Sir Keir Starmer only bets on the horses. His wife, Victoria, is a daughter of Doncaster. A photograph of the finishing post at that city’s famous racecourse hangs on their kitchen wall. Just as well, really, given that a flutter is now a capital offence for British politicians.
Once, the parliamentarian as gambler was all rakish swagger: Alan Clark flogging another old master from his father’s collection to settle his backgammon debts, Alex Salmond emerging from a long lunch to put a big wager on the 3.45 at Perth. Now we imagine some balding flunky hunched over their phone in the gents at Tory HQ lumping £100 on a date they’ve just learnt on a conference call.
Allegations of insider trading by Conservative candidates and
