Hell and high water

In between 4am clubbing in Ibiza and posing for her official Praise Singer - sorry, ‘Chief Photographer to the Deputy PM and Ministry of Housing, Communities and Local Government’ - Angela Rayner has been busy launching an independent New Towns Taskforce, presumably aimed at recreating the picturesque architectural charms of Basildon or Stevenage New Town.

In the race to identify suitable sites for the ‘hundreds of thousands’ of new homes to be built in the next few years, a clear front-runner seems to be emerging in the shape of Tempsford, currently a village of some 600 inhabitants, which sits at the junction of major North-South and East-West road and (potentially) rail routes.

The site has already caught the eye of a developer, who has acquired the option to build 7,000 homes, while a think tank has argued that Tempsford should become a major city with homes for up to 350,000 people. This sounds agreeably logical in the abstract - unless, of course, you are a resident of this serene and pleasant village - but all is not quite as rosy as it seems.

As it happens, this used to be familiar ground to me; my grandparents lived nearby and, as a child, I often visited family friends on their riverside smallholding a few miles away, where the Great Ouse bursting its banks was a regular and spectacular occurrence - ensuring that the goats were safely penned up out of harm’s way was one of my favourite tasks when the river was high (the house and barn, which dated back to Tudor times, were perched on a 20ft rise above the normal river level - our ancestors weren’t stupid).

Technology has moved on since those days and it is now possible, from the comfort of one’s armchair many miles away, to get an idea of how things are going at the confluence of the Ivel and the Great Ouse. While the government flood warning map below represents the worst-case scenario, it gives a pretty good idea of the extent of the potential hazard even when most of the surrounding land is water-retaining fields and woodland rather than acres of tarmac and concrete.

I hope those 350,000 future residents can swim.

‘Appropriate’ payments…

 …no, not those ones - yet - but an old story revisited. This time it’s Baroness Warsi, who has just announced her resignation:

“My decision is a reflection of how far Right my party has moved and the hypocrisy and double standards in its treatment of different communities. I will not be gagged on a point of principle.”

How noble and high-minded! And nothing, of course, to do with the Party’s planned enquiry into her cryptic social media post in apparent support of the protester whose banner bore a caricature of Rishi Sunak and Suella Braverman as coconuts or, for that matter, her forthcoming book ‘Muslims Don’t Matter’.

Prompted by her lofty mention of principle, a post from the archives came to mind:

"In the early part of 2008, for a short period, Baroness Warsi stayed with me," said Mr Khan, who later became her special adviser.

"I confirm she made a financial payment on each occasion, which compensated for the inconvenience caused and additional costs incurred by me as a result of her being there." 

According to her subsequent expenses claim, the Baroness compensated Mr Khan with ‘appropriate’ payments equivalent to the cost of a hotel, which raises some awkward questions about the nature of their relationship, to say the least. 

We certainly know it was not to help with his rent - he was, at the time, lodging rent-free thanks to the generosity (and possibly the political aspirations) of his host, Wafik Moustafa, who said he gave the Baroness lifts to and from work and took her out for meals but never received any contribution from either of his house guests towards household bills or expenses.

All of which leaves the reader wondering exactly what ‘inconvenience’ the lady could have caused to clock up compensation somewhere north of £100 a night - or what services Mr Khan could have rendered to justify the payments (at public expense) - and why the admirably hospitable Dr Moustafa was left out of the equation altogether.

Sadly, the expenses enquiry had many other fish to fry and left it at that, but it would have been interesting to the public, if not exactly in the public interest, to know.

(As an aside, the Tavern’s Wise Woman has pointed out (thanks, Mum!) that, since both Sunak and Braverman are of Hindu heritage and her powerful polemic on Islamophobia is about to hit the shelves - 'Burns with righteous anger. An urgent read for our times’: Riz Ahmed - the Baroness apparently endorsing a racist caricature of the pair becomes more than a little problematic.)

“Someday, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do a service for me…”

Want a pair of glasses

Or a new designer shawl?

And is last year’s summer wardrobe 

Now fitting rather small?

There’s Lord Alli:

Why not give him a call?

And if you’re in New York for New Year’s

And you want to have a ball,

Well, there’s a penthouse in Manhattan

Won’t cost you anything at all;

Lord Alli 

Will settle it all.

When your son’s busy revising

And needs a quiet place to go,

Or you need a designer number

For the Fashion Week front row

Go ask Alli,

I think he’ll know

There’s a flat in Covent Garden 

Where you rest your weary head 

But shouldn’t you be asking

What its owner wants instead?

You’ve entered where angels, full of dread,

Fear to tread.

The Party’s Over

As the Labour Party conference draws to a close, it’s almost time for the faithful to unite in the traditional song. 

This is the conference that brought us unprecedented levels of sophistry and doublethink (Rachel Reeves, we’re looking at you), a vote against a key government policy by the rank and file and, of course, Keir Starmer’s tribute to ‘1066 And All That’ - ‘for sausage read hostage’ - a slip so crass and unpleasant in the context that it surely warranted a subsequent apology rather than a quick correction and then effectively ‘move on, nothing to see here’. 

(Would he have made the same kind of slip speaking of George Floyd or BLM, I wonder - “Black puddings…er, lives matter!” - and if so, would he have ignored it and continued with no apology? It beggars belief that this man actually trained - and apparently succeeded - as a barrister!)*

Anyway, things have clearly changed in the old Independent Labour Party since the days of the original Keir and his trusty cloth cap - I wonder what Hardie would have made of the designer clothes, penthouse apartments and pop concerts, or, indeed, of the fact that they came courtesy of a millionaire donor. 

The rot that set in under Blair (and Cherie - millionaire-chaser extraordinaire) has clearly been spreading beneath the surface ever since and the party really ought to consider a change of name to reflect its new priorities; suggestions would be welcome.

Meanwhile, perhaps it’s time for some new words: 

The People's flag is deepest red, 

But now its staunchest sons are dead 

And in their place a man who’s sold 

His own integrity for gold. 

He’s willing to evade and lie, 

Accept the gifts and not ask why.

So do us all a favour, Keir,

And stop the grift and lying here.

*Alternatively, a cynic might consider the possibility of a deliberate  - and largely successful - ploy to generate ridicule and divert attention away from the matter of the hostages and Labour’s policy towards Israel, even at the cost of the leader’s dignity.

Or perhaps the cynicism is on Labour’s part; it might be significant that the mid-phrase error effectively negated its value  as a soundbite expressing clear support for Israel.

What lies beneath

In the high and far off times, when Angela Rayner thought Stockport so good she lived there twice, a strikingly similar scenario was playing out down south: 

A senior aide to Jeremy Corbyn has hit back after allegations that he is engaging in electoral fraud.

Our hero is one Sam Tarry, erstwhile paramour of Ms Rayner and undeclared house guest in Lord Alli’s New York penthouse flat during Our Ange’s surprisingly inexpensive New Year’s Eve break, and there’s something oddly familiar about his unconventional domestic arrangements a decade ago…

The Sunday Times alleged that, while Tarry says he lives in a flat in Barking [where he serves as a councillor], he actually lives in Brighton with his wife. The Brighton address is on their marriage certificate and Land Registry records show that Tarry and his wife jointly own the property.

Tarry’s claim to have been permanently resident in Barking for most of the duration of his marriage seems a bit rough on his wife - and, for that matter, on the two children they somehow managed to produce under the circumstances before he bunked off with Angie a few years later. In any case, it all sounds as if it might have been a bit cramped at the Essex end of things:

The newspaper also reported that a trade union official, named Elly Baker, lived at the Barking flat. Tarry’s lawyers said she was his lodger. 

It’s all more than a little reminiscent of Angela and her brother/lodger supposedly enjoying domestic bliss two miles down the road from her husband and young children. So what might connect two people (three if you count Mr Rayner) extracting the maximum benefit - political or financial - from declaring distinctly odd living arrangements despite the contrary paperwork and anecdotal evidence of their neighbours? 

There may be a clue in the fact that all three are former trade union officials and thus, especially in matters relating to finance or public life, likely to have sought advice from union lawyers - certainly Tarry and Rayner’s confident public denials of wrongdoing suggest a complacent certainty of being covered by a technicality.

Sound familiar? This is the Party whose leaders have, in recent weeks, made deliberately misleading statements - ‘I didn’t go to New York with anyone’ and ‘There isn’t a document on my desk’ - perfect examples of sophistry by being economical with the truth*. I suspect that, this time round, Labour’s spin doctors have been joined by a hidden crew of lawyers ready to advise on loopholes, technicalities and sneaky evasions all, of course, for the greater good; as every Socialist knows, the end justifies the means.

I have a horrible feeling we are going to be seeing much, much more of this in the future

(Expanded from an exchange of comments at AK Haart’s place)

*A fitting coda from Starmer in a recorded interview broadcast this morning:

“Well, look, there was no breach of the rules or anything like that. We complied with everything.”

Also, from Guido Fawkes:

Starmer’s team have made changes to the register this year following “advice” sought from authorities. They said they “believed we had been compliant, however, following further interrogation this month, we have declared further items.”

A Fairytale of New York (and elsewhere)

I thought I’d closed the Tavern doors for good but sometimes the Muse strikes and resistance is futile.

(With apologies to fans of the original…)

“It’s New Year’s Eve, babe, 

In a Manhattan flat

Lord Alli’s lent me, so why not come along?

He says it isn’t wrong;

‘Just put the figures through

Two-fifty a night we’ll say, Ange, just ‘cos it’s you.’

Aren’t we the lucky ones?

We’ll never lack for funds

As long as Lord Alli is here for me and you,

So here’s to freebies

New York holidays,

The best designers; he’ll make our dreams come true.

“We’ve fine jackets and scarves

When the weather gets cold;

Who cares about WFA for the old?

We can sit in the front row 

Among VIPs,

And then claim it’s self-sacrifice rather than sleaze.

It’s our cultural duty!

Go see Taylor’s booty,

Take the kids to the footie - the donors will pay.

Give Downing Street passes

In exchange for free glasses

Then cover our arses and go on our way.”

But suddenly the voters know

And say it’s not fair play;

Will they rat each other out to get away?

“You're a leech!” “You're a skunk!”

“Were you clueless or drunk

That you never once said ‘All this might be misread’?”

“You scumbag! “You maggot!

If you want it you’ll blag it,

Kiss a millionaire’s arse to come up with the brass.”

Or, though people hate hypocrisy 

And wish they’d go away,

Will they keep on selling out day after day?