There’s a phrase beloved of civil servants tasked with assisting a newly appointed Secretary of State in their first weeks in the job: ‘He’s/she’s drinking from a firehose.’
I heard it several times in my own ministerial career. It describes the sense of being overwhelmed by the high-speed flood of information, tasks and responsibilities suddenly bestowed on you.
For a new Prime Minister, the experience is amplified many hundreds of times over as I witnessed close-up when Boris Johnson took office.
I would argue that no one wanted the job more or was better prepared than Boris, but even he was shocked by the enormity and weight of the decisions he had to take in his first days.
Andy Burnham is no Boris. And he is about to discover that it won’t be him dictating the narrative but ‘events, dear boy, events’.
Nationally and globally, he’ll find himself at the centre of situations he has no prior knowledge of, or experience to fall back on. Every major decision will land on his desk. Every word he utters will have an impact – angering or reassuring political opponents and allies, other world leaders, and moving markets.
From now on, he’ll be on the backfoot, no longer in control of his own time, his diary or his destiny. Not even what he wears!
Andy Burnham is no Boris. And he is about to discover that it won’t be him dictating the narrative but ‘events, dear boy, events’
A civil servant will organise his official wardrobe with a morning suit and black tie always at the ready for any sudden death announcement. A dark blue T-shirt won’t cut it any longer. Reality will have truly bitten Andy Burnham on Day One once the photo-ops were over and the smiling No 10 officials who turned out to welcome their new boss returned to their desks. It’s then the security briefing will have taken place – just the new PM and his intelligence chiefs.
He will have learned of the risks the country faces from Russia, China, Iran et al. He’ll have signed the letters of last resort – the four identical handwritten orders instructing the commanders of our nuclear subs how to respond if Britain’s chain of command is wiped out during a nuclear attack.
I’ll guarantee he left the meeting shell-shocked and humbled as the burdens of his new role sank in.
He will have been introduced to the civil servants who’ll run his private office and, despite what people think about civil servants, they will be among the best and most competent. They will have given him his first 24-hour agenda – proof his life is no longer his own.
Of course, there was a Cabinet to sort out, the fallout from sackings to deal with, and then the numerous ministerial appointments down the ranks. But there will also be long, long days of back-to-back briefings – sometimes every 15 minutes – as the PM is brought up to speed on every aspect of his new job. Trips back to Manchester to run No 10 of the North? I doubt they’ll ever materialise.
While all this is happening, every MP who thought they were getting a Cabinet job but didn’t, or anyone to whom he made a promise, every leader of every trade union or organisation in which the Government has an interest will be calling, emailing, texting him with congratulations – and endless questions.
His political aides will be agitating to start planning and implementing policy, but Burnham won’t have the luxury of time to come up with the strategies needed to deliver on defence, education, homelessness or housebuilding as breathlessly referenced in that incoherent Downing Street speech yesterday. Because the truth is that Andy Burnham has entered No 10 with neither a plan nor a team with the required national political skills and knowledge.
Yes, he’s got the approval of Labour MPs (for now) and the unions (ditto). They’ve all bought into his nebulous message of hope without once asking how he will achieve it.
It is just possible that if he had had a period of grace, say three months in which Starmer had stayed in post, to transition from provincial mayor to Prime Minister, he would survive longer than the nine months I predict it will take to all fall apart. We could be facing an election as soon as next May.
Our new PM will have woken this morning struggling to comprehend his first 24 hours and praying it will get easier.
From his first meeting at 8am to 10pm when he tackles his Red Box and looks at the next day’s agenda, he should know he’ll be drinking from that firehose every hour for weeks and months to come.
Harry and Meghan in a financial jam
Call me a cynic but I have my doubts about the reported ‘rapprochement’ between the Sussexes and the King.
I don’t doubt that Charles was delighted to meet the grandchildren he’s not seen in four years, but one has to question the timing.
The Netflix money well has dried up and Meghan reportedly has $5 million worth of jam to shift before its looming best before date.
Meanwhile, Harry is apparently bored with life in California. What other option do they have but to rekindle their relationship with The Firm which is the only reason they had any commercial value in the first place.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s just an attempt to reboot their tarnished brand.
Call me a cynic but I have my doubts about the reported ‘rapprochement’ between the Sussexes and the King
The pair know they have a diminishing window of opportunity, because I can’t see Prince William showing them much love when he becomes king.
So, what does the future hold for Harry and Meghan? Well, to paraphrase an old saying, as money goes out of the door, love flies out through the window…
Rooney the cup winner
England may have been thwarted in their World Cup ambitions (again) but Wayne Rooney has emerged an unlikely winner.
His reinvention as a no-nonsense commentator and insightful analyst of the beautiful game has been a revelation.
And his on-screen summing up of the abysmal half-time show during the final was priceless – if unrepeatable!
Two friends, both slightly older than me, invited me to join them and others for drinks on Sunday.
‘We need someone to remind us of what it is we’re talking about when we forget mid-sentence,’ one jokingly told me.
I’m sorry to say, as we sipped our G&Ts in the sunshine, I was no use whatsoever.
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