Monday
Words I thought I’d never write. We owe a huge debt of gratitude to the Tory party. Look, I know we ended up with Theresa May and Boris Johnson in the Conservative party leadership contests of 2016 and 2019 – and they were shockers, both of them – but at least the Tory MPs twice ensured we dodged the bullet of Michael Gove. Last week, Sky broadcast The War Game, a reality show for superannuated politicians and former senior civil servants and military officers. The setup was that the Russians had engineered an attack on a British warship in the North Sea and over the course of four episodes set in the Cobra emergency situation room, the assembled cast had to figure how to respond. We were left hanging at the final credits, but a nuclear apocalypse felt like the most likely outcome. And for that we have The Govester to thank. He was playing the prime minister and – to be blunt – he had an absolute shocker. For the first two episodes he seemed to be in a coma. All he could manage was to repeat back what the last person had said to him and then shout “asap”. But that was far more preferable to the Gove that turned up for the last two episodes. Despite frequently being warned about the dangers of escalation and the inadequacy of the UK war machine, Mikey kept on taking the option that would get the most people killed. Why bomb one Russian city when you can bomb two? The game ended with what were almost certainly nuclear warheads minutes away from destroying a major city in the UK. Still, Gove wasn’t the only deadbeat. Nicola Sturgeon, acting the deputy prime minister, was as hopeless as you would expect of someone who failed to notice her kitchen filling up with new appliances. It was terrifying TV. Not so much in the premise. What was really scary was the knowledge that our politicians were even more clueless than the rest of us.
Tuesday
Pep Guardiola timed his departure well. Perhaps he had an inkling of what was coming down the road. The top bods at Manchester City have predictably responded to being found guilty of 114 charges of financial misconduct by insisting they will appeal and drag out proceedings. No doubt hoping that either the charges will go away or they can reduce the potential penalties. I wouldn’t bet against it. My main reaction when the news broke that City had been found guilty was surprise. Not that I thought they were innocent – there wasn’t a football fan who didn’t think they were bang to rights – but that the Premier League finally got round to doing something about it. The earliest charges date back 17 years and it just felt as if nothing was ever going to happen. What happens next is anyone’s guess. Obviously any fine would be more or less meaningless as the City owners have bottomless pockets. Removing titles is equally pointless. Who would turn up for an open-topped bus ride for a cup won years ago? The issue of compensation is more nuanced. Because where does it all end? Can I file a claim for mental distress, not to mention the travel and ticket costs, for having paid to see countless matches which had been financially rigged against Spurs that are now null and void? There again, I have had two of my best nights ever at the Etihad. When Spurs secured a Champions League place for the first time and when we won a Champions League quarter-final thanks to City having an injury time goal disallowed by VAR. There has also been talk of a 50-point deduction. Probably not enough to ensure they finish behind Spurs. We’re only five games into the season and already 13 points adrift.
Wednesday
By a very rough calculation, I reckon I’ve spent the best part of six months of my life at party conferences. And yes, I am a lucky man to be doing a job I love, but it is sometimes hard not to feel a wee bit jaded during the conference season. Living out of a suitcase and listening to a series of speeches from politicians who can often barely hold their own attention let alone an audience’s, can make the days feel very long. And I was prepared for more of the same when I arrived in Liverpool for this week’s Labour conference. My heart sank when I saw banners, mugs and T-shirts with the slogan “Hope Again” everywhere. There’s nothing more guaranteed to see me sliding into despair then people loudly instructing me to look on the bright side. To make it worse, I had to endure the chancellor, John Healey, lie through his teeth and say “I am an optimist”. You’re fooling no one, John. He had clearly been told to be upbeat and dropped the H-word about 20 times. But on every occasion he gasped “Hope” it looked like a dagger had been plunged into his heart. Come the end, the whole audience was signing up to Dignitas. But then, Andy Burnham. By far and away the most powerful, emotional and gamechanging leader’s speech of the century. I can’t tell you how rare it is for a politician to hold an audience in his hands for an hour and say exactly what he thinks, feels and believes. Only Nigel Farage comes close, though what he offers is only anger, grievance and division. Burnham was offering something else. I may not have agreed with the details of all of it and most of it may never happen, but this was a world of social care, closer ties to the EU and electoral reform to which most in the socially progressive world could sign up. It was as though the sun had come out.
Thursday
When I turned 50, friends used to assure me that 50 was the new 40. That felt almost true. I can remember my Dad’s 50th birthday and he looked ancient to me. For my 60th birthday, those same friends were confident that 60 was the new 50. There was the slight drawback that I had already had a knee replacement, but I still went to the gym four times a week and my career was in good shape. Next week I will be 70. No one has even tentatively suggested that 70 might be the new 60. Seventy is unequivocally old. Some might even say that 70 is the new 80. I am now undeniably at the business end of life. My children are both in their 30s and have gone on to live their best lives. Much of my work as a parent is done. I had a heart attack two and a half years ago and am doing my best to avoid another one. My wife is being treated for cancer. Yes, I still enjoy my work and go to the gym four times a week but, as the great Leonard Cohen so exquisitely put it, “I ache in the places where I used to play”. It’s been weird watching the series 70 Up. I’ve always felt a kinship with the men and women in the documentary because I’ve followed them since I was 14 when they were the same age and felt grateful that my own life had not been part of the social experiment. But now we hear that 70 is to be the end point of the series. As though the lives have come to a meaningful end. I’m not quite so ready to go quietly into the night. I plan to keep going for a while yet. And for those of you who would like to join me trying to make sense of the world, there are still tickets available for my shows at the Komedia in Brighton on 18 October and at the MAC in Birmingham on 31 October.
Friday
My happy place. The Celebrity Traitors is back and all is more or less well with the world. The first episode may not have quite lived up to the hype but as a scene setter it was more than good enough. The side missions increasingly feel pointless – we all know everyone is in it for their ego and career rather than the charity cash – and in any case the celebs always need time to bed in and show their true colours. Though not Ross Kemp, who was showing worrying levels of paranoia from the off. Who will be the Alan Carr, a true star of the series? Who will be the Stephen Fry, all affected diffidence? And who will be the David Olusoga, the one who tried to work things through with careful intelligence yet always comes to the wrong conclusion? The first to show his face was actor Michael Sheen who declared that he didn’t know what he was letting himself in for and then said “I’m a huge fan of the game”. Hmm. Maybe he’s been watching with his eyes closed. The rest of the celebs trooped in one by one and we were up and running. Things soon hotted up when Claudia nominated Maya – never heard of her – and Richard E Grant as traitors. Richard was so thrilled – he had been desperate to be a traitor – that he promptly blew the show wide open by telling all the other celebs that he was a traitor. A move that may prove to be utterly inspired or catastrophically dim. Given a night to sleep on it, Richard was inclined to believe it might have been the latter and spent the rest of the day trying to persuade everyone it was a bluff. Sit back and enjoy the next five weeks.
