Will Lady Starmer wear Samantha Cameron’s fashion brand Cefinn? After all, no one knows more about the wardrobe demands of a Downing Street wife.
It is unlikely, though, because regardless how infuriating it must be to have every detail of her appearance come under constant scrutiny, it would be quite a story if the new Labour PM’s wife bought one of Samantha’s metallic leather skirts or floral midis.
The role of Prime Minister’s wife is a curious one, especially for professional women used to having agency over their lives. So much of the job is being seen and not heard, with a timetable determined by others. It’s a little like being a model, only without the hours of hair and make-up before you go on show.
Similar to David Cameron, Sir Keir Starmer has a powerful weapon in his wife, since even those who don’t take to him consider he must have something if she married him.
Victoria is intelligent, sassy, modern and a hard-working NHS occupational therapist. And she looks fabulous. She’s got a delightful, inclusive smile, and the kind of figure that can carry off the smart mum midi-dresses and sandals with aplomb, rather than looking like a wobbly trifle.
As First Wife, there is little that trumps appearance in the power stakes. No matter what you do, you’ll be judged on how you look. Rishi Sunak’s wife, Akshata Murty, who is perfectly capable of dressing in the most expensive designer clothes in the world, ditched those labels for a clever array of small, independent and middle market clothes once she was in Downing Street.
I was frequently told that Samantha Cameron made all her decisions on dressing with what the Daily Mail might write – were they too expensive, too fashionable, too out of touch with Middle England?
I suspect Victoria Starmer may not feel as under pressure as the well-bred Samantha did to show that she is one of the people, but she certainly knows that every detail of her clothes will be scrutinised for price and label.
I doubt that she is using a stylist but it’s not unusual for the PM’s wife to have help with her clothes. We all know the nightmare of having to find a dress for a special occasion and it’s obviously not possible for Lady Starmer to dash to John Lewis or even a Me+Em changing room to nab something for next week’s conference of European leaders at Blenheim, for example.
Nor will she have much time, so it’s likely she will ask a friend who can help call in clothes to try on at home and offer an honest opinion.
Also, she will probably be exposed to the ruthless judgment of a teenage daughter. If you can pass that test on your wardrobe choices, you can manage just about anything.
Group chats are bad for your health
I’ve just returned from a few weeks in hospital and to keep friends and family abreast of my news, my partner set up a Whats App group, as many others do. Like all such groups, it is fraught with issues.
First, who to include. Was it assuming too much interest in my health to put someone on the list; and was it relegating others in the friendship stakes to exclude them? How often to post updates? What details do people need/want to know? And, for the recipients, how personal should reactions be?
I chose not to be included as the whole point was to remove the need for me to communicate directly.
Many messages on, I’m home, thriving and have now read all the messages.
Also, I discovered that my partner, David, a journalist and therefore an excellent communicator, had been in the difficult position of firstly posting an enthusiastic ‘all went well’ message immediately post-op and then, only 24 hours later, to send the terse ‘I’m afraid there has been a bit of a setback… more later’.
Seeing everyone’s concerned and supportive comments is a bit like reading a novel where you can engage with the drama but know the ending.
Soothed to sleep by peerless Penelope
I was fortunate enough to be sick at a time when there was a bumper programme of live action to watch on TV. However, even Glastonbury, Wimbledon and the Euros don’t run all night, so other entertainment had to be found as I lay sleepless in the hospital ward.
My usual diet of spooky thrillers with a high body-count didn’t seem quite the ticket as soothing sleepy time material, and my concentration wasn’t up to watching movies. Enter the BBC Archives and its golden oldies.
My award for best night-time soother goes to To The Manor Born, with the splendiferous Penelope Keith turfed out of her mansion by a brash new- money owner.
Surely it’s time for a revival. I imagine a wonderful version where a tech billionaire locks horns with an old-style posho… and it might even be worth watching in daytime hours.
Doddery Joe lets down the old guys
Apart from the trifling issue of whether Joe Biden’s decision to stand for re-election is likely to increase Donald Trump’s chances of victory, he’s doing a terrible PR job for octogenarians.
The problem with Biden is not that he is 81 but that he appears to be a cognitively deficient 81, otherwise he would realise that he should hand over the baton.
That doesn’t mean that all 81-year-olds are as doddery as him.
As the saying goes, some of my best friends are 81 and they are in fine form and would be perfectly capable of being leaders of the free world.
Okay Ian McKellen, at 85, took a tumble on stage the other day, but was able to remember his lines to portray a powerful Hamlet only three years ago at 82; David Hockney, 87 last week, is endlessly articulate and stylish, and as for Mick Jagger at 80… well, need we say more?
No, it’s not the years that’s the issue, they are just a number. It’s the person who’s wearing them.