Matthew Norman: Madness in a Prime Minister? It goes with the territory

Insanity always strikes, it's just a question of when

Prime Minister David Cameron (Getty)

How long in Downing Street does it take for a prime minister to go doolally and retire to a world of pure imagination? The answer, of course, is that it varies.

It’s widely accepted that Mrs Thatcher didn’t succumb to megalomania until she won a third election in 1987, after which no one could dissuade her from the poll tax. Mr Tony Blair’s nascent sociopathy became apparent after the Iraq war, six years into his stint, when he could no longer distinguish what he believed from the objective truth. Gordon Brown, who had a head start, was notably deranged within a year of replacing him. And so to David Cameron, whose chillaxed normalcy has done much to counter the assumption that an undiagnosed personality disorder is a requirement for this job. Until now.

The first clear sign to the contrary came last week in the letter to the leader of Oxfordshire council, in which he told Ian Hudspeth, a fellow Tory, of his “disappointment” over proposed cuts to frontline services, including libraries and museums. Well, it must be tremendously frustrating to be in a line of work that gives you not a shred of influence over such matters. Since he came to power in 2010, Oxfordshire’s funding has been cut by about a third, which Cameron refers to in his potty missive as “a slight fall”. In less monied regions, similar cuts have far more drastic implications than a shortage of Danielle Steel novels, as the parents of children as severely disabled as his late son would confirm. Is he vaguely aware of the terror and misery his government has unleashed on these and other vulnerable people, or has he retired to that parallel universe where cries of anguish from those denied support are no more than anti-government propaganda?

It is still too early to say. But if tomorrow’s political historians conclude that he did make that one-way drive along Thatcher-Blair Boulevard, they might date his letter to Oxfordshire Council as the moment the engine started running.

The incomparable Warren and his puff of hot air

Warren Mitchell, best known for his portrayal of Alf Garnett, in the Johnny Speight sixties comedy Till Death Us Do Part, has died aged 89 (PA)

Apart from being a superb character actor (as a Left-wing Jew playing Alf Garnett had to be), Warren Mitchell was an impeccably generous neighbour. I grew up a few doors down from his house in north London, and throughout the 1970s he regularly took me to Spurs when he had a season ticket to spare. On the walk to the ground, he was relentlessly serenaded by shrieks of “Oi, Alf, mate, what’ya doin’ here? Why ain’t you dahn the Hammers?”, and greeted every one with the delight of someone hearing it for the first time.

Not that there wasn’t a slice of Alf’s irascibility in him. One 1974 Saturday, when Martin Peters missed from three yards with the Everton goalkeeper splayed by a post, Warren leapt to his feet. “Aaaghh, Peters, you ****, I could’ve blown it in,” he screeched, hands racing to head. “I could have bloody farted it in.”

Chilcot has a neat turn of speed when it suits

I am intrigued to learn, from a Sun report about the brevity of his working day, that when Sir John Chilcot drove to his home in Devon early on Friday afternoon, the ace investigator did so in a Porsche (a Macan Turbo 4x4: 0-60mph: 4.6 seconds). Intrigued, but not surprised. Well, he’s hardly a dawdler, is he? Loves speed, does Sir John. Always desperate to reach his destination as quickly as possible.

Who wouldn’t be down to brass tacks after that tax bill?

For those, like me, in a perpetual state of trepidation about finances, Liz Jones has dreadful news in the Mail on Sunday. She’s been told that she must buy a cheaper car, cancel her health and life insurance, and sell her home. She has £101 in the bank – although for reasons I can’t fully fathom after a dozen readings – only £1 is available to spend. But small wonder she’s in strife. Liz mentions in passing that she paid £400,000 in tax last year. That suggests earnings a little under £1m. and you know how tough it is these days to make ends meet on that kind of money, despite the most stringent pulling in of horns. Anyone who is tempted to help out, as many readers were after a similar plea of poverty a few years ago, should send the donation, in cash, via the newspaper.

Danczuks’ song-and- dance act is ripe for a musical

One of these days, Andrew Lloyd Webber will finally get round to writing that heartrending yet ultimately life-affirming musical about the Danczuks of Rochdale. In the meantime, it falls to the popular prints to immortalise Simon, the Corbyn-bashing Labour MP, and his studiedly bashful, estranged second wife, Karen. On Sunday, while Karen celebrated her fourth anniversary of tweeting buxom selfies (and can anyone tell me why it isn’t a national holiday?), news broke that Simon has hired a new, £30,000 per annum parliamentary assistant. Nasreen Nazir, whose texts to Simon once inveigled his first wife into throwing his phone down the loo, worked for Simon previously at a company he owned. After abruptly resigning that post in 2006, she started (though never finished) tribunal proceedings against him for constructive dismissal and sexual harassment. All water under the bridge now, so we’ll not hear another word about it. Now then, your lordship, let’s crack on with that musical, eh?