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Dearest Gentle Reader,
This Author has observed that Thursdays possess a peculiar talent for producing more scandal per square inch than any other day of the week. Today, Thursday has once again proved itself the most industrious day in the calendar, serving up a leadership scramble, a war-addled economy, and the imminent extinction of affordable fish and chips. One scarcely knows where to direct one’s lorgnette first.
The corridors of power are positively heaving with ambition this morning. Sir Mason of the Broadcasting Society reports that the anticipated race to succeed Lord Starmer as prime minister has produced a most unseemly jostle at the starting line. Lady Reeves, Chancellor of the Royal Exchequer and loyal defender of the current arrangement, declared on the Broadcasting Society’s Morning Programme that a leadership contest would plunge the country into chaos – which is, this Author notes, a rather dramatic way of saying “please do not take my job”. Meanwhile, allies of Lord Streeting, the Health Secretary, whisper that his challenge is imminent, though rivals whisper back that he cannot find the numbers. The former Deputy Prime Minister Lady Rayner has been doing interviews at a pace that suggests she has resolved her tax difficulties and her opinions simultaneously. And Lord Burnham, Mayor of Greater Manchester, finds himself magnificently marooned outside the Grand Assembly, unable to stand unless he can first find a parliamentary seat – a logistical inconvenience that may prove the least romantic obstacle in political history.
Against this backdrop of internal warfare, the Kingdom’s economy has had the audacity to grow. The Office of National Statistics reveals a surprise expansion of 0.3% in March – the fastest quarterly growth in a year and the highest among the G7 nations to have reported thus far. Lady Reeves, seizing upon the figures with the enthusiasm of a debutante finding a favourable review in this very column, declared the government’s plan to be entirely correct. Analysts had forecast a contraction, which only demonstrates that analysts, much like weather forecasters and matchmaking mamas, are frequently confounded by events. The growth appears driven in part by citizens panic-purchasing fuel and motor carriages in anticipation of price rises brought on by the conflict in Persia. Panic-spending as an economic strategy: truly, this is the age we inhabit.
From matters of state to matters of gates – the e-gate variety. The Home Office has announced that from the 8th of July, children aged eight and nine may use the automated passport scanning portals at airports, provided they stand at least 120 centimetres tall and are accompanied by an adult. Up to 1.5 million additional young travellers may thereby be spared the indignity of the queue. This Author cannot help but remark that the height restriction – lest the biometric scanner fail to register one’s tiny visage – is the most egalitarian bureaucratic standard since the fairground ride sign. One imagines frantic families measuring their offspring against doorframes across the Kingdom between now and July. The e-gates are in operation across thirteen airports, which does rather suggest that children shorter than 3 feet 11 inches may continue to contemplate their smallness at leisure in the regular border queue.
The Metropolitan Constabulary is bracing for what promises to be an extraordinarily eventful Saturday in the Capital. More than 4,000 officers are to be deployed – possibly the largest protest mobilisation in decades – to manage two rival demonstrations: a “Unite the Kingdom” event organised by Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, and the annual Nakba Day Palestinian march in a separate quarter of central London. Armoured vehicles have been placed on standby, drones will sweep the skies, and – in a first for these shores – live facial recognition cameras will be deployed at a demonstration. All this, whilst tens of thousands of football supporters descend upon Wembley for the FA Cup Final. This Author would gently suggest that whoever approved this particular weekend’s scheduling has a great deal to answer for.
And finally, a tale of cod, commerce, and the quiet death of British seaside tradition. A fish and chip shop proprietor in Pembrokeshire – faced with customers asking increasingly pointed questions about why their supper now costs £11.17 on average, compared to £6.48 in 2019 – is installing self-service tills. Not merely for efficiency, but to shield his young staff from what he diplomatically describes as “abrupt” enquiries about pricing. One cannot blame the man. The price of cod alone, he warns, may double by September. Fish and chips at £21 a portion is not, as he rightly observes, a fillet steak – and yet that is precisely the direction of travel. This Author submits that a nation unable to afford its own national dish has arrived at a genuinely philosophical crisis, and one that no leadership candidate has yet thought to address.
I am, as ever, your most devoted observer – Lady Whistledown.