Keir Starmer’s diary: his final, doomed expedition

May 12, 1912

Lost track of dates, but think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch, poor Jess Philips said she couldn’t go on. Should this be found I want these facts recorded. The causes of the disaster are not due to faulty organisation, but to misfortune in all risks which had to be undertaken.

1. My decision to move cautiously over every patch of ice we’ve encountered has ensured we remained upon it indefinitely, and while the party remains committed to movement, we are no longer agreed on the direction, pace or meaning of “movement”.

2. The dreadful weather. My repeated assurances that conditions are improving have not entirely overcome the evidence of the thermometer.

3. The loss of Peter Mandelson.

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We fought these untoward events with a will and conquered, but it cut into our provision reserve.

I do not think human beings ever came through such a month as we have had, and every detail – food scarcity, fuel shortages, Burnham loitering with intent – should have been overcome in spite of the weather, but for the sickening of Peter Mandelson, whom we had least expected to abandon the project at so advanced a stage.

Mandy’s last thoughts were of his dear friend Jeffrey, but immediately before, he took pride in thinking that the public would be pleased with the bold way in which he met his end. He has borne scrutiny for weeks without complaint, and to the very last was able to navigate the gravest of situations in nothing but a pair of white y-fronts.

He did not – would not – give up hope to the very end. Before his end he said, “I am just going outside and may be some time.” Despite his disappearance, one cannot rule out the possibility of him one day returning at the head of some quango.

As I have said elsewhere, this is when we got into frightfully rough ice. Morgan McSweeney then received a concussion of the spirit, he died a natural death, but it left our party shaken. As indeed did the extent to which Nigel Farage’s rival expedition haunted us from the horizon. While we refused to eat our dogs, watching his team feast on theirs destroyed morale.

In lat. 85º 86º we had between -20 and -30 approval ratings while in lat. 82º, it’s between -30 and -47, with continuous global head winds. It is clear that these circumstances came on very suddenly, and our wreck is certainly due to this sudden advent of severe opinion polling, which does not seem to have any satisfactory cause other than my underdelivering, frequent repositioning, lack of a basic strategy and the Reform storm which has engulfed us.

Surely misfortune could have scarcely exceeded this last blow. I have managed six days since the poll. But with most households now only able to afford fuel for one last meal and food for two days, for six days I have been unable to leave the Downing Street tent – the gale of broadcasters and their insatiable appetite for reaction is howling.

We are weak. Governing is difficult. But for my own sake I do not regret this journey, which has shown that toolmaker’s children can embark on missions they are utterly unsuited for, ignore all advice, and continue insisting they are turning a corner, long after all the available maps say otherwise.

We took no risks, we knew we didn’t take them; things have come out against us, and therefore we have no cause for complaint, but bow to the will of providence, determined still to regurgitate vague managerial cliches to the last.

Had we survived, I should have had a tale to tell of fiscal responsibility, stakeholder engagement and delivery which would have stirred the heart of every mission-driven Englishman. These rough notes and our dead careers must tell the tale, but surely, surely, a great rich country like ours will see that those who are dependent on us – hedge fund managers, Thames Water shareholders, Lammy – are properly provided for.

K. Starmer