LET IT GO, GEORGE

NIGHTS drawing in, autumnal bite in the air, Strictly back on TV: is it too early to start thinking of Christmas presents?

All right, no need for that language.

I only ask because there is someone in the news this week who is crying out to be given tickets to see Frozen when it returns to cinemas in the run-up to Christmas. This person would benefit in particular from a hearty singalong to Let it Go, the Disney film’s fiendishly catchy anthem to survival, to pushing the past where it belongs and getting on with life.

Yes, it is George Osborne, the former Chancellor who, if he was a Disney character, would surely be the hunter who shot Bambi’s mother. 

If that seems a tad harsh, it is as nothing to the portrait of Mr Osborne that emerges in an Esquire magazine profile. According to this, David Cameron’s ex-wingman has yet to get over being sacked by Theresa May. Now the editor of the Evening Standard (one of many well-paid positions he holds), the magazine says Mr O has gone further than making plain his feelings about the Prime Minister’s handling of Brexit in blistering leaders and front pages.

In a piece titled George Osborne’s Revenge, reporter Ed Caesar writes: “According to one staffer at the newspaper, Osborne has told more than one person that he will not rest until she ‘is chopped up in bags in my freezer’.”

It sounds like the sort of embarrassingly juvenile jibe that might be spouted by a member of the Bullingdon Club, an outfit to which Mr Osborne belonged at Oxford. Inside and outside his party, condemnation has been swift, with Tory MP Jacob Rees-Mogg criticising the “bitterness and bile” of the comment, and the Labour MP Chris Bryant calling the reported remarks “absolutely disgraceful”.

A Downing Street spokesman said witheringly, “The contents of the former Chancellor’s freezer are probably not a matter for me,” a response that sets hares running about what else might be in his Notting Hill fridge. Road kill? Piles of cash from his speaking engagements? His underpants?

Mr Osborne has not responded to the Esquire claim, but he has made similar comments before.  Appearing on TV just after the General Election, he referred to Mrs May as “a dead woman walking”. Is he really taking his rejection so badly that he has lost all sense of what is reasonable discourse? If so, he needs, in the wise words of Frozen’s Queen Elsa, to let it go.

Another strong female he could learn from is Hillary Clinton. Having won the popular vote to be US president but lost the electoral college, the former Democrat nominee has more reason than the ex-MP for Tatton for feeling bruised. Yet her new book about the campaign, What Happened, published this week, is not quite the rage against the Trump machine that might have been expected. Certainly, she comes across as furious at times, and she does not miss the chance to slate the victor, calling Donald Trump “hateful and flagrantly sexist” and a “fraud and a liar”.

But the overall vibe is one of wistfulness, exhaustion, humility and regret, not so much for herself but for what might have been for America.

Now, this may be a nothing more than a tactic by Mrs Clinton to annoy the bejesus out of the man sitting in what she thinks should be her seat in the Oval Office. If so, it is working. In his Twitter review of the book, the president writes: “Crooked Hillary Clinton blames everybody (and every thing) but herself for her election loss. She lost the debates and lost her direction!”

Mrs Clinton’s response was to give the wasp nest another whack, tweeting him a picture of the children’s version of her book, It Takes a Village, with the message: “If you didn’t like [What Happened] there are some good lessons in here about working together to solve problems.”

Sarcasm in defeat masquerading as grace. Classy. In another tasty publicity stroke she sent pizza to a queue of people waiting outside a bookshop in Manhattan for a signing session.

What the future holds for Mrs Clinton is unclear, but for all her billing of herself as a “wife, mom, grandma”, one doubts she is going to go quietly into a retirement of babysitting and cruises. 

Whatever else it is, What Happened is her way of drawing as much of a line as possible under perhaps the greatest disappointment of her life. Note the absence of a question mark in that book title. Consider this a cool explanation, not a panicky post-mortem. Above all, it shows she is angry, but is not consumed by anger.

Look and learn, George.

LIVING OVER THE SHOP

AFTER last week’s appeal to keep the Argos catalogue, this column would like to continue on the campaign trail by highlighting a disservice being done to Scotland by John Lewis.

The store that can usually do no wrong has opened a flat in its flagship Oxford Street store where customers can stay overnight, trying out the furniture and goodies, from flat screen TVs to a fancy bean-to-cup coffee maker. There is even a concierge to serve champagne and nibbles. You will, of course, be able to buy after you try.

“We want our customers to discover an altogether different way of shopping,” said John Lewis. There are plans to offer similar experiences in Liverpool and Cambridge, but no mention of Scotland.

You may wonder if Scots customers want to spend any more time in John Lewis than they already do. I once spent so long looking at a sofa that I was served with a council tax demand from Glasgow City Council (couldn’t afford the sofa after that, so moved on), but having the option would be nice. Get on it, Holyrood.

WE'RE READY FOR OUR CLOSE-UPS

COMING next Friday to a big screen near you is Borg vs McEnroe, a dramatised account of the 1980 men’s singles final at Wimbledon. If you want a sense of how long ago that was, Andy Murray would not be born for another seven years. Ouch.

One wonders if in time there will ever be a Murray movie, charting Andy’s path to Wimbledon glory, which raises the question of who would play him. In looks and speech, Murray is such a tricky character to capture.

Any actor would need the voice skills of a Jon Culshaw and the looks of Eddie Redmayne, but Scottish, of course. As for Judy Murray, I rather fancy Judi Dench is a shoo-in.

Still on Planet Luvvie, it was reported this week that Mike Bartlett, the writer of Doctor Foster, is penning a new drama about rival newspapers, one of which is called The Herald. If the fictional Herald is staffed by the same lookers as the real life paper, the beautiful people of Hollywood had better start queueing for casting sessions.

Which reminds me, must make a Specsavers appointment.