Your questions answered on the Israel-Iran war
Why is Israel bombing Iran now?
Israel's position on this is that it has no choice, that it believes in the last few months Iran was accelerating towards building a nuclear weapon, and that talks aimed at curbing Iran's nuclear programme were going nowhere, and that therefore this was the last resort.They have said they see an existential threat from Iran, and have argued that if Iran acquired a nuclear weapon it would use it because it has previously vowed to destroy the state of Israel.That Iran was close to building a nuclear weapon is not necessarily a view shared by the rest of the region, and it is not necessarily shared by the International Atomic Energy Agency, nor is it shared by the last open source report we have seen from US intelligence which did not say that Iran was about to produce a nuclear weapon.- Frank Gardener, security correspondent
Where can civilians in Iran go?
The Israel Defense Forces has issued some evacuation notices for certain parts of the capital Tehran, but these areas are extremely dense and highly populated.We've seen footage of huge traffic jams as enormous lines of cars try to escape Tehran towards the northern part of the country, which they consider safe.But there have been strikes on those areas as well. Because the targets have been so widespread by Israel, no area can be considered safe.In Tehran, the government announced they were opening the metro stations 24 hours a day so people can take shelter.Tehran has 10 million people, so you can imagine evacuating that number of people is not really possible.- Nafiseh Kohnavard, Middle East correspondent
If US enters the war, would Iran strike US targets?
There is certainly risk, and the consequences for the US are fairly significant.There are about 40,000 to 50,000 US troops at around 19 locations across the Middle East. There are US personnel based in Cyprus, and a US naval facility in Bahrain. It will all depend on how the US decides to get involved, and to what extent.- Mikey Kay, Security Brief host
Could Iran's proxies support it in conflict with Israel?
I don't think so - not any longer.Since Hamas attacked Israel on 7 October, 2023, Israel has systematically taken down a lot of the first line of defence that Iran had.They have depleted Hamas in Gaza, they have largely depleted Hezbollah's arsenal in Lebanon, and Syria is no longer an ally of Iran because Bashar al-Assad has been deposed, albeit not by Israel.The Houthis meanwhile are relatively constrained in Yemen. So they are not very well coordinated.- Frank Gardener, security correspondent
Who is Iran's leader and how much support does he have?
Iran's supreme leader is Ali Khamenei. He is a religious figure, but he has much more power than Iran's president.He is the commander-in-chief of the armed forces and is a decision-maker for the country, including negotiations with the US.But he does not command the support of all of Iran - his people are divided, and that division is deepening.Iran witnessed huge protests against the regime only two years ago. Women participated in those protests, demanding their rights and freedoms.But we cannot ignore that this regime still has its supporters - including in the armed forces which are connected to the regime.- Nafiseh Kohnavard, Middle East correspondent
What happens if the regime is overthrown in Iran?
There's no clear answer.We've seen over the last few years that there is no united opposition who could work together to replace the government.Right now there are different options, including Reza Pahlavi, the exiled son of the former Shah of Iran, who is now living abroad.He has supporters inside and outside Iran, but how many we can't really say.He has opponents as well, including reformists inside. They may not want to go back to Iran's monarchy that was overthrown nearly 40 years ago.So it's not clear if there is one replacement.- Nafiseh Kohnavard, Middle East correspondent
Where is Fordo and what is it?
Fordo is about 200km (124 miles) south of Tehran and is one of two critical enrichment facilities Iran has.It has been built into a mountain for its protection. And it is basically one of the key enrichment facilities that Iran has been using to boost its enriched uranium stockpile.Fordo has been struck by the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) already. However, it is believed the attacks were going after Iran's surface-to-air missiles and air defence capabilities around it, in order to make it more vulnerable.- Mikey Kay, Security Brief host
How close is Iran to getting a nuclear bomb?
The only people who know for certain whether or not Iran was working towards building a nuclear bomb are Iran's most trusted nuclear scientists, the inner core of security officials and the supreme leader himself. The rest is conjecture. But the alarm was raised earlier this month when the UN's nuclear watchdog, the IAEA, found Iran to be in breach of its non-proliferation obligations, for the first time in nearly 20 years. Iran has amassed around 400kg of uranium enriched to 60%, well beyond the level needed for civil nuclear purposes. The UN agency said Iran had failed to cooperate fully and that it was unable to verify there had been no diversion of nuclear material to nuclear weapons. That is not the same though, as stating Iran was racing towards building a bomb.The Israeli military said last week that "over the past few months intelligence has shown that Iran is closer than ever to obtaining a nuclear weapon". But whose intelligence? Not apparently, its closest ally's. In March, the US director of national intelligence, Tulsi Gabbard, told Congress that "while Iran had an unprecedented stockpile of weapons-grade uranium, it did not appear to be building a nuclear weapon". Iran, meanwhile, has always maintained that its nuclear programme is entirely peaceful.- Frank Gardener, security correspondent
Does Israel have nuclear weapons?
There are estimates that it has about 90 nuclear warheads. But the real answer is we do not know. It has neither confirmed nor denied a nuclear capability, Israel is not part of the nuclear non-proliferation treaty, which was a global agreement to prevent more nations acquiring the bomb. It takes three components to have a nuclear weapon: first, uranium enriched to 90%, second, the ability to build a warhead, and third, a way to deliver that warhead to a target.As it stands, there is no overt declaration by Israel on any of the above.- Mikey Kay, Security Brief host
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
The Guardian
14 minutes ago
- The Guardian
The inside story of the Murdoch editor taking on Donald Trump
The danger posed to Donald Trump was obvious. It was a story that not only drew attention to his links to a convicted sex offender, it also risked widening a growing wedge between the president and some of his most vociferous supporters. The White House quickly concluded a full-force response was required. It was Tuesday 15 July. The Wall Street Journal had approached Trump's team, stating it planned to publish allegations that Trump had composed a crude poem and doodle as part of a collection compiled for Jeffrey Epstein's 50th birthday. The claim would have been damaging at any moment, but the timing was terrible for the president. The Epstein issue was developing into the biggest crisis of his presidency. Strident Maga supporters had been angered by the Trump administration's refusal to release government files relating to the late sex offender. Trump and his loyal press secretary, Karoline Leavitt, reached for the nuclear option. From Air Force One, they called the Journal's British editor-in-chief, Emma Tucker. They turned up the heat. Trump fumed that the letter was fake. Drawing wasn't his thing. Threats were made to sue, a course of action he had previously unleashed against other perceived media enemies. Washington DC began to hum with rumours that the Journal had a hot story on its hands. When no article materialised on Wednesday, some insiders perceived a growing confidence within the White House that their rearguard action had killed the story. They were wrong. DC's gossip mill had reached fever pitch by Thursday afternoon. The article finally emerged in the early evening. The city collectively stopped to read. In the hours that followed publication, the tension intensified. Trump revealed he had confronted Tucker, stating the story was 'false, malicious, and defamatory'. By Friday, he had filed a lawsuit suing the Journal and its owners for at least $10bn (£7.6bn). Tucker was at the centre of a maelstrom of stress and political pressure. It was the greatest challenge of her two and a half years heading the Journal, but far from the first. Two months in, having been parachuted in from London, she was fronting a campaign to have the reporter Evan Gershkovich returned from a Russian prison. She had also faced denunciations from journalists as she pushed through a modernisation drive that included brutal layoffs. Her plans focused on giving stories a sharper edge. On that metric, the Trump call suggested she was overachieving. Throughout her rise, an enigmatic quality has surrounded Tucker. Friends, colleagues and even some critical employees describe an amiable, fun and disarmingly grounded person. Many regarded her ability to retain such qualities in the treacherous terrain of the Murdoch empire as uncanny. The puzzle is exacerbated by the assumption she does not share the rightwing, pro-Brexit views of Rupert Murdoch, News Corp's legendary mogul. Yet Murdoch doesn't hand the Journal to just anyone. While the pro-Maga Fox News is his empire's cash cow, the Journal is his prized possession, giving him power and respectability in wider US political circles, as the Times does in the UK. So, why Tucker? The answer, according to people who have worked with her, is her possession of two qualities Murdoch rates highly: a willingness to make unpopular decisions for the sake of his businesses and a lust for a politically contentious scoop. Lionel Barber, a former Financial Times editor who also worked with Tucker for the FT in Brussels, said: 'She has a very sharp nose for a good news story – always did.' Tucker edited the University of Oxford's student magazine, the Isis, and joined the FT as a graduate trainee. 'She was a very convivial colleague, great company and good on a night out, but you knew when it came down to the work, she would nail it,' said a colleague. 'Very hard-nosed.' After stints in Brussels and Berlin, she won a powerful ally in Robert Thomson, then the FT's foreign editor. Thomson became a close friend to Murdoch, a fellow Australian, while working in the US for the FT. Thomson jumped ship to edit the Times of London in 2002 and in 2008 was dispatched to New York to oversee Murdoch's freshly acquired Journal. Before he went, Thomson helped lure Tucker to the Times, where she eventually became deputy editor. It was her elevation to editor of the Sunday Times in 2020 that seems to have impressed Murdoch. She showed a willingness to make difficult staffing decisions and widened the Sunday Times's digital ambitions, recasting the pro-Brexit paper to appeal to a wider audience. It was there she made an enemy of her first populist world leader. Just months into her tenure, the Sunday Times published a damning account of how Boris Johnson, the then UK prime minister, had handled the Covid pandemic. Downing Street erupted, taking the unusual step of issuing a lengthy rebuttal, denouncing 'falsehoods and errors'. The paper was called 'the most hostile paper in the country' to Johnson's government, despite having backed him at the previous year's election. Rachel Johnson, the former prime minister's sister, is one of Tucker's closest friends. 'I don't think she was ever reckless,' said one Sunday Times staffer. 'But I think she absolutely wanted to push the boundaries of getting as much into the public domain as she possibly could.' Many assumed Tucker's destiny was to edit the Times, but she was catapulted to New York to run the Journal at the start of 2023, immediately embarking on a painful streamlining process. Senior editors were axed. Pulitzer prize winners ditched. The DC bureau, the most powerful, was particularly targeted with layoffs and new leadership. One reporter spoke of people crying, another of the process's serious mental impact. It made Tucker's editorship divisive, leading to the extraordinary spectacle of journalists plastering her unoccupied office with sticky notes denouncing the layoffs. Even some who accepted cuts questioned the methods. Several pointed to the use of 'performance improvement plans', with journalists claiming they had been handed unrealistic targets designed to push them out the door. One described it as 'gratuitously cruel'. A Journal spokesperson said: 'Performance improvement plans are used to set clear objectives and create a development plan that gives an employee feedback and support to meet those objectives. They are being used exactly as designed.' The Tucker enigma re-emerged at the Journal, as staff noted the same mix of personable demeanour, enthusiasm for stories and willingness to make cuts. 'She's very emotionally intelligent – like, the 99th percentile,' said one. They said morale had improved more recently. New hires have followed. A cultural shift on stories also arrived. What emerges is a Tucker Venn diagram. At its overlapping centre lie stories with two qualities: they cover legitimate areas of public importance and aim squarely at eye-catching topics with digital reach. Tucker gave investigative reporters the examples of Elon Musk and China as two potential areas. Some complained the topics were 'clickbaity'. However, one journalist who had had reservations conceded: 'Musk turned out to be a pretty good topic.' Tucker's use of metrics around web traffic and time spent reading a story irked some reporters. Headlines were made more direct. Honorifics such as 'Mr' and 'Mrs' were ditched. There was a ban on stories having more than three bylines. 'She loosened a lot of the strictures that we had,' said one staffer. 'We're encouraged to write more edgy stories.' Positioning the Journal as a punchy rival to the liberal New York Times juggernaut may be a good business plan, but doing so while not falling foul of Murdoch's politics remains a delicate balance. 'There's a particular moment now where the Wall Street Journal has to prove its mettle as the pre-eminent business and financial markets media organisation,' said Paddy Harverson, a contemporary of Tucker's at the FT, now a communications executive. 'They're up against Trump, yet they have an historically centre-right editorial view. She has guided the paper along that tightrope really well.' Allies said Tucker laid a marker of intent in terms of punchy stories when she published an article on the alleged cognitive decline of Joe Biden. It was initially described as a 'hit piece' by the Biden administration. Some see the Epstein story as the latest evidence of Tucker's shift. There are journalists, however, who blame Trump's response for giving the story attention it simply didn't warrant. Others disagree about the extent of Tucker's changes, pointing to the Journal's history of breaking contentious stories, including the hush money paid to Stormy Daniels. However, the net result of the Epstein letter saga has been to draw attention to Tucker's attempted change in tone. Trump's lawsuit means the furore may only just be beginning. Many seasoned media figures assume Murdoch, who does not respond well to bullying, will not back down. However, neither billionaire will relish having to face depositions and disclosures. Any settlement from Murdoch could put pressure on Tucker, depending on its details. Dow Jones, which publishes the Journal, has said it has 'full confidence in the rigour and accuracy of our reporting, and will vigorously defend against any lawsuit'. The courts may yet reject Trump's case. 'I don't think [Murdoch] will just flop over,' said Barber. 'The issue here is that Trump went around boasting that he killed the story … For an editor, that's very difficult. But I'm pretty damn confident there's no way [Tucker] would publish without having it properly sourced.'
Telegraph
14 minutes ago
- Telegraph
Trump played the EU at its own game... and won
Squaring off across the table from Ursula von der Leyen was Donald Trump, banging his fists and demanding a 30 per cent blanket tariff. The clubhouse of the Trump Turnberry golf course had become the unlikely setting of a face-off between the two global superpowers – and ultimately, the EU's humiliation. The Telegraph has spoken to insiders who were in the room when the negotiations were taking place and has seen diplomatic notes that paint a clear picture. It's one of Mrs von der Leyen, the European Commission president, bowing to pressure from the US and being beaten at the bloc's own game. She had just agreed to the US imposing 15 per cent tariffs on EU goods entering America, while Britain had come away with a rate of 10 per cent. And at the end of it all, she and her team of EU negotiators had to put their thumbs up, their smiles not reaching their eyes, as they stood next to Mr Trump who boasted of the 'biggest deal ever made'. US officials had played hardball for the weeks and months leading up to the high-stakes showdown. Panicked European officials had turned to their Japanese counterparts for advice before flying to Scotland, asking for their advice on how to be successful like them. But ultimately, the EU was beaten by a dealmaker who played the bloc's game better than they could have played it. Over the years, Brussels has used the size of its single market to reinforce the need for trading partners to make concessions, rather than the other way round in talks over deals. And European leaders have voiced their frustration at the move. France's leaders described it as a 'dark day' for Europe and that the bloc hadn't been feared enough going into the talks. Trump plays hardball After a round of golf, the stage was set for the American negotiating team, including Mr Trump. A no-deal deadline was set for Friday, Aug 1. Without a pact Brussels would be subjected to the 30 per cent tariffs set out by the president in a letter to Mrs von der Leyen just two weeks earlier. European firms doing business in America would have become uncompetitive overnight if the EC president didn't shake hands on a pact. To secure this deal, the German eurocrat was told she would have to stomach a number of concessions, signing on the dotted line of an agreement that would be considered one-sided in favour of the Americans. Brussels also knew this agreement was needed to avert a nastier, more chaotic transatlantic trade war that would have left Europe without its most important ally until at least January 2029, when Mr Trump's second term comes to an end. To achieve this, member states agreed that they would have to stomach a blanket tariff because of a belief that the US president wouldn't settle without one, a source familiar with the negotiations told The Telegraph. Maros Sefcovic, the EU's trade commissioner, had briefed capitals that they simply wouldn't be able to do business in the US if that tariff rose to the 30 per cent demanded by Mr Trump. Therefore, they needed to settle on a number that would be an increase on the status quo originally charged on European imports into America – 14.8 per cent, according to one official. Some might argue that this was the EU being made to take a taste of its own medicine, with the bloc usually the first negotiator to reach for hard deadlines and use its size and strength to extract concessions from prospective partners. And it worked, the bloc had blinked. Before Mrs von der Leyen headed to Scotland, European capitals signed off on a mandate, perhaps for the first time, that would use a trade deal to increase tariffs from the current number. Behind the scenes For 24 minutes, the US President and the commission chief held an impromptu press conference under the eight chandeliers in the glamorous ball room at Trump Turnberry. With the Brussels and White House press packs ushered out, the real talks could begin. Mr Trump opened with his gambit of 30 per cent tariffs on all European products imported into America. The commission's first offer was 'high single digits', a source briefed on the wrangling said. The White House delegation stood firm as their European counterparts began slowly ratcheting their number closer to the American's figure. But ultimately, the commission's team kept their cool, at the recommendation of the Japanese, the most recent country to sign an agreement with the US. The Telegraph can reveal that a top aide to Mr Sefcovic had reached out to his Japanese counterpart for help on handling the Americans before the talks. 'They come in shouting the high number, and all you have to do is hold your cool and they diminish as you push back,' a source said, describing the advice. The other tactic deployed by the Europeans was to woo Mr Trump with some large numbers presented to him on a single sheet of A4 paper. Eurocrats had used their build-up to prepare an offer on paper that the US president would see as a major victory. That was an offer to buy billions of dollars worth of American military technology – born out of Nato's recent decision to increase defence spending to 5 per cent of GDP. The EU pledged to purchase $750bn (£565bn) worth of energy from the US over the next three years. And then there was a further promise that European companies would invest $600bn (£452bn) by 2028. These, European officials claim, are non-binding, not really worth the paper they were written on. The numbers were calculated using publicly available order information and information from trade associations. But this was enough to convince Mr Trump to settle at a tariff rate of 15 per cent, covering about 70 per cent of EU exports and totalling about €780bn (£588bn) worth of trade. In return, US imports into the EU will not face higher tariffs. 'This is probably the biggest deal ever reached in any capacity, trade or beyond trade,' Mr Trump declared. 'It's a giant deal,' he added, referring to the $600bn and $750bn promises. 'That's going to be great.' The US president's claims of victory and the deal were met with derision in Europe. Emmanuel Macron, the French president, said the bloc hadn't been 'feared' enough in the talks, which opened the door to the concessions. François Bayrou, Macron's prime minister, described it as a 'dark day' for Europe and accused the Commission of bowing to American pressure. Michel Barnier, the EU's former Brexit negotiator, said accepting tariffs was an 'admission of weakness'. 'This weakness is not inevitable. It results from poor choices that ensure neither the sovereignty nor the prosperity of the continent and its states,' he wrote on social media. Friedrich Merz, the German chancellor, meanwhile said it would cause 'considerable damage' to his country's economy, the largest in the Eurozone. In comparison, Britain had negotiated a tariff rate of 10 per cent, five less than the EU, in its own deal with Washington. This was hailed by Brexiteers as evidence that leaving the bloc was the right thing to do. Paris and Berlin had been the two capitals pushing hardest for the bloc to take a more robust stance in the trade talks. The French had especially pushed for a package of €93bn (£81bn) of retaliatory tariffs to be unleashed to bring Mr Trump and Washington to heel. There were also calls from Paris to clamp down on American tech firms doing business in Europe. 'This was a big red button nobody was willing to push,' an EU diplomat told The Telegraph, spelling out fears that Europe's economy is reliant on American payment services. But Mrs von der Leyen, who was particularly dovish, argued that this would spill over into other sectors and potentially spell an end to what is a crucial alliance for Europe, especially in security. Fears that the White House and Pentagon would withdraw security guarantees for Europe and cut off weapons supplies to Ukraine overshadowed the talks. But the commission president and her top officials also steeled member states for a longer-term game. Devil in the detail Gabrielius Landsbergis, a former Lithuanian foreign minister, said: 'The only way I can explain to myself why the EU commission would choose to humiliate Europe by accepting the 15 per cent tariff is that they hope to appease Trump enough for him to maintain US security commitments in Europe.' Now Mr Trump has his victory, the devil would be in the detail as the terms are finalised, Mrs von der Leyen's team told member states. The commission will be looking to quietly enlarge a list of products that are exempted from tariffs in more technical talks with Washington. Eurocrats are already briefing that Britain's deal, despite having a lower tariff rate, doesn't protect key European industries, such as beef farmers.
The Guardian
42 minutes ago
- The Guardian
‘The world is on edge': five tumultuous weeks with David Lammy, foreign secretary at a time of crisis
'Remind me: why weren't we able to meet in Washington DC?' David Lammy asks, spoon of Pret chicken laksa suspended in front of his mouth. It's lunchtime in the foreign secretary's office, a vast room of gilt edges, damask drapery and waxed oak. 'Because Israel bombed Iran, and your trip was cancelled,' I say. 'Oh, yes.' He scrapes the bottom of the pot, perhaps remembering the snap Cobra session on 13 June, the world holding its breath, the shared feeling we were on the brink of global war. It's three weeks on and the heat of imminent conflict has lessened, if not the actual temperature, shining in the faces of staff. Lammy apologises for squeezing me into his lunch break. His schedule, running down a whiteboard in the ante office, is precision-timed. After our chat, he will be whisked off to Cyprus to see British troops, then to Beirut overnight, then a car ride through the mountains into Syria, where he'll meet the new president, Ahmed al-Sharaa, formerly the head of the Islamist group Hay'at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS). Lammy will be the first British minister to set foot in the country in 14 years. He lifts his chin to prevent yellow soup dropping on his 'sombre' green tie. You can sense his mood, he'll tell me later, by his tie choice. Ordinarily he brings miso from home in a flask, but sometimes he's left too early, or sped from an overnight flight, and then it's the laksa, 296 calories. He's on a diet, an intermittent fasting, 'little bit no carby' regime. Plus he hasn't drunk alcohol since taking the job: 'I can't drink and fly. It interrupts my sleep.' His last was a teeny half-pint watching England v Switzerland in the Euros on his first official trip last year. He's taken 90 flights and visited 62 countries since, mostly on the UK government Airbus that gives him a stiff back – he is 53. Sleeping pills are an essential part of the job, he says. 'There's always a trip to the CVS pharmacy in Washington DC to buy the best melatonin gummies.' This interview was originally set up to mark Lammy's first year as foreign secretary. It's also 26 years since the young lawyer, brought up by a Guyanese single mother, was elected as Labour MP for Tottenham, London. What it becomes is a snapshot of a foreign secretary in international crisis. Not that Lammy seems to break a sweat. I tail him for five weeks on foot, in cars, on trains. Even when the heatwave melts train tracks, he doesn't loosen the Tyrwhitt tie or shed his TM Lewin jacket. Mostly he's cheery, slipping between bursts of uproarious laughter, which involves table banging, and thunderous rhetoric, which involves table banging. In a foreign affairs select committee hearing, his foot beats the seconds as he's grilled on Israel, Iran and Ukraine. During a French state visit, he shows his counterpart an original Enigma machine and spells out how it works. In a constituency community centre, he lets West Indian aunties pinch his cheeks and cry into his lapel. Only once do I see him nettled, prodding a cross finger in my direction because I inadvertently hit a nerve. We finish in the week he signs a joint statement with 28 other foreign ministers demanding an immediate stop to the bombing of Gaza. On Radio 4's Today, he energetically rebutts the suggestion that he hasn't blocked all arms exports to Israel. On LBC, Nick Ferrari reminds him it's the sixth time he's called for a ceasefire: 'Why would they be listening now?' Lammy sounds downcast: 'I regret hugely that I've not been able to bring the horrendous war to an end.' But Gaza is the wound that will not heal. I wonder if it will be Lammy's diplomatic apotheosis or his undoing. It's the issue that impels protesters to put fake baby body bags in his front garden, that brings them to a sleepy village church with loudhailers to amplify the death toll, now surpassing 59,000, according to the Gaza health ministry. It's the issue that focuses outrage directly on to him, that right now he's under most pressure to solve. The last time we speak, against dire warnings of impending famine, he has hardened his line. He calls shooting civilians waiting for aid 'grotesque', 'sick'; demands 'accountability' from the Israeli side. He says things are 'desperate for people on the ground, desperate for the hostages in Gaza', that the world is 'desperate for a ceasefire, for the suffering to come to an end'. He tells me he wants to go to Gaza 'as soon as I can get in'. In person, on the ground? 'Absolutely. One hundred per cent.' So what is Lammy's mission as foreign secretary? He has described it as 'progressive realism' – using pragmatic methods to achieve progressive outcomes as Britain's stature dwindles. So far this has meant reassembling our relationship with the EU, reimagining how we use our influence on the world stage and – crucially – managing the relationship with Donald Trump. As a cocksure backbencher, Lammy had described the American president as 'deluded, dishonest, xenophobic, narcissistic', a 'neo-Nazi-sympathising sociopath' and a 'tyrant in a toupee'. One can only imagine whether his collar felt tight as the lift doors clamped shut and he rose to the penthouse of Trump Tower in autumn last year. It was the run-up to the US election; Trump had invited both Britain's new prime minister, Keir Starmer, and his foreign secretary to dinner at home. Lammy says Trump was a 'very gracious host', giving them a guided tour of his Louis XIV-inspired triplex and art collection. Floor-to-ceiling windows insulated them from the blaring midtown horns 58 storeys below. Lammy was awe-struck by the gold, he says, how ornate it was, 'how expensive'. And later, Trump extinguished the lights and they stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the dark, admiring the glittering Manhattan skyline. 'It was pretty incredible.' Overall, his impression was that Trump wanted them to feel at ease, wanted them to like the roast chicken he served; joshing when Lammy had a second helping. It was not long after Trump had been shot in Pennsylvania. He was really shaken, Lammy thought, obsessed by it, 'as you would imagine', but at the same time going out of his way to make sure his guests were OK. 'The thing running through my mind was post-traumatic stress disorder,' Lammy says. 'The years it takes to recover from shocking events like that. How would I be feeling weeks later, if someone had tried to shoot me?' He thought of constituents who had experienced knife crime and gun violence, and felt, 'that whilst [Trump] was shaken, he didn't want to dwell on it. He could have said, 'I'm going to do the very minimum now because I'm not feeling great.'' Lammy clocked Trump's two chefs staring at him. 'I couldn't work out why I was of such import in the context of Donald Trump and Keir Starmer.' Finally, they approached. ''Please, please, can we have a photograph? We know your family is from Guyana, we want to send it home.'' Did Trump see that, I ask? 'Yeah,' Lammy says. 'They were also pleased that I had eaten more than everybody else.' I ask him to conjure what I would have observed had his trip to Washington DC gone ahead in June. He moves forward in his chair. 'The whole world was on the edge of its seat,' he says, 'so you would've seen foreign policy at its most heightened.' All agreed Iran should not have nuclear weapons: the question was how to stop that. Lammy says that his bridge-building role would have been to enter detailed discussions with secretary of state Marco Rubio and Middle East envoy Steve Witkoff, before shuttling to Geneva to inform the other E3 members, France and Germany. 'I remember as a young student doing history, reading about the Cuban missile crisis in 1962,' he says. 'There are these moments when the world is on edge, worried. This year, that was one of those moments. You'd have had a sense of that.' Lammy says the threat from Iran is real. 'Its leaders cannot explain to me – and I've had many conversations with them – why they need 60% enriched uranium. If I went to Sellafield or Urenco in Cheshire, they haven't got anything more than 6%. The Iranians claim it's for academic use, but I don't accept that. It was Gordon Brown who accused Iran of deceit when they established Fordow [the underground enrichment site] and revealed that to the world back in 2009.' As a rule, Lammy prefers diplomacy to military intervention, but is 'clear eyed' about 'parts of the Iranian system that have a certain objective'. And it's not just nuclear war between Iran and Israel that troubles him. 'Many of your readers will have watched Oppenheimer and seen the fallout of [the US building an atomic bomb]. So it's what [a nuclear Iran] might mean in terms of other countries in the neighbourhood who would desire one, too. And we would be very suddenly handing over to our children and grandchildren a world that had many more nuclear weapons in it than it has today.' Each night, Lammy knows his sleep may be disrupted (his wife doesn't mind; 'She seems to be able to survive on far less sleep than I') and he'd already gone to bed on 21 June when his mobile started buzzing. It was Marco Rubio telling him the US was about to strike Iran. How much warning did they give? He demurs, saying the PM had been told, and military channels, simultaneously. Was it minutes? 'I was also asleep when President Trump was shot,' he continues, ignoring the question. 'In those initial moments the extent of his injuries wasn't clear. I remember waking up, thinking, oh my God!' He insists the US decision to bomb was not in order to topple Iran's government, though he has 'been exposed to' Israeli arguments in favour of regime change. 'Let's face it, there are lots of people in Iran who would like regime change. But there are no guarantees that what would replace the current Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps would not be as bad or worse.' He pats the table. 'So, that is for the Iranian people to determine. I'm focused on what the UK can do to stop Iran becoming a nuclear power.' For much of his political career, Lammy emphasised his friendship with Barack Obama. They met in 2005 at a gathering of Harvard Law School's black alumni. In interviews he's produced evidence of their familiarity, including a written note from the Democrat former president urging him to 'keep up the good fight'. Today, Lammy is keen to stress his ties with Republicans. He has 'a really good relationship' with Rubio, for instance, and they speak every week. 'We joke about the fact that my heritage is Guyanese, his is Cuban; faith matters to him, faith matters to me. He's journeyed a long way to where he is today, as have I. He's incredibly professional, very bright, consumes a brief.' Lammy also calls vice-president JD Vance 'a friend'. I ask why they get on. 'I remember being at the inauguration of the new pope in Rome, with Angela Rayner and JD Vance,' he says. He seems tickled by the memory: 'I don't think JD and Angela will mind me saying that they were having a couple of drinks.' The setting was the gardens in Villa Taverna, the US ambassador's residence, and 'it was one of those lovely warm days in Italy'. Vance dropped ice cubes into wine glasses and filled them with rosé. 'I really wanted a glass'– Lammy says he has a weakness for rosé – 'but instead I had a Diet Coke.' I ask if Rayner was boisterous. 'I wouldn't say she's rowdy when she has a drink because Angela Rayner has a big character. I mean, she is the Barbara Castle of our era. That's not confined to a drink, it is her personality. She has so much character, so much spine, she makes me a bit shy. My personality is not as big as hers and we are there with the vice-president. So, I was probably the shyest of the three.' It occurred to him that they were 'not just working-class politicians, but people with dysfunctional childhoods. I had this great sense that JD completely relates to me and he completely relates to Angela. So it was a wonderful hour and a half.' Like Rubio, Vance is a Catholic. Did they talk about faith? 'I've had mass with him, in his home,' Lammy says, then glances at his spad and cries, 'I can see the adviser twitching. 'He's mentioned religion!' It's an Alastair Campbell moment!' (He's referring to Tony Blair's spin doctor saying, 'We don't do God.') The adviser assures him it's fine. Against expectations, Trump has made unprompted references to how much he 'really likes' Starmer, 'even though he's a liberal'. The UK was the first to secure a tariff deal from Trump, and is still an exception. It's one of the few conspicuous achievements of this Labour government. But Lammy agonises over the hiccups. Not least, Volodymyr Zelenskyy's televised Oval Office appearance, when the Ukrainian president was ridiculed by Trump and Vance in the manner of two cats batting a mouse. 'If I'm being honest, I felt, arrghhh!' Lammy says. 'Why hadn't I done more to support our Ukrainian colleagues in preparation for their meeting?' He quickly supplies the answer: the Ukrainians were invited last-minute, the British were focused on their own Trump meeting, there wasn't time, so 'I was being a bit hard on myself. But I still felt guilty.' Starmer rang Zelenskyy and invited him to No 10 the next day. 'That embrace with Keir – I still feel quite emotional when I think about it – was a moment where the whole world breathed a sigh of relief.' Indeed, for Lammy this moment – Starmer and Zelenskyy locked in a bear hug on the pavement in Downing Street – was the 'epitome of Britain being back in the place the global community wants us: bridge building, a glue, with a history that helps connects us to much of the world'. He describes travelling to Ukraine, the night trains from Poland to Lviv and on to Kyiv, arriving early morning to demolished apartment blocks, sandbags and bunkers, all reminiscent of war-torn Europe. 'You asked me what it means to work in the Foreign Office building and the room I have. In a way, Ukraine powerfully connects me to Attlee, to Churchill, to that story, because we've got war on the continent. It's an old seam and it's a very fundamental part of the job.' He says he's building on the work of previous foreign secretaries; of David Cameron, James Cleverly, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss. 'You are at the centre of European security – probably the most fundamental part of my job. Here, Britain is absolutely in a leadership role.' Where will the war be in a year's time? 'My sober assessment is that Putin is not ready to seriously negotiate. He still has maximalist and imperialist ambitions. The battle Ukraine has fought, with UK, European and American support, is immense. I suspect that in a year's time, talks will be going on. The question is how serious Russia is about those talks.' He admires the people of Ukraine, 'their tenacity, their sort of steadfastness. The fact that even if the world left them behind, they'd still be waging a guerrilla war, such is their belief in their country. It's deeply inspiring.' Lammy's efforts to fit everything into his insanely packed schedule has come with a cost. In the Easter holidays, he and his wife, the artist Nicola Green, interrupted a family ski trip in France to travel to Italy to join King Charles on a state visit. After three days, 'minding our ps and qs and being on best behaviour', they waved the king off at the airport and 'collapsed into' a pre-paid taxi to go back to the Alps. After a work trip like that, Lammy says, 'you're knackered'. The subsequent ride was first reported from the point of view of the French driver, who said that he realised Lammy was a VIP and argued he should be paid an extra £600. Lammy refused. An altercation ensued and, fearing the British foreign secretary had a gun, he drove off with their suitcases still in the boot. Newspapers devoured this version, but the driver has since been arrested for theft. A court date is set for the autumn. Lammy's version: towards the end of the six-hour journey, he and Green became suspicious that 'the driver was taking longer than necessary'. They asked why and 'it culminated in him demanding more money and pulling a knife'. Lammy did not see the knife – he was in the back seat because Green speaks better French – but 'my wife saw it. He opened the glove compartment and showed it to her. She was terrified'. Although 'it was scary', Lammy did not panic. 'I've got a pretty cool head. I've experienced quite a lot of things in my 53 years on the planet. I am not easily fazed.' When he and Green got out, the driver accelerated off. 'We went to the police and they got our stuff back.' It was a bitter experience, 'just awful, is the truth'. I ask if he was carrying a gun, and Lammy roars with laughter. 'No. I don't think I've ever held a handgun. Or shot one on a firing range.' Before I leave, an official photographer gets me to pose with Lammy, either side of a glass case holding an Enigma machine. Lammy, cropped hair speckled grey, straightens to his full 6ft, grin switching on like a lighthouse beam. As I slip out, he's tucking into a pot of yoghurt, officials closing in to brief him. Five days later, we're in Room 8 at the House of Commons as Lammy faces the foreign affairs select committee. The room is humid, the mood intense. Emily Thornberry asks in a voice of sweet menace what the British reaction is to a report that the Israeli government plans to move 600,000 Gazans into a humanitarian transit camp on the ruins of Rafah. Lammy says they are focused on a ceasefire, and briefs on the sticking points. Thornberry says the government has repeatedly said it would recognise Palestine: 'I know today the two-state solution feels like a million miles away, but increasing numbers of people are concerned that if we continue to hold back on the recognition of Palestine, there won't be anything left to recognise.' Lammy says he is working on a timetable with allies, including France, and agrees that there has been 'more expansion in the West Bank in the last year than in the 15 preceding it. More violence … that the viability of two states is being put in question by those who are determined to pursue this.' Abtisam Mohamed MP asks for an assurance that the UK would oppose any deal that allowed any part of the West Bank to become part of new Israeli territory. Lammy says the settler violence flouts international law and Oslo. Thornberry flips open a black fan like a flamenco dancer, wagging it with impatience at her face. Afterwards, I am bustled into Room 5 for a catchup. Lammy seems distracted. He was strong on the criminality of settlers in the West Bank but why, given the accepted definition of terrorism – the use or threat of use of violence for political ends – does he not consider these acts terrorism? He sighs. A clock ticks like the tap of a teaspoon on china. 'They're criminal acts. They're illegal acts. They're acts that we condemn and they're acts that we've sought to sanction. They're reprehensible and they're designed to thwart those of us who believe that 'two states' is the only viable alternative. There is a set of voices in Israel that are determined to see a greater Israel [and] no [Palestinian] state at all. I stand against those voices.' I press: why are they not seen as terrorist acts by the UK government? 'I don't think they're described as terrorist acts traditionally. I've sat with families who are subjected to violence and threats. Those families experience them as criminal acts. We support those families both financially and to advocate for their rights. We support the Palestinian Authority speaking up for many of those families.' Two weeks later, he finally shifts this position, describing 'settler terrorism' in comments to the House. While he was in Damascus, I say, the Home Office declared the UK group Palestine Action a terrorist organisation. Are their protests 'terrorist acts traditionally'? And while Lammy shook hands with President al-Sharaa, a former member of al-Qaida, and pledged UK support in the rebuilding of Syria, Sue Parfitt, an 83-year old vicar, was carted off by the police under counter-terrorism laws. Does that feel like a contradiction? 'That's a decision for the home secretary,' he says, adding of Yvette Cooper, 'She sees warrants on a daily basis that are deeply challenging and worrying. Hers come from MI5. I see warrants based on threats overseas from MI6. She has to make assessments about terrorism. She's made that assessment. She has my full support.' What was Sharaa like? 'Measured. Presented well. Calm. Suit. Articulate.' Suit? 'He was suited.' As opposed to wearing combat fatigues? 'Yes. I was aware – and I pushed him on it, of course – that he once was a terrorist.' What did he say? 'He said that was in time of war. He has learned. His focus is on bringing his country together, getting past the economic hardship – 90% of Syria is living in poverty. I said, 'When I go back to my country, people will ask me, is he still a terrorist?' He wanted to convince me that was the past. He recognises that he has to operate as leader in an inclusive way, face the future, rebuild the nation. We're working with him on counter-terrorism – against Daesh [Isis] and others in the country that are deeply worrying. This is a very fragile time, but all of us want Syria to succeed. So we've got to work with him.' The young David Lammy was well-known for his political activism. Before his postgrad at Harvard Law School, he read Law at the School of Oriental and African Studies and practised as a barrister in London and the US. When he won his seat aged 27, he was the youngest MP in the house. He was spotted early by Blair and Brown, and moved through a series of jobs. Later, in opposition, he was seen as being on the left of the party and combined his work in Westminster with trigger-happy tweets and his own popular radio show on LBC. He says that although he is wearing 'a diplomatic hat' today, 'underneath it all is an activist and a social campaigner for sure'. I ask then, in the light of so many people protesting to little effect, what actually works? 'Well, perhaps it's best to look back on my career. I advocated for those [discriminated against] in the Windrush scandal, which led to an inquiry and a compensation scheme. I was also the first politician the morning after Grenfell to call for an inquiry.' His friend Khadija Saye, a 24-year-old artist and assistant at his wife's art studio, lived on the 20th floor and died in the fire. He's conscious that while some conflicts are highly visible, others are not. It grates that there isn't more interest in the war in Sudan, which affects him personally. Privately, he'll say it's because those dying are African and black. Today, he says, Sudan is 'the worst in terms of life lost and civilian catastrophe. Millions of women and children are suffering, raped, burned, killed. It's not commanding global attention. It's not on the news regularly. I have probably been the most prominent foreign secretary in the G7 and in Europe on the issue of Sudan.' He convened the London conference, put down a UN motion 'which the Russians vetoed' and promises to 'keep returning to the issue. Today I'm not acting as an activist. I'm the country's chief diplomat. And diplomacy is often failing until it wins, is the truth. Look at Northern Ireland.' Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion Does the Israel-Gaza war affect him personally, too? 'Oh, there have been many days of deep frustration, deep sadness.' Has he shed tears? 'I haven't shed tears because … I don't know the last time I cried. It was a long time ago, probably when my mother died. But have there been moments in this last year where I've felt deep sadness? Yes.' Lammy's constituency – one of the most diverse in the world, he says – includes a significant number of Charedim in Stamford Hill. The ultraorthodox Jewish community, who are particularly visible because of their distinctive traditional dress, have borne the brunt of rising antisemitism including violence, damage to property and, Lammy says, 'horrible scenes of abuse in the streets'. When he visited a Jewish girls' school soon after the Hamas atrocities of 7 October, there was a palpable sense of shock, Lammy says. 'I could feel the fear. It was very strong. There was a vulnerability among those women. And among their elders were Holocaust survivors.' He says the community tell him 'they are focused on the hostages, on Hamas and terrorism'. Lammy was closely involved with the family of Emily Damari, the British hostage who was released, aged 28, in January 2025 after being held in Gaza by Hamas for 471 days. While not a constituent, she was a Tottenham Hotspur fan, so 'her mother and I met many times. She gave me a plastic flower to keep in a vase in my office and said, 'You can take it out when my daughter is free.'' It is still on his desk: Lammy talks about the need to get the remaining hostages released as part of a ceasefire. He also works with constituents with ties to Gaza and the West Bank. 'Palestinian groups and NGO workers I have met are also bereft and feel a desperate gnawing pain. It goes back to a visceral and almost ancient discourse around land and two communities who have experienced injustice for so many years.' How does he cope with the protests outside his home? 'Something has changed in politics, particularly in this social media age. When I started, people wrote to you in green ink. Now the immediacy, the personalisation, the way your family, your children are involved ... I'm not going to pretend that in terms of my wife and my children I don't feel protective.' He says the 'dehumanising elements of politics are very troubling, very wounding, painful'. We are outside the British Library in St Pancras, waiting to greet the French foreign secretary. Lammy is exuberant. 'My wife said as I left, 'That's a nice tie, darling.'' It's bright blue, flapping in the breeze. Cars disgorge French officials, including the lean foreign secretary Jean-Noël Barrot, who has a graze of stubble and is pulling on a chic black vape. There's handshaking, smiles, pictures, then a brisk walk up the side of the building, past rat traps and the smell of skunk, and into the lift for lunch at the Alan Turing Institute. Lammy peers at their Enigma machine, an upgrade from the one in his office, he says. On a table, someone has laid out La Durée macarons next to Fortnum & Mason fudge. A lot of public diplomacy requires standing next to symbolic objects and being photographed with folders containing signed 'understandings'. Most of the work is done on WhatsApp. I overhear one of the French team whispering about how strong Emmanuel Macron's cologne is, how it leaves a trail in his wake. Lammy and Barrot exchange details of their summer holidays, then Lammy leaves – bolting to see his daughter's school play. He won't be at the state banquet tonight because he's on a flight to Malaysia. In opposition, he said he would travel at the pace of a US secretary of state. While he's making good on that promise, British stalling over the recognition of a Palestinian state is frustrating the French. But, recognition, Lammy says 'is, a card you can only play once'. The imperative, he says, is to end the violence. As we go to press, Macron commits to recognise Palestine at the UN in September. The next time we speak, he's eating a pork pie. It's the day after Diane Abbott's second suspension from Labour, having said she did 'not at all' regret the events that led to her suspension in 2023. Back then, she had written to the Observer saying Jews, Travellers and Irish people do not suffer racism in the way black people do. But that they experience prejudice that is 'similar' to racism. Lammy says he had previously intervened to ensure she would be readmitted to the party, 'because I was sad such an immense politician, the first of her kind in parliament, had found herself in this situation'. He had been doing all he could 'behind the scenes' to bring her back in. 'So I was very frustrated and upset that this had arisen again as a result of her out-of-nowhere backtracking on that statement.' He says whatever the outcome of the latest investigation, 'I will continue to consider her a friend and have respect for her.' While we are on the subject of his colleagues, I ask how he felt about Starmer's 'island of strangers' speech on immigration, and the echoes of Enoch Powell in that phrase. 'I think the use of language was poor,' he says. 'Poor choice. And if someone had shown me the speech, I would've said, 'Take that out.'' How does he reflect on a year of Labour in government? He lists their 'big successes', the 'dozens of things' they have done to improve people's lives' from planning reform to early years provision. But adds, 'I slightly worry we have not conveyed that as well as we could.' I ask if I can add to that quote the wink he just gave me. He laughs. It's boiling in the Grace Organisation community centre in Tottenham, a meeting place for older, predominantly West Indian constituents, some with disabilities or incipient dementia. Paulette Yusuf, who runs the place, is explaining the dilapidated state of the building and Lammy is nodding, deferring to an official on ways they might be able to help. In the main hall, an uplifting reggae gospel mix is playing. Scattered on tables are puzzles, colouring-in sets, books and games, including a box of Royal Bingo with William and Kate on the lid. At the back, there's the snap of dominoes from a table of men, the occasional outburst. People look round when Lammy enters wearing his biggest smile yet. 'My mum had her 60th here,' he says. 'Hello, my good MP!' An elderly lady in large pearl earrings calls him over. She lives on his street. Another in a blue lace jacket is eating a pot of yoghurt. 'We love you,' she says, but he's being enveloped in a hug by a lady in a white hat. 'You exist!' 'I do exist,' he says. 'Who's that, Lammy?' another asks. 'I've been hearing about you for years,' she tells him. 'Good things?' Lammy wonders. She pinches his cheek. One woman knew his mum when she arrived in London: they worked together at the tube station in Camden. 'That's a long way back,' Lammy says, 'You can't have been more than 12.' She bats him away. Some attendees are in hi-vis, Sharpied with 'If you see me walking alone, please call this number' followed by the Grace mobile. 'I think I need one of those,' Lammy whispers. Next, he's on the mic. He gives a shout out to all the countries in the Caribbean – 'Do we have anyone from St Lucia? Jamaica? Barbados?' Each time there are cheers. Swaying to the music by the stage is a man in a pink cowboy hat. Lammy approaches. The man puts his fists up. For one heart-stop instant it looks as if the foreign secretary will be punched. Lammy doesn't flinch. He puts his fists up and the two play at shadow boxing. His security detail un-tense. Afterwards I ask if it bothers him or his team that he is hugged and handled so much. 'I'm quite touchy,' he says with a note of glee. His spad tells me I can't use that in the wrong way. 'No, I am quite touchy,' Lammy insists. 'I don't care. I am a bit old-fashioned that way. I have a lot of respect for the elderly. That's how I was brought up. My mother worked at the end of her life in sheltered housing as a housing officer. That human contact is important and I'm very comfortable with it.' Up the road at the Marcus Garvey Library, Lammy will take his constituency surgery, then record a podcast in the car on the way to King's Cross. We're taking the train to Peterborough – a journey of significance as a teenager. Not only was this the train that took him to his state boarding school aged 11, it was also on a platform here one spring Saturday in 1985 that he last saw his dad. David Lammy senior bent down to his son's height, told him he loved him, to look after his mother, and kissed him goodbye. He had left the family home and later moved to America. Lammy says it was the single most 'scarring' event in his life. 'My father didn't come back. Psychologically that is devastating. There must have been a bit of me that blamed myself. I question whether he did in fact love me.' This he works through in therapy: he has 'a wonderful' therapist and GP and has taken Prozac for anxiety. He finds the issue around his father hardest when he looks at his own children. 'I could not imagine leaving them. I just couldn't. I'm troubled that he was so troubled. I tend not to dwell on the past, but I do recognise the way the past informs who you are.' Lammy Sr was a taxidermist and alcoholic, hot-tempered and prone to rage. Previously Lammy has described his parents' marriage as 'tempestuous'. He clarifies that this included domestic violence. Did he witness it? 'Yes.' Did he try to intervene? 'No, no. I was the child holding my ears, crying in my bedroom … This feeling in the pit of your stomach, just this terror.' Was it a regular occurrence? 'Regular enough.' Did the police come round? 'Nooo, absolutely not. No one cared.' He adds that in those days in the communities where he grew up – Irish, Cypriot, 'cockney' working-class, black West Indian – 'a lot of men were going to the pub, coming home and beating their wives. It was the 70s. Violence was common. There were fights in the playground: kids mimicking what they'd seen at home – not that these things are unique to class, either.' His mother Rosalind would not have left her husband, he believes. Like many of her generation, she felt trapped. 'My mother was still very much a country girl at heart. When Dad left, we thought we'd be taken into care. We didn't know if my mum could survive. She wasn't making much money in those days.' She struggled with the bills and bureaucracy, and 'how you handle the state'. Lammy helped her 'a lot': 'I was like one of the kids that comes to my surgery: advocating on her behalf.' When social services came knocking, the family were terrified. 'We'd had a big, big fear of the state. Black families in the neighbourhood lived in fear of the police, a little bit of schools, too. There was a fear that things could happen you couldn't control and that would not be fair. So, yeah, there were moments that we found scary. It's what you perceive.' His father died in the US, 'a pauper', from throat cancer in 2003. Lammy says it was a horrible death. He received news that it was imminent, but chose not to go. 'I was a young minister and I just decided I couldn't emotionally handle seeing my father all these years later, dying desperately in this way. I did subsequently go to his grave. I gave him a headstone. And there was no sense of bitterness. Quite the opposite. I don't bear grudges, it's just not me.' I ask if all this makes loving his dad – the memory of his dad – more complicated. He thinks about this and says no. 'I'm quite a forgiving person, my nature is wanting to build bridges, to reach out. It's why I think I'm actually not bad at this role.' In fact, it's more than 'not bad': 'This is the first time in my life where I do not have impostor syndrome. I genuinely have a sense of being in the right place at the right time for this job.' He seems extroverted to me, but insists he's shy and gauche. He credits Green with helping him 'put on my armour on to walk out of the house and into public life every day'. They met 20 years ago at a singles party thrown by the former MP Oona King. 'Nicola had no idea who I was,' he says. 'I liked that she didn't know that I was in public life, didn't ask me what I did.' He fell for her quickly: 'I think she found it all a bit intense.' A few months later, he took her on holiday to the Caribbean, 'via Haiti, because I was on the board of Action Aid at the time and it had experienced a horrendous disaster. It was gruelling and not really what you do with a date. But she said she saw a window of my life. We were married within a year.' The couple have three children, two boys and an adopted daughter. There's adoption in both families, Lammy says: his own mother and his wife's grandmother. 'There are kids that need a loving home. We talked about it and decided we would embark on this journey. It's been one of the most rewarding things I've done, by some stretch. For my boys as well. I had a tough start, but not as tough as starting off with parents who can't take care of you.' At home he says they talk about art. I am not sure I believe him. Green is 'more political than he is' according to friends. But he likes theatre and film – 'loved Sinners'– and his adviser confirms the only time they can't reach him is when he's in the cinema. Once every five weeks the family visits Chevening, the grace-and-favour country house, and he tears through the extensive overgrown woodland as a form of relaxation. 'A good two- or three-hour walk is my idea of a great weekend afternoon.' Otherwise, he keeps fit with a former para called Alex twice a week. We've arrived in Peterborough and been driven to a country church where he will make a speech. A small crowd of protesters greet us with placards splodged with red paint. They are shouting about genocide, war crimes, children orphaned. Lammy's composure looks shaken. I'm asking about his cherubic choirboy days at the local King's School. His voice broke aged 13, he says, but he joins the parliamentary choir at Christmas 'because I know all the old tunes. Singing is therapy. But if I can't practise, I'm not going to sing.' You don't have to be perfect, I tease. As the shouts grow louder, he looks suddenly cross. He points his finger accusatorially. 'I can see what you're doing, needling away at me.' Later, he admits he's tired. Running on empty: 'But still running.' He's hoping to get away on holiday this month. 'It will be quite enough to absolutely do nothing.' Maybe he will allow himself a glass of rosé. 'I'll have more than a glass – a bottle. Several!'
