Diary of an MP's Wife: Inside and Outside Power

by Sasha Swire

Esther McVey, who is perfectly groomed with a pretty face and a strong Scouse accent, follows behind. In the car she is more ladette than lady, telling us she will tell the whips to ‘piss off’ if they make her stay too late. Wonderful. But this new bunch of Tories should not be underestimated: many of them believe they were elected despite David Cameron, not because of him. Many even whisper that they could have doubled their majority if he hadn’t been such a liberal wimp.

D is not a man of surprises or even secrets, not nearly as multi-layered as GO. I go to bed and D stays up with H to admire Keira Knightley’s nipples when she comes out of the fountain in Atonement. Not for him the greater complexities of Ian McEwan’s work, it seems.

G tells a good story about how Miriam was asked to edit the Today programme over Christmas, and wrote to Paul Dacre to ask whether she could interview him. In her letter, she said that he had only ever referred to her as Mrs Clegg, but that she would be doing the programme as Miriam Gonzalez Durantez. Dacre wrote a curt letter back, refusing. And then the PS: ‘You have only been asked to do the programme because you are Mrs Clegg.’

While we are on the train Dave comes out of Downing Street to give his resignation speech. Sam is in tears (later she tells me that, having been up all night, she didn’t think she could go out there without drinking a large Negroni. When they walked back inside, Dave apparently recoiled from her gin-sodden breath.)

He tells H something truly amazing. The Saudis submit their usual list to get accreditation for the Labour Conference. There is a delay. Then the message comes back that no one from the Royal Kingdom is invited. This has never happened before. The Saudis are aghast, and soon the other Arab ambassadors show solidarity by refusing to attend as well. Even the head of the Palestinian delegation, who apparently has been trying and has so far failed to obtain a meeting with Corbyn, pulls out. As the ambassador says, if Labour become the government do they intend to have no bilateral relations with the Arab world at all? Incredible.

Boris a no show at the Channel 4 debate. In mitigation, it was Father’s Day and he must have had a lot of house calls to make. But Bozzo’s courtiers are doing a very good job of keeping him away from the electorate, in case he says what he really thinks.

H tells me not to take Rocco to Battersea Park. He recently shared a taxi with our friend the Sexy Spook, and she told him of how two burly Russians with rottweilers followed her in the park where she was walking her dog, and how the Russkis deliberately unleashed their hounds. The rottweilers had a tug of war with her beloved mutt, leaving him with all his insides spilling out. He was in the vet’s for six months and later died. ‘Well, they clearly knew who she was,’ I say to H. ‘Yes,’ he replies, ‘and I expect we are meant to believe it was all coincidence. In fact, there are more Russian spooks on the streets of our beloved country than at any time, including the Cold War years.’ A sobering and not entirely comfortable thought.

At 10 p.m., the exit poll says a majority of 86 and the whole room erupts; everyone is punching the air, banging the tables, the hedgies are ringing their pilots, telling them to switch off the engines of their jets. The pure and chemical thrill of it races through the room as fast as a narcotic running through veins. The waiters look on, amazed at the general hysteria. At 10:24, H texts Dave: ‘OMG!’