Kitty Fisher’s: proof that the PM has good taste in restaurants, if not in friends

David Cameron is too cowardly, or too cynical, to debate with Ed ‘Two or Possibly Three Kitchens’ Miliband — which depends entirely on the breath of your own cynicism — or is he perhaps just too busy eating? (Here I address Sarah Vine, or Mrs Michael Gove, the Daily Mail columnist who analysed the smaller of the so-far-discovered Miliband kitchens and decided that Labour is, on the basis of its contents alone, moribund. Sarah, you’re an idiot, an anti-journalist, a pox.)

The Prime Minister’s adventures in restaurant-land are a moveable feast, and changeable; he has, in his years of power, visited ‘Jewish’ Oslo Court, like a wasp drowning in a mikvah, and ‘sexy’ Clos Maggiore in Covent Garden, like a man searching for a condom he can eat. Now he’s been spotted in Kitty Fisher’s with what the diary pages called ‘friends’, but which I, who have long watched the Prime Minister interacting with the shapes that pass for human beings in his eyes, suspect are ‘employees’ or, at best, ‘allies’.