Politics is the enemy of a happy marriage
Full disclosure: I know Carrie Symonds. Not hugely well, but enough to know that she is very far removed from the woman she’s been cast as since news of the whole Boris Johnson saga broke at the weekend.
Yes, she’s beautiful and vivacious and loves Abba (don’t we all?), but she’s also clever, funny, passionate about politics — and very brave.
After all, it’s largely because of Carrie that John Worboys, the black cab rapist who was convicted in 2009 of attacks on 12 women, is still behind bars.
She campaigned against his early release at no small cost to herself, effectively giving a voice to the 100 or so victims the police believe he may have drugged and assaulted, and helping to ensure that he never gets the chance to do it again.
Of course, that does not mean that she has never made any mistakes.
Nevertheless, the way she has been cast as a scheming airhead is unfair and not at all representative of the woman I know.
In any case, this is not just a story about two people. It’s about the whole pressure of modern politics — and why, ultimately, a career at Westminster can all too often be the enemy of a happy marriage.
The corridors of Parliament are littered with the corpses of failed marriages. It’s not just the obvious reasons: the long hours; the late-night votes; the drinking culture; the endless travel; the nights away from home; the birthdays, sports days and school plays missed in favour of that all-important vote.
It’s also the fact that, however down-to- earth you may be to start, once you get inside the Palace of Westminster, MPs are treated like a demigod by a culture that operates like a gentleman’s club in Mayfair. Meanwhile, at home, they’re still expected to take out the bins.
If you haven’t got your head screwed on tightly, ordinary life can quickly start to seem rather dull — especially when you’re pulling up to a dark house and dozing partner after yet another late-night sitting, only to leave before dawn for a very important breakfast meeting. And as I know from experience, it’s not always easy for spouses either.
Yes, there are certain advantages — not to mention privileges — to being a bit-part player in the great game of politics.
But it can be bittersweet at times. It’s not just the loneliness or the endless fundraisers; it’s also the close scrutiny — amplified more than ever before in this social media age — that comes with the job and the inevitable impact it has on any children whom you may have.
It’s the way some people feel they can treat you as somehow sub-human simply because they happen to disagree with your partner’s party or politics; how friendships can and do suffer because of political disagreements; the pain of seeing your partner and the person you love being misunderstood and misrepresented; and the constant, rolling stress of it all which, even for the most resilient among us, can be mentally challenging.
Indeed, the amazing thing about Westminster in general is how many marriages do survive the brutalising effects of politics.
That despite all the personal and public trials MPs and their partners face, so many of us stick together through it all and, in many cases, emerge stronger. I don’t say any of this as a plea for sympathy. Politicians choose their careers, and it’s no secret that it’s a tough old game.
But I think very few enter into it fully conscious of quite how hard it can be — both for themselves and those around them.
Just as all heroin addicts tell themselves they won’t get hooked, every MP believes they will be the exception; they won’t fall into the same traps as their predecessors.
Some, very occasionally and very fleetingly, manage that. But many do not. Because the truth is, people don’t change politics. Politics changes people. That, at the heart of it, is why so many political marriages struggle.
Yes, of course Westminster is teeming with temptations and distractions.
But the bigger threat to marriages is politics itself: that allconsuming, insatiable passion.
Politics is a rival who, when your children are waiting for their bedtime story, demands your partner’s presence at the ballot box.
A diva who requires they attend a constituency event in a marginal seat 300 miles up country, even though it’s Friday night and you haven’t seen each other all week.
A mistress who, when you try to explain that, actually, Saturday evenings are family time or that, no, you really can’t cancel another family holiday, simply pulls your beloved back into line with a flick of her whip. All- consuming, allpowerful and utterly ruthless.
And, to the sort of personality who is attracted to Westminster in the first place, virtually irresistible.
how could any wife — or husband, for that matter — possibly compete? It’s like pitting Mrs Doubtfire against Mata hari.
Faced with that kind of daily challenge, even the happiest and healthiest of relationships can begin to falter.