With the result of the Labour party leadership contest imminent, I thought I’d be so happy to see the back of Jeremy Corbyn. Now I’m wondering if we ever will. While I would never trivialise coronavirus, at least we’ve been spared mass gatherings of people in “Just say Jez” T-shirts sobbing mawkish goodbyes to the man who “won the argument”, while tanking two general elections (including the worst Labour result for 85 years). He also presided over a culture of (cough) “alleged” antisemitism now under investigation by the Equality and Human Rights Commission, and facilitated Brexit. Despite all this, not so long ago Corbyn was angling for a shadow cabinet position. One wonders which element of his failure, incompetence and disgrace he thinks could prove useful? Such puffs of hubris indicate that he is having a hard time relinquishing the power he claims to have so little interest in. Corbyn has no intention of going quietly, or indeed at all. None of this has been helped by the protracted leadership contest, though thank Christ they didn’t shorten it, or we’d never have heard the end of it (“It was rigged!”). Gordon Brown and Ed Miliband left quietly. As did Tony Blair – and he actually won elections. Compare and contrast with Corbyn and John McDonnell, and their relentless self-eulogising blather. In a recent interview, Corbyn asserted that the government’s response to coronavirus proved him “absolutely right” about public spending. (I’m no Tory, but since when did acute emergency measures prove anybody’s point?) He also complained yet again about media abuse. Dude, seriously, it’s part of the job! The way Corbyn goes on, you’d think all previous opposition leaders were transported into election campaigns reclining upon velvet cushions, fanned with ostrich feathers by an adoring, indulgent media. At Corbyn’s final PMQs, Boris Johnson paid tribute to his “sincerity”. Corbyn bristled, and quite right too: Johnson should have thanked him properly for enabling the huge Tory majority. However, the blood turned to ice as Corbyn said: “My voice will not be stilled. I’ll be around… I’ll be arguing.” Yes, Jeremy, but arguing with whom? The Tories, or the next leader of the Labour party? So people like me might as well pack away the bunting – whisper it with dread: Corbyn isn’t going anywhere. It’s bad enough that we’re going to have to keep putting up with his unique brand of peevish moral superiority – far worse is the now turbo-boosted entitlement he clearly feels to make the next Labour leader’s life a living hell. Where’s the justification? Corbyn had his chances – losing two elections. He should have the grace to pipe down. That the chances of him doing so are vanishingly small says it all about this self-styled humble servant of the people. Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely… and losing power can turn you into a sour, embittered Yesterday’s Man. Kim, you’re just what we need: a laugh in the time of corona When Joan Crawford died, her rival Bette Davis intoned: “You should never say bad things about the dead, only good… Joan Crawford is dead. Good.” Is this the lifelong froideur we have to look forward to with Kim Kardashian and Taylor Swift, now that their ancient ding-dong has been reprised? Recap: in 2016, Kardashian’s husband, Kanye West, released the song Famous, containing the lyric “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex. Why? I made that bitch famous”, referring to his on-stage interruption of Swift at the 2009 MTV awards. When Swift objected to “bitch”, he said she’d given him permission over the phone, leading Kardashian to release a recording of Swift apparently doing just that. Now it emerges that Kardashian trimmed the recording and permission wasn’t given. Swift acknowledged this development, but urged her fans to focus on a hunger relief charity. Kardashian wasn’t quite so full of grace, spraying around tweets calling Swift a liar, then announcing: “This will be the last time I speak on this because, honestly, nobody cares.” Not so fast, Kim. Right now, under lockdown, like many others running out of amusing cat photos to post online, I’m prepared to “care” about all kinds of doo-dah. Indeed, however this spat ends, I’d like to thank Ms Kardashian for her lack of self-awareness. It’s impressive that her levels of self-absorption can’t even be halted by a pandemic. Right now, in the “covidiot” era, questions are being asked about what we really want from celebrities. Sometimes, the honest answer is this: monstrous out-of-control egos making fools of themselves. Kardashian is correct – no one cares, but the fact that people like her still do is a tonic right now. Not so cushy working from home, is it, people? This is a time for us all to pull together as one. Still, habitual office-goers of Britain, admit it – working from home isn’t such a doddle, is it? I’ve been noticing items about lawyers, business types and the like, who’ve been forced to work from home, trying to carve out a modicum of workspace privacy, in some cases, putting “amusing” signs on home office doors to keep the kids away. Ha ha ha! Amateurs! People across the land seem to be finding out that working from home isn’t the cushy number it’s made out to be. It’s not just about typing in your pyjamas (though obviously that’s a major perk). As all we seasoned home-workers know, the needs of the house, and its occupants, tend to seep osmosis-style into your personal workspace. Show me the child who cares one jot about your deadlines. Feel the deepening rage when somebody wonders if you could just pop some washing on if you “get a mo”. And so on. Every minute of every hour of every day. For ever. Perhaps now it’s clearer to office-bound folk that one doesn’t have to travel to another building to be working. One positive thing to emerge from all this may be some overdue respect for the nation’s stoic, beleaguered home-workers.