Sorry, what just happened? Before we hurtle on to the next instalment of Labour government drama, let’s pause for a second to recap. So Keir Starmer’s allies briefed against Wes Streeting accusing him of plotting a leadership challenge, then Streeting denied the claims, and Starmer apologised for them, before belatedly claiming the briefing had not come from Downing Street at all. A claim so implausible that a government source said journalists “must have all been tricked by several impostors posing as No 10 staff”.

If this sounds farcical, vaguely embarrassing for all concerned and massively irrelevant to your life, you would be right. But in between the first chapter and the last (or perhaps the penultimate, given the aftershocks still reverberating through No 10), the episode acted as a masterclass in the patterns that define the stakes of British politics and characterise the stakeholders. It is also a portent of the future.

First, crisis: a government and leader in a death spiral. Second, a high-drama episode centred on personnel, chiefs of staff and cabinet ministers. Third, the emergence of a leadership contender who starts to be described in salvationary terms. Fourth, back to the first. Sound familiar?

Meanwhile, those involved are imbued by observers with a sense of cunning: once the briefings emerged, so did the game analysis. What’s the play? Is Morgan McSweeney, Downing Street’s chief of staff, the person rumoured to be behind it all, launching a preemptive move to flush out Starmer challengers? Is Starmer conspiring with him, or is he a hapless prince trapped in a high tower by his consiglieres? Is Streeting playing a blinder by keeping his cards close to his chest and cracking on with authoritative dismissal of the “nonsense” and the “toxic culture” in No 10? Here I must employ some restraint and not simply just type in capital letters: maybe there is no play? Have we learned nothing?

Maybe this is........

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