A spectre is haunting Rachel Reeves. It has the tonsure of an abbot and a jawline kept taut by intermittent fasting, but any trace of asceticism is dispelled by its perma-smirk: a half-smile, half-jeer that taunts “I’ve got one over you!” It is the spectre of George Osborne.
I am not the only one to see his shade. Other commentators have observed this week how the new chancellor has copied her predecessor’s trick of beaming over the threshold of No 11, before scowling like Captain Renault and claiming to be Shocked! Shocked! at the debauchery inside.
