Beware Greeks bearing fists

The Cyprus question rears its ugly, shouty head in the Houses of Parliament. We hear that last week the sombre corridors of power were disrupted by the noise of a group of Greek Cypriots and a group of Turkish Cypriots having an almighty punch-up. The Greek delegation were there by invitation of Rudi Vis, the Labour MP for Finchley and Golders Green (who has a large number of Cypriots in his constituency). The Turks were led by Lord Maginnis of Drumglass, the crossbench peer. Neither was involved in the fracas; but neither is returning calls. So we don’t know who won.

“At 8.20pm on July 3, officers were asked to attend an informal meeting room in the Palace of Westminster, as a result of a heated debate,” confirms a Scotland Yard spokesman, dryly. “No arrests were made.”

Just how did the whole “Boris Johnson for mayor” juggernaut start rolling? Last week the Conservative Party’s answer to the Dulux dog seemed utterly flummoxed by the suggestion that he might be a candidate, first by ruling it out, then by ruling out ruling it out, in a giant hirsute “harrumph”.

In fact, People can reveal that Boris first considered it a bit, and then ruled it out, almost a year ago in a letter to one very active London Conservative. “I don’t somehow think I would be allowed to apply for the position of mayor as an MP,” he wrote, dismissively, “but thank you for the suggestion!”

Boris was, of course, quite wrong. Has everybody forgotten about poor old Frank Dobson (Holborn and St Pancras, Lab) already?

Many reports of Amy Winehouse (the singer) boozing in a Camden bar on the night that she cancelled a Liverpool gig because of “illness”. By happy chance, People’s current work experience kid was actually served in that same bar the previous evening by Winehouse herself. We’re thinking of sending him to the doctor.

To The Spectator summer party late last week, where we noted with interest the number of folding Brompton bicycles in the cloakroom (four) and did our best not to draw macro-political conclusions from the sight of Gordon Brown, and an awful lot of Conservatives, in a big tent. Other big parliamentary fish included George Osborne, David Miliband and Geoff Hoon, the last of whom we totally queue-barged in the throng outside.

Some confusion, late in the evening, with partygoers finding that the ladies toilet contained urinals, and the gents did not. We are reliably informed that this was because of Peter Lilley (the former Conservative Cabinet minister) and his wife, Gail, who amused themselves by switching the signs.

Not much respect shown by George Galloway (so much mileage in that gag) towards the Political Cartoon Society. On Friday he failed to turn up to their gallery in Bloomsbury to open the Blair’s Legacy exhibition. It was, says one society member, his second no-show. Instead, they had a bevy of Galloway fans, who swiftly drained the free booze. “I do know what happened, but I don’t know what to say,” said a Respect spokesman, promising to call back. A second later the People phone rings. “I’ve just phoned you back by mistake,” he says. Respect.

How sweet it is when a sidekick knows he’s a sidekick. Rupert Grint arrived at the Los Angeles premiere of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (how many premieres can one film have?) sporting a T-shirt that keeps him firmly in his place. Daniel Radcliffe, meanwhile, was less generous about his female co-stars. “Some actresses are insane,” he said. “I’ve never worked with a nasty actress – they’re all delightful. But completely barking.”

Smoke with a bit of fire backstage at Friday Night with Jonathan Ross. Paul Weller, the trailblazer of Britpop (and the man who popularised male pouting, but not in a gay way), was among the guests on the show last week and opted not to conform to the new smoking ban. Whenever a timid BBC producer approached to complain, we hear that Weller’s exceedingly large bodyguard stepped forward in a spirit of discouragement. In time, the rest of the green room sparked up as well.

Not the best of starts for Tony Blair’s post-Downing Street after-dinner speaking career. The former PM was best man at the weekend at the wedding of Jonathan Powell, his former chief of staff, and the writer Sarah Helm. Although his speech was keenly awaited, most agreed that he was overshadowed by the new Mrs Powell. “There were three of us in this relationship,” she began, to catcalls of delight. Blair’s own effort, by contrast, appears to have faded from memories already.

Postscript

— A busy week for Sandra Gidley, the Liberal Democrat spokesman for health. Today she has a ten-minute rule Bill about the evils of alcohol. Then, on Friday she’s heading down to her local boozer to promote the Proud of Pubs campaign. Most people complain of the evils of alcohol after a night at the pub, not the other way around.

— Jaime Winstone, daughter of actor hardman Ray, has been filming her new film Donkey Punch in South Africa. At the Arena magazine awards we asked her if she had been on any safaris. “No,” she told us. “When my dad was little he dreamt that his family was eaten by lions, so I would never do anything like that.”

— Spotted at the Cornbury Music Festival in Oxfordshire, David Cameron and the film-maker Richard Curtis dancing enthusiastically together to Echo and the Bunnymen. Just imagine it. They must have looked almost as groovy as Wills and Harry did at the Diana tribute concert.

— Toby Stephens, Bond villain actor and heart-throb, is no fan of Any Dream Will Do-type reality shows. “I think if you discuss theatre or expose its workings or try to talk about it it’s boring,” he tells us at the launch of the West End production of The Country Wife. So he won’t appear in one? “If I do, I’ll wonder what went wrong.” We will remember that . . .

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