"It's difficult to know what caused more claret-spitting last week: the revelation that David Blunkett has copped off with yet another stunner several years his junior, or the shock discovery that their intimate candlelit liaisons took place in - of all places! - Annabel's nightclub.
For a Labour minister, the Mayfair boite makes an absurdly incongruous pick-up joint. It is posh London's premiere watering hole, a home from home for fun-loving aristocrats, Eurotrash and minor royals. Yet there it was, in this blue-blooded melting-pot, that the working-class boy from Sheffield met a comely estate agent called Sally Anderson.
The couple's unlikely romance fizzled and crackled over a string of dinner dates in the famous Berkeley Square basement. They shared bottles of fine wine at its decadently upholstered dining tables, and - if one tabloid is to be believed - discussed marriage and children over coffee and petits fours.
Then, last week, the whole pack of cards came tumbling down in a shower of lurid headlines and chequebook interviews. Anderson, whose relationship with Blunkett was leaked to the press by a jilted former boyfriend, picked up the phone to Max Clifford, and details of their putative relationship were plastered across the front pages."
Allowing that labour ministers should not make a habit of frequenting Annabel's, Mr Blunkett may not have actually done anything illegal or immoral. But the ensuing ridicule makes it hard to see how he can remain a member of the cabinet.
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