Prospective Conservative party leaders are out for early morning runs. It feels like they’re all at it. What are they trying to prove exactly? Well, I suppose that’s obvious: physical and, by association, metaphorical fitness for office.
I decided to apply some rigorous analysis to these jogging photo ops. You can do this too. All you need is a computer, an internet connection and the knowhow to search “[candidate’s name] running. Images”. Herewith are my conclusions: zero points for Dominic Raab. Not one running shot could I find on Google. And he looks as fit as a butcher’s dog, doesn’t he? There’s also that allegation about him being a karate expert, but I couldn’t see a decent shot of him in his martial arts pyjamas either. He must be keeping his powder dry for a big athletic photo op on the morning of the first vote. James Cleverly looks a fine figure of a man, too – but again, no jogging shots.
Nothing showing for Kit Malthouse or Graham Brady. But at least they have the excuse of being somewhat well-upholstered; running gear wouldn’t greatly flatter them. Not that Boris Johnson ever let that stop him. Interestingly, the new, slimmer Johnson isn’t much in evidence pounding the streets as he used to be, probably because picture desks and paps aren’t as interested in him unless he’s looking like a bag of spanners.
Nil points for Andrea Leadsom too. I can’t help thinking that if I was her special adviser, I’d be telling her to get down to a sports shop, buy some decent clobber, stand outside her front door, get a picture taken, go back inside, get dressed for work, and drop the once-worn kit at a charity shop on the way there.
Sajid Javid. Nothing available. Nor Rory Stewart, which is somewhat incredible for a bloke who walked laps of Afghanistan and then came home to do shuttle runs across the width of the north of England. One point for previous efforts, however.
Esther McVey gets a couple of points for sheer front. No pictures at all of her in running gear, but she can be seen starting a 5K parkrun at Wilmslow last weekend. Penny Mordaunt is apparently no jogger either, but there are her diving efforts and associated swimwear shots from when she appeared on that reality TV show in a pool, and that counts for something.
Of a jogging Michael Gove there are many pictures. The lad’s running his legs off. But I can’t unsee the sight of him once on the dancefloor at a party in Cheltenham. He was exuberant, but truly terrible. Exuberantly terrible, in fact. A friend of mine there, a rampant leaver, said: “He’s dancing like a [you’ll have to use your imagination here]. I’m changing my vote.” Seven points for effort, though, in both pursuits.
Health secretary Matt Hancock is to be seen looking lithe and capable in a variety of photo ops, so gets seven points too (par for the course in that job, though). But out ahead, with eight points, is former health secretary Jeremy Hunt. Especially as it seems as though he’s actually enjoying the run – smiling and everything. Nice legs too; excellent muscle definition if I may say so.
May this race with many runners commence, but I’m bearing in mind something said of the great horse trainer Aidan O’Brien: if he entered one horse in a race it was a winner; if he entered five, it meant he had no winners.
I can see both sides of the flowers feud
I read about a neighbourly squabble in a gentrified area of Brixton, south London this week. Some nice lady had planted little flowers around the base of a tree on the pavement and some other people had come and picked (or if you like, stolen) some. The planter lady took exception to this and put a note on a tree saying as much, at which the petal pickers, and other residents, took enough umbrage to pin up retaliatory notes.
It’s a story out of which everybody comes with some credit and some blame. The planter lady was nice for planting them, but should surely have been pleased and even proud when admiring neighbours picked a couple. So, why the stroppy note? Just plant some more; they’re very competitively priced.
Those who responded to her note with their own notes about the flowers belonging to the whole community were in the right too – the blooms were, after all, in the middle of the pavement. But it has gone terribly wrong. The planter lady has got the hump and taken the flowers away, and that bit of pavement is bare again.
Which is a shame, because these things are important. If our streets look nicer, surely that will make us nicer people. Litter-free streets would be marvellous. I’ve heard people say that’s just cosmetic and it’s not worth spending money on. But if the merely cosmetic isn’t important, why do we wear, well, cosmetics? And why do we bother getting dressed smartly? I have taken direct action on this front. There’s an unloved, unattractive railway footbridge near me. Whenever I use it, I pick the litter up and occasionally have a little sweep. It’s the tidiest little footbridge in all London. It’s a start.
The perils of a pint with a Sex Pistol
It is my privilege to have the acquaintance of a legend. Paul Cook, the Sex Pistols’ drummer, drinks in my local. A seriously lovely guy. I was woken up earlyish on Saturday morning by a call from him – a pocket dial, it turned out. A dozen more pocket dials followed. Annoying, but he’s a punk icon, so I let it pass. The following day in the pub he apologised but, in doing so, a bit of masticated crisp looped out of his mouth towards me and landed next to my pint. “Sorry,” he said. “But I am an old punk, so what do you expect?”
• Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, writer and Guardian columnist
