Dear Keir: Do I regret hiring Peter Mandelson? No way

Now, you might think I regret hiring Peter, but you’d be wrong. First of all, I felt that his proven ability to befriend rich American perverts made him the ideal envoy to Donald Trump.

Second, Peter’s gay, so he won’t have done what Prince Andrew says he didn’t do. He only spent time on that island to benefit from Epstein’s wealth and political connections, which is much less creepy.

Rest assured, Mandelson was heavily vetted before his appointment. We reviewed all the material the security services had on him – the so-called “Peter files”. And trust me, there was nothing about these Peter files that raised an alarm.

Nonetheless, I have taken the brave, principled decision to sack him, after a mere 24 hours of giving my full backing.

Right, on to your questions. Those should be safer ground…

Dear Keir, my flatmate’s boyfriend has unofficially moved in. He takes endless showers, empties the fridge and listens to dirty podcasts without headphones. Can I say something?

Zelda, Ramsgate

Hi Zelda. Whether in the context of a flatshare or securing our borders, I’m a strong believer in boundaries. It’s distressing to feel that your space has been invaded, even if you like the person in question. For instance, I’m a big fan of Wes Streeting, but the guy’s always hanging around No 10.

Each morning, like clockwork, the door to my office swings open and Wes slides in, like Kramer in Seinfeld.

While I don’t mind him eavesdropping on meetings or using the Downing Street letterhead, measuring the curtains is a bit much.

Perhaps you’re reluctant to confront your flatmate’s boyfriend for fear of causing tension. My suggestion is to quietly make the flat a hostile environment.

With Wes, I find it helps to talk at length about subjects he finds dull. After a couple of hours on, say, the statutory limitations of joint enterprise prosecutions post-Jogee, his eyes become glazed and he wanders off. Personally, I find the shift in mens rea requirements incredibly interesting, but hey. Whatever works.

Dear Keir, I work in the City, and I’m the only person in the office who didn’t go to private school. Am I paranoid to think my colleagues are looking down on me?

Shane, Orpington

Shane, this question hits close to home. You see, I wasn’t always a Sir, a King’s Counsel and a First Lord of the Treasury. I’m actually very working class. I don’t often talk about my background, so let me give you a primer: nurse mum, toolmaker dad, pebble-dashed semi, afraid of the postman, disconnected phone. I didn’t attend some posh private school. I went to Reigate Grammar, which only went private two years after I got in.

And yet, despite facing squalor and violence on the mean streets of Oxted, I fought my way up to the professional managerial class. Do I sometimes feel out of place when I’m in a corporate box, surrounded by chief executives and bankers, enjoying thousands of pounds worth of hospitality? Of course. But then I remember that I earned this champagne and caviar through hard graft. It doesn’t matter where you come from: you can serve the interests of capital as well as any Old Etonian.

So here’s my advice: take pride in your hardscrabble beginnings. Embrace them. Wear them like a badge of honour. When your colleagues bang on about their childhood ski holidays, talk about the time your space hopper got punctured, and there wasn’t money for a new one. Maybe you could constantly remind them of what your dad did (see above). Right, I’m needed in another crisis meeting. Who could have predicted Peter Mandelson would be sacked for corruption? I just hope President Trump isn’t offended. He and Peter got on well – they had a mutual friend, after all.

Yours non-chaotically

As told to Lucien Young