Richard Madeley

There’s no statute of limitations on reporting a government minister’s embarrassing oops-a-daisy. It’s no good them doing a duck-dive, hoping that by the time they resurface everyone will have forgotten all about it. I remember after the Salisbury poisonings in 2018, Gavin Williamson, who was defence secretary at the time, appeared genuinely thrown when I brought up his Vicky Pollard-like comments about the Kremlin (‘Go away and shut up!’) in a live TV interview a few weeks later. I think it’s fair to say the exchange that followed wasn’t his finest hour. So it was when Rachel Reeves appeared on Good Morning Britain last week.

One reason Nigel Farage is currently making such a successful Jungle Jim is because he doesn’t duck a discussion or swerve a question. Camp-mates – and viewers – may not like what he says, but they appreciate the direct response. It makes a change from most politicians. It doesn’t matter what question you ask them: if they can dodge it, they will. It’s almost a reflex and it drives me potty when I’m co-hosting Good Morning Britain. Me: ‘What’s the weather doing where you are, minister?’ Minister: ‘I want to pay tribute to the work of the Met Office. Without these skilled men and wom…’ Me: ‘I just want to know what the weather’s like there.’ Minister: ‘Please allow me to finish.

Another week, another whitewash. The latest chunk of culture to be painted out of existence is ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’, Queen’s 1978 hit. Don’t misunderstand me. I’ve never liked the song. I think it’s crude, patronising and misogynistic. It was pretty dated even on the day Queen recorded it. But that’s my problem. Millions loved it. That’s why it was track four on the band’s 1981 Greatest Hits album. But as Universal Records re-release Queen’s classic collection, FBG is track nothing. Track gone. Track ghosted. We’ve got to stop doing this neopuritanical cultural censorship, whether it be with songs, books (Enid Blyton’s PC-filtered Famous Five or P.G. Wodehouse’s Jeeves), fairy stories (Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs), or films (Gone with the Wind).

All is grist that comes to a columnist’s mill. The late Alan Coren once wrote that if he heard a screech of tyres in the road outside his house, he rushed out, notebook in hand, ‘because you never know where the next 300 words are coming from’. I find that the Anniversary Almanac can be a reliable source of copy during thin times; my particular favourites being 40th, 50th and 60th anniversaries because they’re all potentially still in living memory. I’m already eyeing up anniversary options for 2023. And here’s an early heads-up – expect a deluge of words to mark the 60th anniversary of JFK’s assassination.

I wish I could persuade certain cabinet ministers to put their money where their mouths are. Several times last month on Good Morning Britain I exhorted Tory frontbenchers, including Liz Truss, to place cash bets with me. If they’d agreed, I’d be richer than Rishi by now. Well, obviously that’s an exaggeration, but I could have at least afforded to hire a private jet to fly me and Judy to our summer hols in France. Oh, all right then, a single-prop Cessna. Bet one was that there would be a swift U-turn on refusing to place a windfall tax on oil companies. I would have staked my house on it. But no takers, despite absolute denials that it was going to happen. Bet two was that there’d be a vote of confidence on Boris before midsummer.

Piers Morgan may have been the UK equivalent of a TV shock-jock, but there’s another side to him. I’ve known Piers for more than 30 years — we went to the same journalism college — and he has a large heart. Years ago Judy and I and the kids were holidaying in Florida and, unknown to us, we were papped in a hotel pool. The photos were hawked around the tabloids and I had a call from Piers, then editor of the Daily Mirror: ‘These pool snaps… I’ve bought them, exclusively.’ ‘Cheers, Piers. I thought you were a mate.’ ‘No, no — I did it as a favour. I’m suggesting I send one of our snappers to your hotel, do some properly posed holiday shots of you all, and run those instead.’ I shook my head.