Sam Leith

For the first time, the true extent of the property held by the King and the Prince of Wales’s private estates, the Duchies of Lancaster and Cornwall has been revealed, according to a splashy Sunday Times investigation. There are 5,410 separate properties up and down the country paying millions of pounds annually in rents and fees and charges. The NHS pays to warehouse its ambulances, the Navy pays for the use of jetties, charities rent London office blocks, and money rolls in for everything from the training of troops on Dartmoor to the housing of prisoners in a jail on His Maj’s land. 'Revealed,' the headline hoots, 'The property empires that make Charles and William millions.

Labour has promised that, come what may, they will not be increasing taxes on ‘working people’. Well, jolly good. Those of us who work for a living will tend to welcome such a promise. So will hedge fund managers, who go to work every day, and the CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, and the lawyers and accountants who manage vast offshore tax efficiency schemes. Working people all. ‘Working people’ is a cant phrase, which – as Bridget Phillipson was forced to admit when she struggled to say if small business owners counted – means nothing concrete at all. It has the advantage, as all such cant phrases do, of denoting an automatic good: it’s something nobody can possibly be against.

Still making headlines, it seems, is one of the more trivial scandals to have dogged the Labour government in its first 100 days in office: to wit, the police protection given to the pop singer Taylor Swift. File firmly under circuses, you might think, rather than bread. For those who need catching up, the American pop star was given a VVIP police escort around London during the UK leg of her Eras tour – a swishy blue-light motorcade of the sort usually reserved for members of the royal family and foreign heads of state, and the reassuring knowledge that should some loon seek to lob a brick at her, or worse, Tay-Tay could rely on London’s finest to pile in with their side-handled batons and/or firearms.

‘Could you write a piece,’ my colleague wondered aloud, ‘saying come back Jeremy Corbyn: all is forgiven?’ Ha ha ha, said I. No. We most certainly are not there yet. And it is hard to conceive of any sequence of events, up to and including an asteroid strike on SW1 or a Day of the Triffids style mass blinding, which would leave us thinking that a return of Jeremy Corbyn to the Labour leadership would be a step in the right direction.  And yet and yet. Keir Starmer has been squandering at quite startling speed the goodwill of those of us (I know that will not be all Spectator readers) who had some goodwill towards him in the first place. The resignation of Sue Gray will be spun, no doubt, as Sir Keir showing ‘grip’ and ‘steel’.

The standout line from Sir Keir Starmer’s first speech to conference as prime minister – the one that will be quoted far and wide – will not have been what he planned. With his most serious, most pained expression, Sir Keir called for 'an immediate ceasefire in Gaza' and... 'the return of the sausages'. He corrected himself immediately, of course – he meant to say hostages – but at that point he was (forgive me) cooked.   While the faces of his front bench colleagues were effortfully composed in the hopes of pretending that their leader hadn’t just said what he just said, you know that their minds were feverishly imagining what the photoshop guys and pun technicians were going to do with that for tomorrow morning’s red-tops. Anyone can make a slip of the tongue.