It seems incredible now that the coming of Sir Keir Starmer’s Labor government was hailed in some excitable quarters as heralding in British politics a new age of eroticism. The Times columnist Caitlin Moran wrote: “In all the analysis of last week’s election there was one seismic change that was overlooked by every major news outlet. Which is this: every middle-aged woman I know feels, right now, kind of … fruity. Turned on.”

Explained she: “There is nothing more erotic to a middle-aged woman than competency… At the beginning of this new government, the fact that they seem at the outset incredibly competent is making women of a certain age very frisky. ‘I think he has a lot of really full box files with “DETAILED PLANS” written on them,’ said one before excusing herself from the group chat. She didn’t say why she had to excuse herself — but we knew…”

Just five months in, the idea that any Englishwoman would swerve the most banal girly gossip in order to pleasure herself over the image of a prime minister with an approval rating of minus 22 is ludicrous. Sir Keir is less popular with the British public not just than all fellow leaders of major political parties, but than Elon Musk — who recently accused Sir Keir of going “full Stalin” — with a minus 17.

Not even the trailers for the new Bridget Jones film can patch up the gloss which has worn off Sir Keir in every area imaginable. For years there were rumors that the lawyer Mark Darcy was based on Sir K, with the book’s author Helen Fielding saying in 2020 that Starmer and Darcy “are very similar. He’s so good and decent and intelligent, but so buttoned up… I always want to say: ‘Come on, Keir, loosen your tie, ruffle up your hair.’ He doesn’t think of himself as sexy, but he’s really sexy.” 

Even the fact that he is the first British PM of modern times to be blessed with a beautiful wife goes against him now; there’s no point in having a wife who looks like that if you can’t find her mouth when you kiss her. The weirdness of the Starmer Kiss —  or rather, the almost-kiss which took place after the Leader’s speech at the Labour conference — looked like something which would happen if a robot was faced with a beautiful woman and instructed to show toward her spouse-appropriate affection.

Sir Keir unashamedly positioned himself as the most uxorious prime minister since Churchill. “Our love gets stronger every day,” he told the Daily Mail shortly before his election. “We’re made for each other…she makes me complete.” Yet after all the rumors about why he spent so much time at his wealthy benefactor’s flat, it sounds as hollow as the rest of him.

Previously seen as an asset, Lady Victoria herself has seen the shine wear thin after she was found accepting thousands of pounds worth of free clothes, earning herself the nickname “Victoria Sponge” in some quarters, the Victoria Sponge being a famous national cake but “sponge” also being British slang for one who is keen on taking advantage of the generosity of others.

At a time when his reputation has been decimated, Sir Keir — with that inability to read the room which has become one of his distinguishing marks — appears to be lost in self-regard. At a time when we are wondering who the next James Bond will be, he seems taken with the idea of himself as some sort of international man of mystery, posing on private jets while globe-trotting from Azerbaijan to Rio and sharing a designer beer, while wearing Hugo Boss loafers, with fellow Woke Bro Justin Trudeau. Best of all, going after that international villain Ernst Stavro Blofeld — sorry, Benjamin Netanyahu.

The news that Mr. Starmer backs the International Criminal Court (even the name sounds like something a nine-year-old would claim in the playground to be secretly working for on the next school-day after watching their first Bond film) in its avowed aim to “arrest” Mr. Netanyahu makes him seem not more serious, as was surely the intention, but even sillier.

Israel, after all, is a grown-up country, concerned with matters of life and death, fighting an existential war; Sir Keir’s UK increasingly looks like a play-acting, posturing nation, our history and experience willingly prostituted for a few progressive-facing photo-opportunities.

Politicians can survive being hated — look at President Trump — but they rarely survive being mocked. Look at President Biden and Vice President Harris. In what movie in that tortuously-moving mind of his will Sir Keir be starring next week — “Dr. Woe”? “Blunderball”? “Lie Another Day”? “Scoldfinger”? “A View To a Non-Crime Hate Incident?” As Austin Powers might say, “Do I make you horny, baby?” This time the answer must surely be a resounding no — even from the lubricious lady columnists over at the Times.