Lloyd Evans

Central London succumbed last night to a mob of protestors celebrating the outrages perpetrated by Hamas on Saturday. That was the verdict of many news outlets. ‘Night of Fury’ ran the Daily Mail’s headline. ‘Police separate warring groups’ said the Daily Express.  The protest outside the Israeli embassy in Kensington lasted more than two hours and although it was boisterous it never, as far as I could see, turned ugly. About three thousand people blocked High Street Kensington and blew whistles, waved flags and handed out ‘Boycott Israeli Apartheid’ stickers. Pranksters attached them to the backs of policemen, for fun. The embassy itself, tucked away in a private avenue, was protected by locked gates and a cordon of 18 policemen who wore ordinary uniforms.

It was preposterous. A prime minister at the head of a party that’s been running the country for 13 years posed as a revolutionary today. Rishi Sunak presented himself to the Tory conference as a dashing anarchist, an upstart rebel, a fearless saviour who wants to wrest power from an authoritarian clique and hand it back to the people. ‘Our mission is to fundamentally change our country’, he cried. Evidently he’d forgotten that the Tories have been in office for the last decade-and-a-bit. To the surprise of no one, he announced that HS2 will be scrapped. The Birmingham-to-Manchester leg is no more, he declared. ‘The right thing to do when the facts change is to have the courage to change direction.

Partygate has morphed from a half-forgotten scandal into a new drama-documentary which airs on Channel 4 tomorrow night. This rehash of old news depicts Boris Johnson as an amiable tyrant, played by Jon Culshaw, who presides over a gang of chaotic law-breakers as they hold riotous parties in Downing Street at the height of lockdown. The fizz of topicality has vanished from this story which came to an end last year when Boris was forced to relinquish the keys of Number Ten. So viewers already know whodunnit, why he dunnit, and what happened after he dunnit.  Still, the show has a decent stab at dramatising the nitty-gritty details. To create a sense of freshness, the script introduces us to a fictional intern, Grace, whose video diary follows her early days in Downing Street.

It has now officially all gone wrong for stand-up’s sex god. Ahead of Saturday night’s Channel 4 documentary about Russell Brand, and the newspaper disclosures in the Sunday Times, there was speculation that the witnesses could be opportunistic attention-seekers. The account of the first complainant appears to undermine that idea. On the same day as her alleged encounter with Brand, she apparently visited a rape crisis centre, according to medical records, and accused him of wrongdoing. If the case reaches court, her testimony could be hard for Brand – who strongly denies all the allegations against him, said his relationships have all been consensual and that he has 'evidence directly contradict[ing] the narratives' – to explain.

Podcast mania continues at Westminster. Discarded grandees from all parties have noticed the success of The Rest is Politics, the hit podcast by Rory Stewart and Alastair Campbell, which has now become a lucrative roadshow. The two gasbags sold out the Albert Hall in a matter of minutes, and their popularity has drawn new players into the marketplace. Yesterday, George Osborne and Ed Balls showcased their contribution to the hot-air industry with Political Currency. The old prize-fighters buried their differences and treated listeners to 50 minutes of rambling chitchat about their half-forgotten careers. Ostensibly the ageing chatterboxes focused the discussion on financial matters but they kept shifting aimlessly from topic to topic.

An odd affair, PMQs. Few blows were landed, no blood was spilled. The party leaders tussled over a handful of fifth-order issues. Sir Keir Starmer suggested that the escaped terror suspect Daniel Khalife should have been held as a Category A prisoner. Rishi Sunak scolded the great barrister for not knowing that unconvicted suspects are rarely placed in the highest category. And the PM let slip that staffing levels at Wandsworth had recently risen by no less than 25 per cent. This means there were extra guards on duty and more officers patrolling the grounds when the Scarlet Pimpernel escaped, clinging to the underside of a milk-float. This makes his heroics all the more amazing. Sir Keir tried half-heartedly to embarrass Rishi over the Chinese spy scandal.

Crumbling concrete dominated PMQs. Sir Keir climbed to his feet and announced in sepulchral tones that most of Britain’s schools are likely to be flattened by the first stiff breeze of autumn. He gave an example, from May 2018, of a primary school that suddenly imploded ‘over the weekend, and thankfully no children were injured’. He used lurid tabloid language to hammer home his point: ‘Children are cowering under steel supports that stop their classroom from falling in.’ How awful. Buildings we thought were permanent turn out to be flimsy pop-up structures that are apt to collapse faster than a Labour council’s credit rating. Sir Keir blamed it all on Rishi’s fiscal incompetence and Rishi countered with decent arguments that are unlikely to cut through.

Even in her absence, Nicola Sturgeon dominated Iain Dale’s discussion with Alex Salmond and David Davis at the Edinburgh festival. Dale invited them both to comment on George Galloway’s suggestion that Sturgeon is ‘Mrs Thatcher in a kilt.’ Salmond flatly rejected this caricature. (Evidently he knows that criticising her in public will do him no favours.) Davis also dismissed the comparison. ‘Mrs Thatcher’s favourite pastime was arguing with people. Nicola wasn’t like that,’ he said, recalling the meetings he held with her during his term as Brexit secretary. ‘Nicola was very passive, very difficult to engage with. She adopted the image of a stern, domineering woman – which a lot of men like.

Mick Lynch, the general secretary of the RMT, has never felt truly English. In conversation with Iain Dale at the Edinburgh festival, he reveals that his parents moved here from Ireland during the war and settled in the Ladbroke Grove area of London where they raised him and his four siblings. His father was ‘an archetypal Paddy’ who visited the pub six times a week including Sunday afternoons after Mass. In 1971 he went on strike for nine weeks and the family were reduced to living off jam sandwiches. His parents always referred to ‘the English’ as if they were foreigners and Lynch has never held a British passport. He’s an Irish citizen.