How Keir Starmer’s resignation forced me to face just how much cancer changed my life | UK | News

The day Margaret Thatcher resigned, my teacher moved the big TV into the classroom and my friends and I watched political history being made. Our understanding of politics came mostly from the TV series Newsround, but we all knew we were watching something very important. And I watched the speeches of the next eight prime ministers live and I remember them as if it were several years ago.

But I was asleep when it was Keir Starmer’s turn on Monday. Completely fast asleep and dead to the world. I woke up about an hour later and learned about his departure from social media. Then I read the articles written by my valuable colleagues on this site. Unfortunately, this was not a comment on Starmer’s leadership of the country over the last few years.

This was because, as someone with incurable bowel cancer, I had spent a lot of time in hospital last week, including chemotherapy and immunotherapy, and I was very tired. (Waking up at 5am and not being able to sleep until 7am due to the sun shining through my window didn’t help either.)

So, just as I’ve missed out on a million fun things since my bowel cancer diagnosis three years ago, I’ve also missed out on witnessing political history being made.

This made me think backwards and forwards about how the simple act of a tearful person standing behind a lectern reading a book from a piece of paper punctuates my existence.

When David Cameron resigned ten years ago this week because he had completely misread the country and failed to understand that we wanted Brexit, I was making political history.

As a political reporter, it was my job to write about the rostrum, Cameron’s team, his influence on the economy, what his wife was wearing, how his allies were reacting, successors vying for the top job, and what Nigel Farage was saying.

It’s been a busy time and I don’t think I’ve had a proper day off or a night’s sleep in weeks.

When Rishi Sunak stood up for his first PMQs in October 2022, I was delighted to hear the cheers of nearby Daily Star reporters in the newsroom as it was mentioned that his predecessor could not survive longer than a head of lettuce.

For those who may have forgotten, this is a reference to the show where Star cleverly plots the death of Liz Truss against the life of a much tougher salad vegetable.

But now my main job is fighting cancer, so instead of witnessing political history, something far into the future, I’m thinking about the deadline that will be written on my tombstone.

With statistics showing I have two years left to live, I am aware that the next person to go to Buckingham Palace and ask the King’s permission to form a government will probably be the last British prime minister I ever see.

And I hope they will be okay. I say okay because I’m squinting my eyes after the last handful of things we’ve been through.

The “last handful” is an interesting point because political journalists on television are trying to convince us that having our fifth prime minister since the resignation of DC creates instability. For several hours this week, they asked “ordinary people” whether they thought we had too many prime ministers.

This fits with the ridiculous British feeling that people should stay in their jobs as long as possible. I say, if they are really bad at it, get them out as soon as possible and replace them with someone better.

So with Andy Burnham likely to be the next Prime Minister, I’d be very happy to see if the Daily Star thinks it can outlive the beetroot.

Beets are much hardier than lettuce and can withstand harsh winters. But these are an acquired taste and most Brits would definitely choose potatoes over that reddish root vegetable.