the times | Tuesday September 15 2020 1GT 3
times
half amused, half wounded. Boris
needs to be loved at all times.
“You’re related to Joe Strummer,
aren’t you?” he says with his
mouth full.
“No, that’s Hugo. His stepsister
Lucinda was married to him —”
“Marvellous man, Joe Strummer,
marvellous, I loved him.”
We discuss briefly what happens
next, and Boris clearly doesn’t know.
“Prorogue,” I whisper in his ear. “Yes,
prorogue, I agree,” he whispers back.
“Just don’t bloody tell anyone.”
“Yes, let it happen naturally, what?”
We talk about Amber [Rudd]. I say
she is a dyed-in-the-wool Remainer,
and ask how will he reconcile that if
she is in the cabinet.
He looks crestfallen. “I love Amber.
Can’t stand her brother Roland,
though, he’s a ghastly little man.”
Boris later articulates a vision,
which is based on building: a sort of
Victorian, grand project programme.
He calls himself a “Brexiteer
Heseltine”. I mumble that I don’t think
Heseltine would find that flattering.
“No, he absolutely hates me.”
He then shouts to Eddie Lister:
“Let’s get Hezza on side, Eddie. Bring
him in.”
There is quite a lot of praise for
George Osborne (Boris has been on
the phone to the Americans, trying to
persuade them to support George for
the IMF.) David Cameron’s name is
not mentioned.
“I can’t really sleep at nights,” Boris
says. “It’s all so worrying.” He says he
reads poetry every night before going
to sleep and he’s going to get a dog,
which might help.
At the end of the evening, Eddie is
clearly dying to go home but Boris is
having fun and doesn’t want to return
to his empty flat where he lies awake
all night because of what comes next.
David was always one for pushing you
out the door, in quite a brusque way.
For all his hinterland and hot young
vixen and his agile mind, Boris just
came across as someone who is
desperately lonely and unhappy.2018 February 20
To Dave’s last night. Boy George
muscled in — he probably heard the
star attraction was a huge pot of
caviar, but then again, he must have
access to the stuff day and night
these days.
George says he’s off to LA to
accompany [his boss Evgeny] Lebedev
to Elton John’s Oscars party. He
declares he is a bit nervous about it.
I can’t imagine two more socially
awkward men at a party together. He
tells us the only people he has ever
known in that world are Kevin Spacey
and Harvey Weinstein, and he is
pretty sure they won’t be pitching up.
I ask Dave which Russians are
bribing him with the caviar but Sam
interjects that it was a Christmas
present from Lady Astor. She looks
exhausted — pale and fashionably
thin. Mind you, I’ve never seen anyone
mop up a tin of caviar as quickly
as she did.
After G leaves, D says his friend
is like a caged tiger; that he feels he
has cocked up. In response H says
his name was booed at the 1922
[committee] the other day because
of his disloyalty to Theresa, that he
could never go back — the MPs loathe
him too much. Dave sighs: “Such a
wasted talent.”Cameron, caviar for ‘Boy George’
Washington Speakers Bureau.
As for all the dosh, he says every
time he looks for a loophole to
stash it away, he realises that
George and he closed it, and
laughs. He is dreaming of
buying a house in Cornwall but
still wakes up with a start,
sweating about what to do with
the NHS. He has only seen Old
Ma May once and she was her
usual frosty self.
Below the bravado, one does
feel there is a residue of
sadness. He seems to have cut ties
with most of the political Notting
Hill set, maybe because of the
humiliation he feels. Is he motivated
by money? Nope. Most of it is being
mopped up by George anyway. What
has Dave taken on? He says he is
going to link up with some genome
company in LA, but apart from that
it’s just chairman of Alzheimer’s
Research UK and the National
Citizen Service.
It’s a mistake to think Dave is lazy,
but it looks as if all his energy is being
used for shooting, cooking, playing
golf and taking his daughter riding;
it’s as if he has retired.May 3
Dinner last night at Hertford Street,
for Dave. The paintings were
presented. He was visibly moved.
He is embarrassed about his £25,
shepherd’s hut, but says he was only
being nice to the owner of the
business, who had asked if he could
have a pic — how could he say no?
D is now on alert. He has exchanged
on a holiday home in Daymer Bay but
is adamant we don’t tell anyone. GO
texts H to thank him for pulling the
dinner together. He offers to come
down to Devon and canvass. H says
thanks but no thanks.DAVID M. BENETT/GETTY IMAGES© Chaffcombe Ltd 2020. Extracts
abridged from Diary of an
MP’s Wife: Inside and Outside Power
by Sasha Swire, published on Sept
24 (Little, Brown £20). To buy it for
£15, the reference is DIARYMP20.
To order by debit card, call
01235 759555. By bank transfer,
email hukdcustomerservices
@hachette.co.uk including your
name, address and telephone
number. Offer ends October 312019 August 20
I
t felt like the Last Supper. Well,
the last interesting supper of our
political lives. At a select dinner at
No 10, I am in pride of place on the
PM’s right. H is tucked into some
room, telling Boris he’s off at the next
election but that he wants to get
involved in a specific project after he
has left. He puts it to Boris, who is
enthusiastic: “Let’s do it, Hugo!”
The first lady [Carrie Symonds] is a
no-show, she has pissed off to Greece,
apparently, which disappointed H,
who had refused to wear his blood-
pressure monitor, because he thought
he might get to
sit next to her, which would send his
reading off the Richter scale.
Boris is about the best placement
you can get. Cheeky. Flippant.
Enthusiastic. Bombastic. Ebullient.
Energetic. We have a good laugh.
I kick it off: “You can’t serve this
food, it’s disgusting. You’ll never
convert a Remainer with this slop.”
“Cripes, it’s not that bad, is it?”
“The goat’s cheese is three
Dairylea triangles crushed together.
It’s inedible.”
“Here, Sasha.” He makes me a
sandwich, because he thinks a piece
of bread might improve it.
I accept. He stuffs in more
mouthfuls and knocks back the
cheapo plonk at an alarming rate. I
look at his rotund build, thick, creased
neck, pale, sweaty face; he looks back,
as if he is working out if I’m shaggable.
He’d probably do the same if a sheep
walked in the room. He has definitely
lost that “I’ve lost a lot of weight
because I am committing adultery and
my children won’t talk to me and my
girlfriend is hot” look. I reckon other
things are on his mind and he has
returned to comfort eating.
“Bloody hell, Boris, you only went
and won it. How did you do that?”
I say. He tells me he can’t quite believe
it himself. I tell him I wouldn’t have
voted for him, and he asks me why.
I say Dominic Raab looks a whole lot
better in a tight white shirt. He looks‘I look at his sweaty face. He looks back,
as if he is working out if I’m shaggable’
The political
players*
George Osborne and
Elizabeth Hurley.
Below: David CameronBoris Johnson and Carrie Symonds
W
A
t
s
G
la
b s s t M ufe
sadnessB iJhnsonandCarrieSymonds
Andrew Feldman, the
chairman of the
Conservative partySarah Gove, the
wife of Michael Gove,
(Michael) the secretary
of state for justiceSamantha Cameron
(Sam), the wife of
the prime minister
David Cameron
(David, Dave, D, DC)George Osborne
(GO, Boy George),
the chancellor of the
exchequer, and his
wife, FrancesHugo Swire (Hugo, H),
the minister of state for
foreign affairsBoris Johnson, MP for
Uxbridge and South
Ruislip, foreign
secretary from July 13,
2016, to July 9, 2018
(Boris)- in order of appearance