Listen / Read
You can’t help but feeling that George Osborne crossed swords with Peter Mandelson and got pissed on.
There he was a few months back, enjoying a nice relaxing stay in the Corfu villa of Nat Rothschild. He probably thought he could learn a thing or two from his fellow guest, heavyweight Labour veteran and then EU Trade Commissioner, as they basked in the lap of dynastic luxury and enjoyed a good old bitch about Gordon Brown by the poolside. Then off they went to meet the richest man in Russia on his massive luxury yacht. Ohhh, Nat, Nat can I bring Andy? Oooh please, he loves yachts and rich foreigners! Can I, can I? Of course, Nat was only too happy to extend the invitation to the top Tory fund-raiser, Andrew Feldman. The more moneymen the merrier. Meanwhile, Mandy must have been looking on nostalgically. Oh, look at little Georgie, how he reminds me of myself at that age, so eager, so much joie de vivre! Bless his cotton socks. I do hope I don’t have to destroy his career at some point in the not too distant future.
Perhaps Georgie thought they were all friends there. He goes way back with Nat Rothschild, they were pals at Oxford, chumming around and doing whatever it is that folk in the Bullingdon Club do (besides destructive binges with daddy’s disposable fortune). Perhaps, like all Bullingdon boys, they planned their futures as leading figures in finance, politics and… being royal. So he was quite happy to ask Putin’s close friend and super rich oligarch Oleg Deripaska if he had any loose shrapnel. I’ve only got a million or so rubles on me, Oleg confessed reluctantly. We were thinking £50,000 or so, said Georgie. Being as a million rubles is less than half that, Oleg must have thought him to have some cheek, and politely declined (he’s feeling the pinch like all of us, he’s even had to cut down on beluga and settle for sevruga caviar). Oh well, thought Andy, at least I got to go on his yacht.
But Georgie wouldn’t give up on grabbing at Oleg’s cash. He tried to persuade Nat to change Oleg’s mind. When not encouraging the uber wealthy to lose their money in hedge funds, Nat advises Oleg on money matters too. Being as his DNA protein sequence goes G-A-T-T-$-A-£-C-€-A, he probably knows that it’s illegal for British political parties to receive money from foreign donors. Oh, don’t be silly, Nat, we do it all the time, Georgie assured him, don’t we Andy? Andy was only too happy to back Georgie up. Yeah, that’s right Nat, we take hundreds of thousands of pounds off foreign businessmen all the time! We just get them to pay us through one of their UK businesses. It’s easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy! But I can see you both like a bargain, so I tell you what, we’ll call it £40,000 if Oleg lets me drive his yacht?
But, as tempting as the offer was, their shrewd business acumen went unrewarded and they came home all tanned and empty handed. Before long the world started to come to a credit crashing halt. That’s when Gordon Brown decided it was time for Mandy to make a thoroughly unexpected comeback, expected least of all by Georgie who still remembered all those nasty things Mandy had said to him during their poolside bitching sessions. Gordon Brown was making something of a political comeback, saving the world with his financial recapitalisation plan which was lauded over by Nobel Prize winning economist Paul Krugman and adopted by governments the world over. Georgie must have been just sick of Gordon Brown getting all that credit just for clearing up a mess he clearly helped make in the first place. How could he rain on Gordon’s parade without the all the hassle of planning his own economic recovery plan? I know! I’ll smear him in the press! I’ll tell them that Mandy said all sorts of mean things about him! That’ll do it! I’m so good at politics.
And the press lapped it up, having so missed Mandy while he was away. But Mandy didn’t miss them. He must have been rather nonplussed when he read the papers that morning. Not that he cares too much about people knowing he thinks Gordon is rubbish compared to Tony. Everyone knows that. But Georgie had no idea who he was fucking with. Does he not know who I am? I’m the Prince of Darkness! I’m the ever-living soul of Machiavelli himself! Who does he think he is? There’s only one thing for it. And so he picked up the phone. Hello, Nat? Remember when Oleg asked you how he could make more money from selling Russian aluminium, and you asked me if I would lower EU trade tariffs on aluminium, and I did? Well I’m calling in the favour. No, I don’t want money, I’m the Prince of Darkness, I feed on human souls. No, I want to you to tell the papers all about Georgie asking Oleg for £50,000. Now, before you say no, I know he’s your friend and everything, but I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was really important to slap this little shitwipe down. Oh, you never liked him anyway? That’s alright then. Thanks Nat. Tell Oleg I said hi. Tootles!
Thus the fate of political careers comes down to two things: cash and handbags. Friendship has fuck all to do with it.