Jolly boys together must now go their own ways

Emotions running high, fall-outs, high-octane family bashes: is this a sombre dissection of the relationship between press and politicians, the third and fourth estates, or a pitch for a new reality show, Made in Westminster?

The week began with Tony Blair, who turned in a performance so smooth some observers were quite overcome with nostalgia. Faced with commentators who have the attention spans of goldfish, no wonder Mr Blair has been raising the possibility of his return to frontline duties with anyone who will listen. The public, mercifully, have sharper and longer memories.

While defending the British media as among the best in the world when it was on its game, Mr Blair said it also had a more sinister side. "You fall out with them and you watch out."

This characterisation of the press as near-Sicilian in its ability to hold grudges was echoed by Vince Cable, the Business Secretary, who was previously in charge of the BSkyB bid. If he made the wrong decision, he was given to understand, his party would be "done over" in parts of the press.

The Blair and Cable complaints stand out because they are rare. In the evidence before Lord Justice Leveson so far, the relationships between politicians, their special advisers, lobbyists, the police and press, have seemed highly congenial. All has been rosy in the gardens where texts have been received, emails written on Blackberries, and dinner dates set up. That was pre-Leveson, though. Now there's a growing sense that things should, must, change.

Welcome to the village of Westminster, a charming little spot on the banks of the Thames. Newcomers will soon note that the village, though tiny, is divided into different areas. The three main ones are MoHo, the media quarter, CoHo, the civil service sector, and PoHo, where elected politicians and unelected Lords do their business. Happily, there are no formal boundaries in Westminster, as can be seen every weekday evening when the tribes gather to eat, drink, be merry, and gossip till their gums ache.

Those who relocate to Westminster might experience a certain sense of dislocation from the rest of the United Kingdom. Strange, since this place is meant to be its beating heart. Nevertheless, live or work here for a few years and one might experience a warping of the perspective. Individuals one might have previously kept at arm's length may now be your chums. You may be godparents to their children, eat in their homes, go on holiday together, or ride the odd ex-police horse. It's all perfectly acceptable in Westminster, but probably best not to speak about it to "outsiders". They wouldn't understand.

They understand all right. The public, even pre-Leveson, has looked at the cosiness between some politicians and some parts of the press and thought that only the addition of banjos could make the set-up more incestuous.

They know, too, how it comes about. Humans are a predictable species. Like flocks to like, chap to chap. Outsiders – women, ethnic minorities, gay people, the working class – can join the group. No woman, for example, has ever been more of a chap than Mrs Thatcher. But these cases are very much decided on an individual basis.

As Alan Milburn, the former Labour minister turned independent adviser on social mobility, declared to no-one's surprise this week, professions such as politics and the press are becoming more elitist, not less. More than half, 54%, of those at the upper reaches of journalism were privately educated, for example. Among MPs it was 35%. Like to like, chap to chap.

Defenders of the status quo will argue that the closeness between the press and politicians at Westminster – and to a growing extent at Holyrood too – is inevitable. Gather any group of people in one place for long enough, engage them in common activity, and relationships will form. But this doesn't happen to doctors and patients, judges and criminals, teachers and pupils. If it does, eyebrows shoot skywards and inquiries are announced. Politicians and the press, however, think they deserve a pass on this one, that they know instinctively where to find the line marked "do not cross".

After all, it was the press that bit the hand that fed it in spectacular fashion with the parliamentary expenses scandal. It was the press that blew the whistle when it came to phone hacking. In general, the press today is far more willing and able to expose powerful people than the deferential industry of old.

Yet the more that emerges from Leveson the more the public begins to wonder what else has gone on that hasn't been uncovered. Most knew it was an all jolly-boys-together set-up at Westminster, but it's the detail, the extent of the closeness, that has been so disturbing. While it might have worked for MoHo and PoHo pre-Leveson, it won't do in future.

As Leveson rolls on suggestions for reform are piling up. I predict a healthy future for the transparency business. Systems to log lunches, detail dinners, etc. All terribly noble but it won't last five minutes. Certain professions, journalism among them, depend on confidences being maintained.

For all the hand-wringing going on, there is a simple way for the press and politicians to keep a healthy distance from each other, and that is for both sides to remember who pays their wages – in the case of the press their readers, viewers and listeners, and in the case of politicians the public. If in any doubt, apply the scratch and sniff test. If what is being done, be it sending matey texts or going to Christmas lunch, came to light, would it smell right?

Politicians should above all heed the advice of that other Leveson witness this week, that cricket-loving, snooze-adoring, old darling Kenneth Clarke. It makes no difference, said the Justice Secretary, whether a politician is "obsessed" with gaining the support of the press, like Gordon Brown, or, like Mrs Thatcher, doesn't read a newspaper from one week to the next. "They turn on you in the end," was the wise words of the sage of Trent Bridge. One can but hope.