They were both, also, lucky with their enemies.
On the day before the leadership result was announced I attended Kendall’s final press conference of the campaign. It was held at Methodist Hall, just across the road from Parliament. It was an appropriate venue. As Corbyn finished off his 99-stop nationwide tour across the country, surrounded by thousands of joyous, gleeful, optimistic activists and supporters, Kendall’s journey ended deep in the bowels of a Westminster venue, surrounded only by journalists who’d come for sport and a cast of Blairite ghosts who’d come for solidarity. Some of the characters there had been with Blair a decade before, and a dozen or so other MPs, special advisers and think-tankers had assumed only a few months or so before that their time had come again. They looked grief-stricken – and none more than Kendall herself. She couldn’t then know that the result would be as bad as it was, but she knew she’d lost and would almost certainly come fourth. I watched her take to the stage, resolutely, defiantly, ploughing through her speech, the last act of a career that had barely begun.
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