The other day I was thinking back to the tumultuousness of the Boris Johnson premiership and how unsettling it was. Johnson had said that he liked chaos, because then everyone had to look to him for leadership. But it seemed like his wife, Carrie , was on board with the chaos, too.
Remember the untrained rescue puppy, the babies born in quick succession, the Princess Nut-Nut accusations, the botched home renovations, the endless friction with advisers like Steve Hilton and Dominic Cummings. I am allergic to chaos, so naturally all this made me seize up inside whenever I thought about what day-to-day life must have been like. Because while it obviously matters who the prime minister is, it also matters who they are married to.
Denis Thatcher was a total brick. Samantha Cameron reportedly made Dave do the dishes and drove his decision to quit (a decision made, it is claimed, before Brexit). Cherie Blair couldn’t hide how much she hated the press.
Philip May helped his wife decide to call a disastrous election. We never got time to know Mr Liz Truss, whatever his name was. And while I’ve got no idea what kind of prime minister Keir Starmer is going to be, I know for a fact that his wife, Victoria, is going to be an ace PM’s wife.
And will bring a dose of north London cool to No 10. I first met Victoria in about 2015 because we both live in Tufnell Park in north London. It is sometimes described as “leafy”, and yeah, sure, there are some trees with leaves on them.
But p.
