Harry Cole has narrated this article for you to listen to.
To the Queen Anne splendour of the British ambassador’s residence in Washington for Peter Mandelson’s welcome party as our man in D.C. Downing Street did their utmost to stop lobby hacks from attending since they didn’t want us to report anything that might distract from Keir Starmer’s ring-kissing at the White House the next day. The PM’s make-or-break meeting with The Don clearly weighed on his mind. On the plane over, he looked almost ill at the prospect. Yet by the time he landed he was cracking jokes, air-kissing Tina Brown and bantering with FBI director Kash Patel – a Liverpool fan – about football. Oh, and as for Peter’s do, the Lutyens palace sparkled after its £120 million refit, but it was still perhaps a little understated for someone of his stature.
When we reached the White House, Sir Keir’s nerves had returned. He looked as though he might vomit. Impossibly young and beautiful aides shepherded us into the Oval Office. I inadvertently caught the PM’s eye before proceedings begin and, without thinking, gave him a wink. No. 10 chief of staff Morgan McSweeney, Mandy and that other great Blairite re-tread, Jonathan Powell, sat on the golden sofas with fixed grins. In the end, unlike poor Volodymyr Zelensky, Sir Keir got out unscathed. His 30-minute interrogation in the press pool could easily have gone wrong if there had been another ten minutes of free-wheeling questions, but the President was ready for lunch. The first time Starmer met Donald Trump, at Trump Tower last September, our pescatarian PM was served chicken.
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