Hats off to Sir Jeremy Heywood. The Cabinet Secretary’s bid to delete himself from everyone’s Christmas card list is proving a great success. Ministers were not amused by Sue Cameron’s Telegraph column hailing Sir Jeremy as ‘the only person trying to impose some order on the chaos’. She described him as the PM’s de facto political enforcer and she gushed lovingly about his capacity to ‘excite the frisson of fear’ in Downing Street. In response, the Sun’s Tom Newton Dunn tweeted that Sir Jeremy had become the ‘unelected epicentre of power’.
One disgruntled Downing Street staffer whispered to me, ‘What next? An eight-page spread in Hello! magazine inviting us to “step inside” Sir Jeremy’s beautifully appointed mansion?’ Another source tells me the dark knight’s ultimate aim is to be acknowledged as ‘the Master’ of No. 10.
Marvellous restaurant, the Wolseley. The locals assure me that it’s as popular as ever with Mayfair’s thriving community of venture capitalists and hedge-fund managers. Every morning the well-fed potentates waddle through its welcoming glass doors and sit down to enjoy French toast, caviar omelettes, Jersey Rock oysters and the odd thimbleful of Dom Perignon. But a business journalist has been taking advantage of the hungry billionaires. By slipping into the gents’ and locking himself in a cubicle, this enterprising sleuth has been eavesdropping on financial chit-chat as the whizz-kids exchange gossip and relieve themselves at the ornate urinals.
The hack’s editor, I hear, has been thrilled to receive his daily haul of ‘leaks’. Even better, the scoops are presented with no chits or expenses claims attached. ‘He never seems to spend a penny at that restaurant,’ quips one of his bosses. But the Wolseley’s management is far from amused. They stumbled on the loitering mole by accident and, having enticed him discreetly from his throne, ushered him out through the kitchens and sent him packing with strict orders never to return.
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