The desperate return of David Cameron
The late A. A. Gill said that there are two types of slums. “There are slums that grow from too little, and slums that grow from too much.” Sexy Fish, which opened in Berkeley Square in October 2015, is a hysterical example of the latter.
Masterminded by billionaire clothing and club mogul Richard Caring, Sexy Fish cost as much to build a nuclear submarine, and it instantly became the go-to place. the above He paid £350 for 50 grams of Beluga. The Esmeralda Onyx marble floor was shipped from ignorant Iran. Frank Gehry provided a 13-foot-long shiny black decorative alligator; Damien Hirst made a bronze relief of a shark. Hearst’s fish was suspended above a stone bar of strawberry-colored lava. The poor neighborhood was inhabited by many people. a lot Bright blue mermaid figurines.
The Sexy Fish landed in Mayfair, but was probably built for Macau. Tastelessly expensive and sumptuously cosmopolitan, crammed with Hey-Look-At-Mes and Don’t-You-Know-Who-I-Ams, no place in Britain better embodies life under David Cameron.
The poor, good luck to them, got into the big society; The rich got miso-glazed Chilean sea bass. On a December night before Christmas 2015, when Brexit was little more than a spreadsheet on Dominic Cummings’ laptop, Sexy Fish was where Cameron’s power peaked.
Two litter aristocrats filled it that evening. They were all together: on one level X factor Judge Cheryl Cole, with her former Girls Aloud bandmates Nicola Roberts and Kimberley Walsh, Little Mix’s Perrie Edwards and Saturdays’ Rochelle Humes. Below them, in the Coral Reef Room, was a party organized by Cameron’s head of big ideas, Steve Hilton, and his wife, Rachel Whetstone.
Hilton had not yet gone crazy, abandoned the push theory and joined Fox News. Whetstone was working for Uber, and was busy trying to consign London’s black taxi drivers to the dustbin of history. They were joined by David and Sam Camm, George Osborne and his first wife Frances, and Tim Allan, the millionaire former Blair adviser and founder of the Portland PR firm. Camilla Cavendish, Cameron’s head of policy, was there, as was Ian Katz, BBC Two’s editor. News night.
Weren’t Tory politicians supposed to spend their free time shooting grouse, not bashing Krug with pop stars and New Labour? Not anymore. Influence, fame and wealth were the rewards. The two groups in “Sexy Fish” that night were bonding. They had more in common than the ordinary people who voted for Cameron, or the ordinary people who voted for Kohl’s presidential rivals. X factor. Here was a timid, second-rate institution, as aristocratic and blind as their Edwardian predecessors. The only difference was that the Edwardians ate ortolan at their silly parties, not wagyu beef.
Content from our partners
(See also: Can Keir Starmer prevent mass resignations over Gaza?)
Like the Edwardians, the Cameronians were not bad people. Calling them the liberal urban elite was always a slur – and many of them also had homes in the country. But they were satisfied with themselves, and that made them neglectful. Reading about the Sexy Fish Party today, after Cameron’s dramatic return to front-line politics, is both bizarre and unbearably poignant. If things had gone as planned, Osborne would have been in his second term as Prime Minister, and Cameron would not have needed Rishi Sunak to make him a Lord.
Cameroon’s dreams were born of restful sleep. Can Britons feed well on a system of populist referendums, harsh forms of reality TV, paeans to “hard-working families” and supplementary programmes? aAttacks on “benefit snatchers” have long been faced by rational managers in navy blue suits, or celebrities in slit skirts who can carry a high note? It’s hard to shake the feeling that this is exactly what the “Sexy Fish” group thought of.
But everyday life in Britain, by 2015, had more in common with… The Jeremy Kyle Show Deeply Cameroonian Downton Abbey. The British were not cheerful and respectful; The British were oppressed, divided and afraid of the future.
Their leaders, whether in culture or politics, never understood that a childish culture would one day bring about a childish politics as well. They looked like the men in Philip Larkin MCXIVThey innocently line up to fight in the trenches, never noticing the ease with which dreams turn into nightmares. When Cameron took power, a friend asked him if his new responsibilities made him feel stressed. Again came the reply: “How hard can it be?” In 2015, it still seemed easy, but the world was collapsing under his accomplishment.
Now Cameroonians are creeping through those same cracks. David Cameron is Foreign Secretary. Perhaps he will be able to resolve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict once and for all through a referendum. His return is rumored to have been brokered with Sunak by his old friend William Hague. George Osborne, along with his protégé and former chief of staff Robert Harrison, have been providing the Prime Minister with independent economic guidance since 2022. Harrison has already secured a safe seat to fight for in the next election. (It happens to be a modified version of Cameron’s old constituency). Osborne may be next. Nadine Dorris told me on November 9 that Cameroonian court thinker Daniel Finkelstein was preparing Sunak for the PMQ sessions. The adults returned to the room. Too bad they ruined it last time.
Sunak, at least, certainly answered the question of whether he had any ideas. There is no. And in a few dozen key county families, the Aga will feel reassured to see that Sunak’s future resembles Cameroon’s past. The rest of us are seeing a decline.
Shortly before his death, AA Gill reviewed Sexy Fish, the same year Cameron participated there. He called it “a reward for people who have already earned a lot.” You can say exactly the same thing about Cameroon’s comeback.
(See also: Loser recovery)