
course, the man who knifed his
friend Boris in the back and who –
some said – couldn’t be trusted.
Gove admitted to taking cocaine
to his close advisers during his 2016
leadership run. Though it’s impossi-
ble to know who leaked it, fingers
were pointed at Beth Armstrong, a
former senior staffer for Gove who
subsequently worked on Dominic
Raab’s campaign. (She issued a state-
ment denying the claims, but given
how quickly news spread, the truth
didn’t matter.) Many just accepted
that Armstrong was behind the story.
Of course, working as a political
journalist means taking everything
MPs, advisers and other Westmin-
ster aides tell me with a heavy pinch
of salt. Being in the bubble means(^) SHHH
Minister
SW1 THRILLS & SPILLS
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Portcullis pints
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Brexit bad boys
‘Steve Baker’ has
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