Burnhamania
And so to Westminster, where the latest instalment of the national psychodrama once known as “the government” has reached its third act crescendo.
Yet, in a testament to the success of twenty-first-century devolution, rather a lot of this week’s public jockeying has taken place in the People’s Republic of Manchester, where its Supreme Commander, down but not out after his failed coup in January, has reconvened the proverbial politburo for one last putsch. Mr Burnham, riding the Avanti West Coast into London like an Arthurian hero on a noble steed, has cried God for Andy, Everton, and St Helens.
The joke goes that a Blairite, a Corbynite and a Starmerite walk into a bar, and the barman says, “Hi Andy”. Burnham will be immediately looking to address this, and he has a lot to work with. Having spent the last nine years engaged in a political reputation overhaul engineered largely through the twin concerns of being good at his job, and publicly liking pints, football and The Stone Roses. In a world where even a politician’s most genuine enthusiasms (”Keir Starmer is football mad”) are torn apart for the slightest hint of insincerity, it is significant that the latter of these has worked. It would have worked perhaps less well had his mayoralty of Manchester not been a success by any measure and a success, at that, achieved largely under a national Conservative government.
The benefit, of course, of holding every conceivable political opinion to the Left of centre is that eventually you happen upon the right one at the right time. Burnham has spent the best part of a year prevaricating, in a kind of will he/won’t he public dance that would put even Love Island’s most indecisive bachelors to shame. His premature arrival in January was no fault of his own. Now that he has decided, conclusively, that he will, it’s a question only of whether the depth of his personal approval rating can survive in a seat prime for Reform’s taking. If it does, he will be Prime Minister by the autumn.
The country is, in effect, about to witness a Presidential election take place in Wigan. Pie barms all round.
Starmer’s signal failure
To no one’s surprise, Starmer’s in trouble following a catastrophic set of local election results. With ministerial resignations mounting and his own MPs turning on him, it’s now a case of when, not if. All while, as ever, he tries to plough on.
And that, in a sense, is precisely the problem. Back in July 2024, standing outside Downing Street, Starmer framed his premiership around urgency and diligence - he would “get on with the job.” It was a pitch to a public exhausted by the previous government’s chaos, and an obvious tactic at the time. But governing and leading are different beasts, and it transpired that Starmer wasn’t primed for a fast-moving media environment that would chew him up and spit him out.
We live in a fractured, always-on news environment where vibes-based politics is becoming increasingly important, and if managed correctly, can generate overnight success. With social media “content” turbo-charging the 24-hour cycle, politicians compete against waning attention spans, and those embracing warmth and authenticity are outrunning his eye for policy substance.
Into this mercurial space step figures like Nigel Farage and Zack Polanski - shapeshifters who have bet everything on communications and who are currently winning, at least for now. Both are magnetic in their pockets of the electorate and ferociously amplified by social media. Both speak the language of the disenchanted fluently. And both, it turns out, don’t hold up especially well under closer inspection. Polanski is currently weathering a run of embarrassments around council tax, a falsely claimed Red Cross role and the small matter of not voting in the elections he’d just campaigned in. Farage carries his own considerable baggage, but his Trumpian swagger and iron hide mean he isn’t going anywhere.
What British politics is crying out for is a figure who can be serious on the biggest stage and authentic everywhere else - a Blair-type communicator who treats the media as an ally rather than an inconvenience. But the communication playbook Blair operated under has changed - the entire system is different. Is this political all-rounder even possible in today’s world? It’s been decades since we’ve had one, and the public might be burned by all the casualties. But perhaps it only takes one influential leader to reset hearts and minds; don’t hold your breath.
Back of the net (worth) for billionaire Beckham
It may not be the end of the month yet, but with the Sunday Times Rich List dropping today, it’s payday for the UK elite. Sir David Beckham has become the UK’s first billionaire sportsman - a baller in every sense of the word. However, this is hardly a solo effort, as Posh Spice is also bringing home the bacon. The Victoria Beckham brand has finally managed to resurrect itself and turn a significant profit. And so, after 26 years of marriage, Posh and Becks have grafted their way to a combined fortune of £1.185bn.
Today’s announcement comes four months after their eldest son, Brooklyn Beckham, posted an explosive statement detailing his estrangement from his parents. One standout bombshell from the scathing six-page Instagram post was the accusation that Victoria commandeered the first dance at his wedding, leaving bride Nicola in tears.
However, it is reported that the initial catalyst for the family divide was in fact cold hard cash, or rather, the lack of it. Since 2017, the Peltz family has reportedly had a net worth of $1.5bn, which may explain why they allegedly labelled the Beckhams “tight”, considering that as recently as last year they had a comparatively measly estimated fortune of £500m.
According to Marina Hyde: “From what I hear, I think the Beckhams give Brooklyn a lot of money, but not insane money… Maybe Nelson Peltz would deny this, but I hear that he said to them, ‘I give my daughter a million-dollar-a-month allowance’.”
While Brooklyn may feel embarrassed by his supposedly stingy parents, he can at least pass the time waiting for an apology by checking his £250,000 Patek Philippe, which, funnily enough, David bought him for his 21st birthday.
But now that the former England captain has upgraded to billionaire status, perhaps reconciliation can be bought with a boost to Brooklyn’s pocket money. Perhaps Nelson Peltz will finally feel that Golden Balls is playing in the same league as him. Perhaps they can all go out for dinner and be one big happy family again. Let’s just hope they don’t argue over the bill.
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