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I met up with Cllr Bobby Alden, the Conservative group leader in Birmingham City Council, at Oikos Café, a little gem on Erdington High Street, in his ward, the sort of place you might walk past without noticing, but once inside, you realise it sits right at the heart of the community. It did not take long to understand Bobby’s place within that same ecosystem. We were constantly interrupted, not awkwardly, not apologetically, but naturally. People came over to wish him well, to raise issues, to exchange a few words. It was steady, unforced, and telling. Bobby is not just recognised locally, he is embedded. He is clearly a well-known and well-liked figure in Erdington, and that kind of recognition is earned, not manufactured.

That carries weight, because electorally, things are not especially comfortable for his party at the moment. The Conservatives are polling just above Labour but under 20% on many polls. The national picture is “difficult” for the Conservatives, and Birmingham is no exception. Yet Erdington is not a place that simply follows national trends. It has a habit, over the years, of recognising hard-working local councillors, and Bobby fits that description entirely. Which brings us to the central question hanging over him as leader of the Conservative group in Birmingham. Can he win his own seat? It is a question that does not just apply to him. Labour leader John Cotton faces a real, almost impossible challenge, with Reform pushing hard. Green leader Julien Pritchard also sits on potentially shifting ground. Even Liberal Democrat leader Roger Harmer, while more secure, is not entirely insulated. Local politics across Birmingham feels unusually fluid, almost unsettled.

For Bobby, the range of outcomes is stark. This time next week he could be nursing defeat, having lost his seat. Equally, he could find himself leading the council. Somewhere between those two sits what I would describe as the most likely scenario, deputy leader of the council. And that opens up another layer of political reality. Deputy to whom? Quite possibly to a Reform figure that most voters have barely heard of, with Rajbir Singh widely regarded as their leading presence, a man with a Labour past as leader of Sandwell Council. It is a remarkable prospect, but one that cannot be dismissed. That said, there is still a great deal of electoral water to pass under the bridge before any of this settles.

Bobby first came to my attention not just through his own work, but through his family. Birmingham has its own political lineage, quiet but influential, and the Aldens are very much part of that tradition. I know his mother, Deirdre Alden, a councillor in Edgbaston who has built a solid and respected presence over many years. But it was his father, the late John Alden, who stands out most in my memory. I served and worked with John when I was a councillor. John was part of a generation of civic politicians who saw Birmingham as something to build, not something to sell. He served the city for decades, from 1983 through to 2018, held senior roles including Deputy Leader of the Conservative Group between 1996 and 2000, and for a period led the group himself in 1997. He was also Lord Mayor in 2003 and 2004, and characteristically set himself the task of shaking every Brummie’s hand. He got to around half a million, which tells you everything you need to know about his approach to public life. He was driven, sometimes fiery, but always grounded in a belief that the city mattered.

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Bobby is very much cut from that cloth. He combines a hyper-local focus with a sharp, analytical mind. Anyone who has watched him in the council chamber will know he is more than capable of dismantling the Labour leadership when required. There is an intellectual edge there that is hard to ignore. But what tempers that is something equally important. He is, in person, a genuinely pleasant and approachable man. You could see it in the café. Those interruptions were not brushed aside, they were welcomed. Conversations were had, not managed. That kind of engagement cannot be faked over time.

It does feel slightly unusual, I admit, as an unreconstructed socialist, to be writing in these terms about a Conservative politician. But you have to speak as you find. And Bobby Alden is a decent bloke, a hard worker, and intellectually capable. That combination is not as common in Birmingham politics as it should be. It probably was not in my day either.

In Erdington, he is strengthened by his colleague Gareth Moore, a proper local figure in his own right. Gareth brings energy, visibility, and a grounded understanding of the area. Together they operate as a team, and that matters. It creates a local force that can withstand wider political pressures. I put it to Bobby directly. Does all the effort, the constant availability, the leaflets, the casework, the sheer presence, does it really matter? His answer was simple. If it does not matter to people, they will not vote for us, and that would be a shame, because we do it for them. It is a straightforward philosophy, but one rooted in something real.

From where I sit, that approach may well give Bobby and Gareth enough momentum to stay ahead, despite the broader drag on Conservative support nationally. Local credibility still counts in places like Erdington. But beyond that lies the bigger question. What happens to Birmingham itself? It would be unwise to dismiss the possibility that Bobby could emerge as a key figure in the city’s leadership, whether as deputy or even, in certain circumstances, as leader.

Whatever your views on Reform, on Nigel Farage, or the wider noise of national politics, the reality is that Reform are likely to perform strongly in outer areas. Not in the inner city necessarily, but in places like Castle Vale, my old seat, a variety of outer city seats like Yardley and many others. Labour has lost ground in the past, and it may do so again. And one factor that could help the Conservatives hold on in Birmingham is the approach Bobby has insisted upon in recent years, relentless local activism. The local Conservative Party, in areas where they had been quiet for too long, has begun to re-engage, delivering, communicating, and showing up again. That shift may yet save more seats than the national picture would suggest.

If that happens, and if Reform emerges without overall control, then Bobby Alden as deputy leader becomes a very real outcome. Should that come to pass, it will be fascinating to see how he adapts from a focused local councillor and opposition leader into a position of city-wide authority. It would, frankly, be difficult to do worse than the current Labour administration. Too often in Birmingham today, power appears to rest with senior officers rather than elected members. That balance will have to change if the city is to recover, if services are to function properly, and if there is to be any meaningful sense of direction. Officers tend to operate on short, two-year horizons, often shaped by personal career considerations. That is no good for this, or any, area.

One thing Bobby reminded me of, something I had known but allowed to fade, is that Birmingham once had higher average wages than London. It sounds almost implausible now, but in the 1960s, with a strong manufacturing base, the West Midlands delivered real prosperity. Good wages, solid living standards, and confidence. That memory still sits within the city, even if it feels distant.

Which brings us to the wider point. Birmingham does not have to accept decline as inevitable. It does not have to settle for being a bankrupt centre of managed despondency. There is still the possibility of renewal, of rebuilding, of something better. Bobby Alden might play a role in that. He is capable of the job.

Because in the end, if the city can be rebuilt, if it can regain its confidence and its purpose, then perhaps it matters less who does it.

And more that someone finally does.

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There’s something quietly significant about that number. Not as a boast, not as a passing metric, but as a reflection of choice. 28,500 people didn’t just scroll past, they stopped, they read, they stayed with the argument across an entire week. That is not passive consumption, it is engagement, and in a media landscape built on distraction, that still matters. So thank you. Properly.

It also puts things in perspective. Midlands GRIT is now drawing more weekly readers than the typical attendance at Walsall FC, whose final game of the season I will be watching, and stretching down to Bromley FC, still the only Football League side with a Tory MP. That little quirk says rather more about the current state of the Conservative Party than any conference speech ever could. With local elections this Thursday, and a general election always hovering somewhere on the horizon, the message is simple. Turn up. Vote.

Monday, Peaky Truths And A Proper Birmingham Pint

Monday began where Birmingham makes most sense, not in policy papers or press briefings, but in lived experience. Episode 2 of Series 3 of Olley’s Live took us into The Good Intent, tucked inside the Great Western Arcade, a place that manages to be both unassuming and quietly remarkable. A pub that gives its profits to charity is rare enough. One that still holds warmth, conversation and authenticity is rarer still. It was the right setting for the right conversation.

Across the table sat Professor Carl Chinn MBE, one of the city’s most important chroniclers. His latest book, Peaky Blinders: The Real Gangs and Gangsters, does something the global television phenomenon never quite attempts. It removes the romance. The real Peaky Blinders were not sharply dressed icons moving through stylised drama. They were products of harsh conditions, poverty, overcrowding, violence and limited opportunity. Crime was not cinematic. It was often desperate, sometimes brutal, and rarely noble.

Carl tells that story with clarity and honesty, giving Birmingham its history back without embellishment. And then, in the way this city always seems to manage, history folds in on itself. His great grandfather once stole a leg of bacon from my own great great grandfather’s shop. That is Birmingham in a single moment. Not grand, not distant, but connected, human, and never quite as large as it pretends to be.

Filmed as live, without edits or reconstruction, the programme allows conversation to unfold naturally. Lorraine and I present together, and that balance matters. It creates space for something genuine. When filming ended, people came over, not to pose, but to talk, to share memories, to continue the discussion. That does not happen in studios. It happens in places like this. Because if you want to understand Birmingham, you start with the people who have lived it.

Tuesday, Five Versions Of Reality, One Mountain Of Rubbish

By Tuesday, the tone shifted from heritage to dysfunction. Birmingham’s bin strike has now produced five competing versions of reality, each delivered with confidence, none fully aligning with the others. Unite signals progress and near resolution. Council leadership suggests a deal is close but delayed. Other voices insist no such offer has even been made. Opposition parties warn of financial fallout, while Liberal Democrats question whether any agreement could legally stand.

Meanwhile, residents have endured fifteen months of something far more tangible than political positioning. Overflowing bins, missed collections, the steady presence of rats and foxes, and the creeping sense that no one is actually in control. That is the real story. Not the statements, not the briefings, not the carefully timed announcements.

A major European city has allowed a basic civic function to become a contested narrative. Five explanations exist simultaneously, yet the outcome remains unchanged. The bins are still full. Until that changes, everything else is noise. Another load of old rubbish, dressed up as resolution.

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Wednesday, Lozells Breaks The Script

Wednesday struck a chord because it touched something deeper than party politics. It challenged assumption. Lozells has long been treated as a Labour certainty, the kind of ward where outcomes were considered inevitable. That certainty has now been removed, and what replaces it is something far more unpredictable. A genuine contest.

Into that space steps Taj Uddin, standing as an Independent, but not in the traditional sense of a placeholder candidate. This is a structured, organised, properly resourced campaign. His politics are not built on ideology but on observation. Cleaner streets, safer roads, enforcement on housing, fairness in transport. It reads less like a manifesto and more like a set of accounts that do not quite add up and require correction.

What strengthens his position is not just policy, but presence. He has lived and worked in Lozells for nearly twenty-five years. He is not arriving for the election cycle. He is already there. That distinction is increasingly important in modern politics, where voters are becoming more attuned to authenticity.

Labour’s position is complicated further by internal and external pressures. The selection of Samarah Zaffar raises quiet but persistent questions about continuity and inheritance. Overlay that with broader issues, Gaza, rising council tax, financial instability, declining services, and the ground begins to shift. Taj’s claim of being 95% confident may sound bold, particularly for an accountant, but perhaps the numbers really are moving in ways Labour has not yet fully absorbed.

Thursday, Selling The Future One Asset At A Time

Thursday turned to something more structural, the way Birmingham governs itself, and the decisions that shape its long-term future. Fox Street is not peripheral land. It sits beside Curzon Street, at the centre of the HS2 gateway, in one of the most strategically important areas the city possesses. Land of that nature is not simply an asset. It is leverage. It is future value.

Yet Cabinet approved its disposal. Scrutiny raised concerns, questioning whether the council had properly assessed the balance between immediate financial need and long-term strategic gain. The response felt familiar, a report revisited rather than reconsidered. Scrutiny objected. Cabinet proceeded.

This pattern raises a question that is becoming harder to ignore. Are decisions being made by elected members exercising judgement, or by officers presenting conclusions that are simply endorsed? The memory of the NEC Group sale hangs heavily over this. Sold for £307 million, resold within three years for around £800 million, and now reportedly approaching £1 billion. Confidence existed at every stage. But confidence alone does not equal competence.

Fox Street feels uncomfortably similar. A city under financial pressure, guided by unelected commissioners, moving assets in the name of necessity. Libraries close, services contract, transparency thins. And within the language of reports, residents themselves begin to appear as liabilities rather than citizens. That is the deeper risk. Not just what is sold, but how a city begins to view itself.

Friday, Not My Party, But One Of The Good Ones

By Friday, the lens tightened again, because politics ultimately returns to individuals. Emily Cox stands out not because of party alignment, but because of persistence. Our paths first crossed in a Tyburn by-election around 2000. I was the Labour councillor, she was the Liberal Democrat challenger. She lost. But she did not leave.

That detail matters more than it might seem. She went on to win in Moseley and Kings Heath, building a reputation not through messaging, but through visibility and work. Even as her party declined nationally, she maintained her position longer than many. Eventually the broader tide caught up with her, as it does with most.

Now she returns, standing in Brandwood and Kings Heath alongside Cat Wagg, and making something clear through action rather than words. She is present. Knocking doors. Listening. Engaging. Not performing a campaign, but doing one.

This is not a fixed ward. Its political history shifts, Conservative, Liberal Democrat, Labour, and now potentially open again. Labour faces pressure from multiple directions, while Greens and Reform begin to take slices of the vote. In that environment, the candidates who actually put the work in become more visible.

Agreement is secondary. Effort is not.

The Week In One Line

From Birmingham’s past to its present, from pubs to politics, from bin collections to billion-pound land decisions, the thread remains consistent. People. How they act, how they decide, how they represent, and increasingly, how they are held to account.

28,500 readers followed that thread this week.

Next week, we go again.

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Emily - Not My Party, But One of the Good Ones in Brandwood and Kings Heath

Looking at the hopefuls in the local elections on May 7, I want to focus on one candidate in particular, Liberal Democrat Emily Cox. There are politicians you disagree with, and then there are politicians you respect, and Emily Cox falls firmly into the second category.

I have known Emily for a very long time, longer than either of us might care to admit. The first time she stood for council was back around 2000, in the Tyburn by-election following the death of my fellow ward councillor Stan Austin. At that time, I was already the sitting Labour councillor for the area and acting as agent for the campaign. Emily was the Liberal Democrat challenger, starting out on what would become a long and serious engagement with local politics.

The Labour candidate in that by-election was Ann Holtom, a lovely local lass from Pype Hayes and well known across the area. She won, as expected, under the Labour banner, with the strength of the local organisation behind her. We had seen off Emily’s early challenge, and Anne went on to serve with real distinction for many years, building the kind of reputation that only comes from proper local service rather than party slogans.

And then, as politics so often does, the story took a turn. After I resigned my own seat, Labour insisted on imposing a women-only shortlist to select my replacement. Now, I have no issue with capable women in politics, quite the opposite, and in truth the local party would almost certainly have selected a woman anyway. The strongest candidates were women, everyone knew it, and the outcome would likely have taken care of itself. But Labour could not resist imposing the process from above.

And for what? The outcome was already obvious. Yet they still felt the need to stage-manage it, to demonstrate their virtue rather than trust their own members. It split the local party, and it did so unnecessarily. People who had worked together for years suddenly found themselves at odds, not because they disagreed on the likely result, but because they resented being told what that result should be before the process had even begun.

And here is the irony. Anne Holden, who had helped us defeat Emily’s Liberal Democrat challenge, eventually defected to the Liberal Democrats herself. After years of service under Labour, she crossed the floor to join the very party we had once fought off together. That tells its own story, and it is a reminder that sometimes the damage done inside a party is far greater than anything your opponents could ever achieve.

Through all of that, one thing remained consistent. Even at the beginning, Emily was never a lightweight candidate. There was seriousness about her from the start. She understood that local government mattered. She understood that being a councillor was about the work, not the badge, not the leaflet, and not the performance.

And she proved it. After her early defeat in Tyburn, she moved on, built her base, and went on to win in Moseley and Kings Heath, where she became one of the best local councillors in the city. During periods when Liberal Democrat fortunes were not just poor but dreadful, she still held her ground. That tells you everything you need to know about the difference between a name on a ballot paper and a proper local representative.

A good councillor survives bad national politics because people know them, trust them, and have actually seen them working. Residents are not interested in Westminster slogans when the roads are broken, fly-tipping is spreading, and local services are stretched. Emily knew the patch, she worked it, and she delivered. She was not performative, she was present, and that is a rarer quality than it should be.

Eventually, the national tide turned. The Liberal Democrats were swept away across the country, and even strong local figures were caught in that wave. Emily was one of them. She lost her seat, not through lack of effort or ability, but because sometimes national politics overwhelms even the best local work, and when that tide comes in, it takes good people with it.

But now she is back.

She is standing again in Brandwood and Kings Heath, alongside Cat Wagg, and she is making one thing very clear: she is not a paper candidate. In fact, she jokes that once upon a time she probably was. Back then, she was bringing up her family, juggling life, and politics could only ever be part-time. Even so, she laughs that she was a very good paper candidate, securing just 27 votes in Druids Heath and Monyhull in 2018.

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Most people would quietly disappear after that, close the chapter, and move on. Not Emily. She treats it as proof of persistence. The family are grown up now, life has moved on, and she is back in what can only be described as deadly serious mode. As she put it to me, she has had enough of sitting down and moaning, now she intends to stand up and moan, which may be one of the most honest political statements you will hear in this entire election.

And she means it. She is back, she is standing, and she is knocking.

Hundreds of doors already, with hundreds more to come. Delivering leaflets, listening to residents, hearing the same frustrations repeated again and again: housing pressures, HMOs, fly-tipping, pollution, education, and that growing sense that nobody is listening. Politicians often say, “people told me on the doorstep,” and usually that should be treated with a degree of caution. With Emily, I would believe it.

She is one of the most sincere people you could meet. If she says she is hearing frustration, she is hearing it. One of her sharper observations concerns Labour’s decision to deselect David Barker, one of the current councillors and, by broad local consensus, one of the strongest. Even opponents describe him as effective and respected. Emily is openly puzzled by his removal and admits, quite candidly, that it makes her job easier. That is not a small point in a ward where personal reputation still carries real weight.

Her leaflet is equally clear. Labour, she argues, has let people down locally and nationally. Roads are poor, fly-tipping is rising, council tax is up, and people feel ignored. The message is simple: Labour is weak, Reform is noise, and the Liberal Democrats are the practical alternative. Interestingly, the Greens barely feature in the leaflet at all, despite Emily privately recognising them as a real threat, and that in itself tells you something about how campaigns are being framed.

Brandwood and Kings Heath is shaping up to be a proper contest. Twelve candidates, two seats, and no guaranteed outcome. That means turnout, organisation, and personal reputation will matter far more than party branding.

Do I think Emily is entirely right in her assessment? Perhaps not. But I am just a commentator. She is the one doing the work, and in the end that is what tends to matter most.

I remain a Labour member, and that has not changed. But politics should still allow enough honesty to recognise quality when you see it, even across party lines. Emily Cox is one of the good ones.

Not my party, but a very good candidate.

And personally, I wish her well.

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Olley’s View (for what it’s worth)

Brandwood and Kings Heath: this has never really been a natural Labour ward, and that matters more than most people are admitting.

Within living memory it has been Conservative-held. It has seen periods of Liberal Democrat strength. Only more recently has Labour come to look like the default setting. That tells you something important. The ground here is not fixed, it shifts.

What Labour gained here may simply be unravelling.

They are now being squeezed from both sides. Traditional working-class voters drifting away, some towards Reform, while more middle-ground and professional voters are looking again at the Greens or the Liberal Democrats. That is not a comfortable place for any party to be.

And then there is the local factor.

The decision to deselect David Barker may yet prove significant. By general consent, he is one of the stronger local councillors, visible, effective and respected across party lines. Removing that kind of personal vote in a ward like this is not without consequence.

That said, Labour are not without assets. Lisa Trickett remains a very popular local councillor, with deep roots in the area and a long-standing connection with residents that still carries real weight. Personal reputation still matters here, perhaps more than party branding.

The Liberal Democrats, with Emily Cox on the ground, have history and credibility to draw on. The Greens have momentum in this part of the city. Reform will not win, but they will take enough votes to matter.

Put all that together and you do not have a stable Labour hold. You have a competitive, shifting ward with more than one path to victory.

So no, this is not a straightforward contest. And no, Labour cannot assume anything.

If the squeeze hardens, they may find themselves not leading the race, but fighting to stay in it.

But what do I know. I am just a commentator.

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Most people never hear about scrutiny committees, and that is exactly how town halls like it. Particularly when something like Fox Street pops up.

Scrutiny sounds dull, technical and procedural, something buried in committee rooms and agenda papers that only councillors, officers and the occasional masochistic journalist ever bother to read. But scrutiny is supposed to be one of the few protections the public has when big decisions are being made behind the polished doors of the council Cabinet. It is meant to be the moment when someone asks the awkward question: are we getting value for money, is this decision being rushed, has the public been told the full story, and is the city about to lose something valuable because nobody in power wants to challenge the official script?

Cabinet makes the decisions. Scrutiny is meant to challenge them. It cannot usually stop a decision outright, but it can drag it back into the light, force reconsideration, demand better answers and expose weak arguments before the public is left paying the bill. When scrutiny works properly, it is one of the few moments democracy interrupts bureaucracy.

That is why what happened over Fox Street matters.

This is not some abandoned patch of scrubland at the edge of nowhere. This is prime council owned Birmingham land, right next to Curzon Street Station, sitting in the shadow of HS2 and the wider Knowledge Quarter regeneration zone. Land like this does not come along twice. Once it is gone, it is gone.

Cabinet approved the sale. Two councillors triggered a call-in, effectively saying: hold on, this needs another look. The matter went before the Economy, Skills and Culture Scrutiny Committee, where, crucially, Labour members were not whipped into line. They looked at the evidence, argued it properly, and after a lengthy discussion agreed something serious had gone wrong. They concluded there had not been enough proper evaluation of the risks of selling now versus holding for future value.

That is not a technical complaint. That is the entire argument. Sell too early and Birmingham could lose millions in future uplift, especially with Curzon Street and surrounding development still unfolding. Hold too long and the Council delays desperately needed capital receipts. It is a genuine strategic choice, and it demands hard evidence, not lazy assumptions.

So scrutiny sent it back. That should have been the moment Cabinet paused, reflected and genuinely reconsidered whether officers had got it right.

Instead, what appears to have happened is something depressingly familiar in Birmingham politics. Cabinet received what looked very much like an officer-written defence of the original decision, effectively a second version of the same report dressed up as reconsideration. The current Leader of the council appears to have read what one can only assume was a prepared script from the same machine that wrote the first paper, and Cabinet nodded it through like extras in a municipal pantomime. Scrutiny raised the alarm. Cabinet ignored it.

Which raises a very uncomfortable question. Is Cabinet actually a political executive making independent judgements for the city, or is it simply a body that obediently approves whatever officers place in front of it? Because if scrutiny identifies a serious defect, and the answer is simply to return with a smoother version of the same justification, then scrutiny is not scrutiny at all. It is theatre.

Councillor Robert Alden, Leader of the Conservative Group, put it more bluntly. “This land facing the entrance to the new HS2 station should be used to relocate a major firm to our city, delivering high paying jobs for Brummies. Instead Labour are flogging it for other uses, for a quick buck, in their dying days and in doing so ignoring the need for jobs in our city, and leaving the council without future income streams from neither business rates or council tax.”

Whether one agrees with the politics or not, the central question is unavoidable. Is this strategic regeneration, or simply distressed selling dressed up as policy?

The Cabinet report itself is revealing. The so-called reconsideration relies on what it describes as only “further high-level scenario-based analysis.” Not detailed modelling. Not transparent valuation testing. Not quantified future land value scenarios. Not a serious public explanation of why selling beside Curzon Street today is better than holding for uplift tomorrow. Just “high-level analysis.” That is not accountability. That is bureaucratic fog.

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Even more revealing is the Commissioners’ intervention. Most people hear the word “commissioners” and imagine wise civic guardians protecting the city’s future. The reality is rather less romantic. These are not elected representatives. They were sent in by Whitehall after Birmingham’s financial collapse and the Section 114 disaster. Their formal job is to oversee improvement. In practice, they are the emergency managers of a council government no longer trusted to run itself.

They do not answer to Birmingham voters. They do not knock on doors in Erdington, Ladywood or Kingstanding asking for support. They answer to ministers, and they are very well paid for the privilege. Birmingham City Council’s own published figures show the Lead Commissioner receives £1,200 per day, while the other commissioners receive £1,100 per day, with the council also covering travel, hotels and meals. Not per week. Per day.

What the council is far less keen to publish is the true cost of those expenses. The hotel bills, the train fares, the overnight stays, the restaurant tabs, the travel claims and the small comforts of life for people managing Birmingham’s decline are kept conveniently vague. The public gets the principle, but not the bill. At GRIT, we strongly suspect the commissioners are not taking advantage of Premier Inn, meal deals and two-for-one breakfast vouchers.

That matters because when the Fox Street report blandly states that “Commissioners support the officer recommendation,” the public should stop and ask: support it on whose behalf? As stewards of Birmingham’s future, or as accountants of immediate disposal? Their paragraph tells the story. The council needs capital receipts. Equal pay liabilities are huge. Exceptional Financial Support must be balanced. Asset sales must continue. That is the language of liquidation, not regeneration.

And we have seen this film before.

Birmingham City Council sold the NEC Group in 2015 for £307 million. That included the NEC, the ICC, the arena and some of the city’s most significant commercial assets. Officials assured everyone it was sensible, strategic and necessary. Just three years later, the same asset was sold on again for around £800 million. Now the same group is reportedly being lined up for a further sale approaching £1 billion.

Read that again. £307 million became £800 million in three years. That is not market magic. That is a warning. Officials were confident then too. They were certain. They had reports, valuations, advisers and polished presentations explaining why Birmingham should be grateful. Yet within a remarkably short period, someone else made hundreds of millions from what Birmingham had just let go.

Confidence is not competence.

Fox Street feels dangerously familiar. One is almost tempted to rename it Fax Street, because what keeps arriving is the same old message from officers: sign here quickly, trust us, and do not ask too many questions. Or perhaps it is less Fox Street and more chasing the fox, with Cabinet galloping behind officers while the real value disappears over the hill.

Then there is the absurd logic in the Commissioners’ defence of rejecting residential development. They argue that residential schemes may generate council tax, but residents also create service demand. By that logic, councils should avoid people altogether. Apparently homes are now a financial inconvenience.

In the middle of a housing crisis, in a city desperate for high-quality urban regeneration, that argument is not merely weak, it is intellectually embarrassing. One half expects the next report to recommend removing citizens entirely for budget efficiency.

The report also admits the transaction is not even a straightforward sale, but a 255-year lease. That should trigger immediate questions. Where are the overage protections? Where is the clawback? If planning uplift dramatically increases land value because of Curzon Street and wider regeneration, does the public benefit, or does the private purchaser walk away with the jackpot? If there is no serious uplift protection, this is not asset management. It is public wealth transfer dressed up in committee language.

And then we come to secrecy.

Nearly everything that matters is hidden in exempt appendices: the valuation, the disposal strategy, the financial modelling, the heads of terms and the independent valuation. Scrutiny already said there was insufficient information. Yet the answer is apparently: trust us, but you cannot see it. That is not the governance model Birmingham deserves.

It is especially rich from a political culture that endlessly lectures on transparency, equality and virtue. Which brings us to the Equality Impact Assessment. They rely on one dated February 2024. This is a 2026 decision on a strategic city-centre disposal beside one of the largest regeneration zones in Britain, and they are leaning on a two-year-old EIA.

The same political machine that performs endless ceremonial devotion to Equality, Diversity and Inclusion cannot even be bothered to refresh its own equality assessment. A stale report. A stale defence. A stale process. And they expect applause.

Even the procurement section says there are “no procurement implications.” Really? Strategic public land beside Curzon Street, multiple bidders, underbidders mentioned, preferred purchaser selected, yet apparently no public transparency problem whatsoever.

It stinks. The whole thing stinks.

And hanging over all of this is the small matter of politics. In a matter of days, the current Cabinet may well disappear. If the polls are to be believed, Labour could be out of power in Birmingham altogether. The people now nodding through officer reports may soon be packing boxes and clearing desks.

That raises one final and rather delicious question. Will the next set of politicians simply read out the same scripts handed to them by council officials, or will they actually act like elected representatives and look properly at what is happening to Birmingham’s assets? Will they ask whether Fox Street was handled properly? Will they ask why scrutiny was ignored? Will they ask whether the city is being managed or merely dismantled?

Because perhaps the scrutiny committee saw something Cabinet chose not to.

Perhaps the real danger is not one land sale, but a civic culture where strategic assets are treated as balance sheet entries rather than pieces of Birmingham’s future.

That is the real story.

And Birmingham should be asking it loudly.

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Lozells Is No Longer Labour’s Safe Seat, Taj Uddin Thinks the Numbers Now Belong to Him

There was a time when Labour could walk into Lozells, pin up a poster, nod politely at a few familiar faces and collect the council seat on the way home. Those days may be over. This is no longer a quiet little ward where the red rosette is treated like hereditary title. This is now a live fight, a proper political street contest, with nine candidates chasing one council seat and a very real question hanging over the ballot box: is Lozells still Labour by instinct, or has the mood changed enough for an independent to break through?

The vacancy follows the unexplained death of long-serving Labour councillor Waseem Zaffar, a man whose personal standing often mattered as much as the Labour badge on the leaflet. Waseem was not simply Labour, he was Waseem: known, respected and deeply woven into the local political fabric. Four years ago, Labour barely had to break sweat. In 2022 he won with 1,955 votes, beating the Conservatives by 1,264 votes and holding the ward comfortably on a 38 per cent turnout. But personal loyalty does not automatically transfer with the family surname, and Labour now finds itself defending the seat in very different circumstances, with national headwinds, local frustration and a far more serious independent challenge than it may have expected.

That challenge comes from Taj Uddin, and he is not turning up with a borrowed leaflet, a folding table and vague hopes of civic glory. He is running a serious, organised, properly funded campaign with the kind of confidence that suggests he has already checked the figures twice and likes what he sees. Which, given that he is an accountant, should perhaps surprise nobody. He deals in figures for a living, and in Lozells this election may come down to precisely that: whose figures stack up, whose sums make sense, and who the community believes can stop Birmingham City Council continuing to spend like a drunken uncle at Christmas.

I have known Taj for a number of years through Labour circles, and one thing has always stood out. He is a happy man. Not the artificial grin of a candidate trying to remember your name while looking over your shoulder for someone more useful. Genuinely happy. Bright, positive, buoyant and approachable. He smiles easily, talks openly and seems to enjoy people rather than merely needing them every four years. That matters. In politics, where too many candidates look as though they have just opened their council tax bill and remembered they voted for it, simple good humour is not a small thing.

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His campaign literature is polished, properly funded and clearly organised. This is not a vanity project. The printing is sharp, the messaging disciplined and the operation substantial. Forty or fifty people on the ground is not amateur hour. You do not knock on 3,000 doors over the course of a year unless you are serious, and Taj plainly is. He also has something modern politics too often lacks: proximity. He does not commute into Lozells for election season wearing concern like a temporary badge. He works there, lives there, and has done for nearly twenty-five years, right in the middle of the ward. Lozells Road, between Six Ways and Rose Hill, is not campaign geography for him, it is simply home. Voters can smell political tourism from half a mile away. He does not have that problem.

His roots also run deeper than the usual election biography. His father first came to Britain in 1938 as a merchant sailor, later joining the British Army to fight in the second world war, before returning to Bangladesh in 1952. Taj himself was born there in 1973 and came to Britain in 2001 after his father passed away. Even that journey says something about him. When visa difficulties threatened to block his move to the UK, he did not sit still and wait for bureaucracy to decide his life. He wrote directly to Jim Cunningham, then Labour MP for Coventry, asking for help. It worked. There is something revealing in that. Direct, practical, persistent. Solve the problem rather than moan about it. That instinct has stayed with him.

He trained to become certified accountant in Britain, he built his business in Lozells, nowadays serving clients across communities and across the country. He understands figures, but more importantly he understands what lies behind them: the small business under pressure, the family trying to keep a roof over its head, the resident wondering why their council tax rises while the street gets dirtier. Good accountants know every number tells a story. Good politicians should too. Taj believes Labour has stopped listening to those stories, and his campaign reads less like a manifesto and more like a frustrated audit.

Cleaner streets. Safer roads. Stronger enforcement. Housing for local people. Tackling HMOs. Anti-social behaviour. Bus lane access for taxi drivers. These are not ideological crusades. They are balance-sheet politics, practical deficits demanding practical correction. His message is simple and sharp: Lozells deserves representation chosen by the community, not selected through insider arrangements and family networks. It is not subtle. It is not meant to be.

That line lands particularly hard because Labour’s candidate is Samarah Zaffar, sister of the late Waseem Zaffar. Nobody disputes the family connection or the emotional pull of continuity, but questions are already circulating in Lozells about whether this is genuine political succession or something closer to political inheritance. Many locally are asking whether Samarah only recently joined the Labour Party, and whether her selection was accelerated because of family connection rather than long-standing party service. If true, it turns the election into something much sharper than Labour versus Independent. It becomes representation versus inheritance.

Labour has been asked to clarify whether Samarah Zaffar was a party member prior to Waseem’s death, when she joined, and whether any exemption or special process applied to her candidacy. At the time of writing, no response had been received. Silence, in politics, is often its own answer, and Taj clearly sees opportunity in that silence.

His criticism of Labour goes beyond candidate selection. Like many Muslim voters across Birmingham, he is deeply angry over Labour’s position on Gaza. His resignation last year, from Labour made that painfully clear. He accused the party of silence, of moral failure, of abandoning communities it once claimed to represent, and of protecting poverty through decisions like the two-child benefit cap. In places like Lozells, Gaza is not some distant foreign policy sidebar. It is a doorstep issue. People talk about it, families feel it, and trust is shaped by it. Labour knows that. So does Taj.

Add Birmingham’s financial crisis, rising council tax, shrinking services and a public mood that sits somewhere between irritation and outright disbelief, and Labour faces more than routine anti-incumbency. It faces distrust. Residents are paying more and getting less, while the people responsible often seem remarkably relaxed about the whole thing. Taj’s campaign sits neatly in that gap between anger and fatigue. He is not promising revolution. He is offering competence.

And this is where the political arithmetic becomes interesting. Lozells is not one community, it is several: Bangladeshi, Pakistani, Somali, Afro-Caribbean, white, Indian, Muslim, secular, working families, renters, shopkeepers, taxi drivers, older residents who remember a different Birmingham and younger ones wondering whether this version still functions at all. Taj himself is Bangladeshi, and that matters. Around a third of the community shares that heritage, with roughly 2,700 Bangladeshi voters by his own estimate.

He says he has strong support there, alongside 300 to 400 family-linked votes and a campaign team of 40 to 50 people. He is 95 per cent confident of winning. Now, accountants are not generally famous for reckless optimism. If one starts talking at 95 per cent confidence, you assume he has opened the spreadsheet, checked the formulas and perhaps even colour-coded the cells. Still, he is careful not to turn the campaign into ethnic arithmetic. He speaks proudly of his Bangladeshi heritage, but also says clearly that Bangladeshi politics abroad are not the politics of Lozells. That is smart. Identity matters, but drains still need clearing.

There is also a larger Birmingham story quietly sitting behind all this. People forget that Birmingham once had a strong independent tradition. In the late 1940s, 1950s and into the 1960s, a substantial number of the city’s councillors were independents. Local government was often local first, party second. Then the machines took over. Perhaps Taj Uddin is trying to reopen that old ledger. Perhaps this is not simply one independent candidate challenging Labour, but part of a wider reminder that councillors are supposed to represent wards, not function as branch office managers for Westminster brands.

That idea has resonance, especially now, especially here. Labour no longer walks into Lozells guaranteed of applause. The old assumptions are weaker. The city is angrier. Gaza has cut trust. Birmingham’s finances have damaged confidence. And when a seat once held safely becomes open ground, someone ambitious will always step forward. Taj Uddin has stepped forward. He is organised, visible, well supported and politically sharper than Labour may have expected. He is not performing rebellion for effect. He is presenting himself as a competent local professional who believes the books have been badly managed and that somebody, eventually, needs to do the reconciliation.

The numbers, he believes, are on his side. As ever in politics, polling day is the final audit, and in Lozells this time, Labour may find the sums are no longer as comfortable as they once were.

Well good luck to the “happy man” and indeed all who have seriously entered the political contest in Lozells. For completeness, the full declared field of candidates for Lozells is:

Rafael Costa, Independent

Qiam Ud Din, Green Party

Peter Charles John Hinton, Reform UK

Raja Asim Khan, Independent

Andy King, Liberal Democrats

Nufayej Rayean, Independent

Dean Sisman, Conservative and Unionist Party

Taj Uddin, Independent

Samarah Zaffar, Labour Party

Nine candidates, one seat, and for the first time in a long while, no easy assumptions.

Birmingham’s Bin Strike: Is Coun John Cotton Still the Leader, and Is There Even a Deal?

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There are political farces, and then there is Birmingham. For more than a year, Britain’s second city has looked like the opening scene of a low-budget post-apocalypse film. Black bags stacked like defensive fortifications, foxes holding midnight strategy meetings, and rats so large they look like they should be standing for council themselves. Residents are left wondering whether “weekly collection” is now considered a charming historical tradition rather than an actual public service.

And now, just as voters prepare to head to the ballot box, we are told the bin strike is over. Except it isn’t. Or perhaps it is. Or perhaps it will be, provided Labour wins the election, the Cabinet agrees, the statutory officers sign it off, the lawyers survive reading it, and equal pay law does not send the whole thing into financial orbit. Birmingham politics, as ever, has entered its most natural state: complete absurdity.

At the centre of it all stands Coun John Cotton, a man who may or may not be the Leader of Birmingham City Council depending entirely on which sentence you happen to be reading. Technically, he is still leader. Politically, he suffered the rather undignified experience of losing a vote of no confidence in March, a public humiliation wrapped in the polite language of procedure. The opposition declared he had been effectively removed. Labour replied that the vote was merely “symbolic” and that he remained firmly in charge.

What makes this even more remarkable is that even Coun Cotton himself is not actually saying the strike is over. His own language is far more cautious than the victory parade currently being staged elsewhere. He says a negotiated settlement is now “within sight.” He says an improved offer has been found. He says final approval cannot happen before 7 May because of pre-election restrictions. He says that a re-elected Labour administration under his leadership will get it approved afterwards. In plain English, that means there is no final deal. Not yet.

That detail matters because Unite the Union is telling members something entirely different. Their message is not cautious, it is triumphant. “Today is a day we won’t forget.” “Finally, a fair deal is on the table.” “They said it couldn’t be done and we just did it.” This is not the language of a negotiation still crawling through committee structures. This is the language of victory, the sort usually accompanied by banners, speeches, and someone dramatically holding a megaphone in the rain.

What makes this even more damaging is that Birmingham is now operating under five competing versions of reality, and one of them ought to be true.

1. Unite — the workers have won, the fair deal is on the table, and the strike has effectively reached victory.

2. Coun John Cotton / Labour leadership — a settlement is within sight, an improved offer exists, but formal approval must wait until after the election. In other words, close, but not done.

3. Coun Majid Mahmood, Labour’s cabinet member in charge of waste services — caution, and in earlier exchanges a direct pushback against Unite’s “ballpark deal” language with the blunt line: “We’ve never actually made that offer.” That is not opposition spin, that is Labour correcting Labour.

4. Conservatives — if there is a deal, it risks becoming another equal pay disaster and another massive bill for taxpayers, repeating the mistakes that helped drive Birmingham towards effective bankruptcy.

5. Liberal Democrats — there is no lawful deal at all because senior officers and Cabinet have not approved one, making the entire announcement little more than pre-election theatre.

That is the real story. Not one city, but five competing versions of reality, all standing next to the same overflowing wheelie bin.

Unite says victory.
Coun Cotton says nearly.
Coun Majid says careful.
The Tories say dangerous.
The Lib Dems say fiction.

And Birmingham residents say: can somebody please just empty the bins.

Because this strike did not begin yesterday. It has dragged on for fifteen months. Fifteen months of rubbish piling up, recycling abandoned, garden waste quietly disappearing from public memory, and the basic dignity of living in a functioning city slowly decomposing along with the contents of the black bags. How does a city the size of Birmingham reach a point where bin collection becomes an unresolved constitutional mystery? How does a council spend over a year arguing about whether a deal exists while residents are simply asking for someone to remove the smell from outside the front gate?

The answer, as usual, is that local government has perfected the rare art of making incompetence look like strategy. If the deal is real, show it. If it is lawful, approve it. If it is not lawful, stop pretending it is. And if Coun John Cotton is still the leader, then lead. Because right now Birmingham does not look like a city being governed. It looks like a city being managed by a WhatsApp group that muted itself six months ago and hoped the problem would quietly compost itself.

This election will sharpen everything. Labour says it is fixing the problem. The opposition says Labour created it. Unite says victory is here. Residents say the bins still have not been emptied. Frankly, the residents may have the strongest argument of all. Because until the rubbish disappears from the streets, all the rest is just another load of old rubbish.

P.S. For those wondering about the “Schrödinger’s Council Leader” line: it refers to Erwin Schrödinger, the physicist famous for the thought experiment known as Schrödinger’s Cat. The idea was that, until you open the box and look, the cat is theoretically both alive and dead at the same time. In Birmingham’s case, Coun John Cotton is politically in much the same position. He lost a vote of no confidence, so many say he is finished. Labour says he remains leader, so officially he is still there. Until someone finally opens the political box, he is both gone and not gone at once: Birmingham’s very own Schrödinger’s Council Leader.

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Peaky truths, proper Birmingham, and a pint with purpose

There is a rhythm to Olley’s Live now. Not polished studio rhythm, not the choreographed exchanges you see elsewhere, but something more grounded, more recognisable. Conversation that breathes. Conversation shaped as much by where you are as by who you are speaking to.

Episode 2 of Series 3 took us into one of those places, and it could not have been better chosen.

The Good Intent.

Tucked inside Birmingham’s Great Western Arcade, it is a pub with real presence. Not just character, though it has that in abundance, but purpose. It is widely regarded as the only pub in the country that gives its profits to charity. That alone sets it apart, but step inside and you realise there is more to it than that. It has warmth. It has ease. It has the kind of atmosphere where people settle, talk, and stay.

And at the centre of it all is the gaffer, Haig, a modern publican in the best sense of the word. Welcoming, attentive, and clearly well liked. The sort of landlord who knows his customers and is part of the fabric of the place. The name may echo a famous whisky, but here it stands for something altogether more local and more human.

That is where we sat down with Professor Carl Chinn MBE.

And if Birmingham has treasures, he is one of them.

Carl is not an academic who stands apart from the city. He stands within it. Born of it, shaped by it, and still deeply connected to its people and its history. He carries authority, but wears it lightly. When he speaks, it is not to impress, it is to explain. And what he explains better than most is Birmingham itself.

The focus of our conversation was his latest book, Peaky Blinders: The Real Gangs and Gangsters. The title will be familiar to many. The television series has travelled the world, and now a major motion picture has added further gloss to the legend. Sharp suits, stylised violence, a kind of cinematic mythology that has taken hold far beyond the streets that gave rise to it.

Carl’s book does something different.

It strips that mythology away.

What emerges is not glamour, but reality. The Peaky Blinders were not romantic figures. They were young men shaped by poverty, overcrowding and limited opportunity. And alongside the gang rivalries and street violence, there were darker truths that are often overlooked. These were not nice people. There were serious crimes, including sexual assaults, behaviour that sits a long way from the polished image portrayed on screen.

Carl does not sensationalise this, but he does not shy away from it either. He places it in context, and in doing so, restores a sense of honesty to the story.

There is, too, a remarkable personal thread. A quirk of fate that links past to present in the most unexpected way. Carl’s own great grandfather was, in fact, a Peaky Blinder. And more than that, he was convicted of stealing a leg of bacon from my own great great grandfather’s shop.

Birmingham, it seems, has always been a small world in the most extraordinary ways.

Having read the book, I can say without hesitation that it is a highly recommended read. Not because it feeds the legend, but because it corrects it. It is detailed without being heavy, accessible without being simplistic, and rooted in a deep respect for the truth. It gives the city its history back, properly told.

As with all Olley’s Live episodes, this was filmed as live. That matters. It is not stitched together afterwards to create a narrative. It unfolds in real time, with all the natural pace and pressure that brings.

Lorraine Olley and I present the programme together, as a happily married couple who bring that familiarity and balance to the table. It allows for a conversation that is both structured and open. The questions are there, but so is the space for the unexpected. Carl responded to that, speaking freely, telling stories that would never survive a tighter, more controlled format.

The setting added something as well. You could feel it in the room. Patrons aware of what was happening, respectful of it, and then, once the cameras stopped, keen to engage. Several came over to speak with Carl, to thank him, to share their own memories.

That does not happen in a closed studio.

It happens in places like The Good Intent, where conversation is part of the culture.

Olley’s Live continues to grow. Broadcast on Birmingham TV, Channel 7, it reaches between 40,000 and 50,000 viewers across Birmingham, and up to 250,000 across the wider Local TV network. Increasingly, one in four programmes goes out nationally on a weekly basis, taking these Midlands-rooted conversations into a broader UK audience.

This episode will be broadcast in the coming weeks.

That matters, because the stories told here are not just local colour. They are part of the national story.

Carl Chinn MBE understands that better than most.

A Brummie voice, grounded, informed, and still deeply connected to the city he writes about. Sitting in a pub that gives its profits to charity, talking about a history that belongs to everyone, it felt exactly right.

If you have not read the book, read it. If you have not been to The Good Intent, go. And if you want to understand Birmingham properly, listen to the people who have lived it.

Olley’s Live. Live for a reason.

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Another week closes at Midlands GRIT, and what a week it has been.

More than 30,000 readers joined me across the week, reading, sharing, arguing, agreeing, disagreeing and, most importantly, engaging. That matters. Independent writing only works when people choose to give it their time, and I never take that lightly.

So first, thank you.

This publication was built on the idea that Birmingham, the West Midlands, and the wider political landscape deserved sharper scrutiny and fewer polished evasions. It was built to ask awkward questions, follow uncomfortable truths, and refuse to accept that managed decline is simply the price of modern government.

This week proved again just how necessary that remains.

Monday began with Olley’s Live and a conversation that went far beyond television. Filmed at Birmingham City University’s remarkable STEAMhouse, the discussion with Dr Michaela Kendall explored hydrogen fuel cells, energy costs, and the brutal reality facing British manufacturing.

The setting itself said something important. A restored industrial site, now turned into a modern engine room for innovation, asking the central question Britain keeps avoiding: do we still intend to make things in this country?

Energy is not an abstract climate slogan. It is the difference between factories opening and factories closing. It is the difference between industrial confidence and managed retreat. Dr Kendall brought substance rather than slogans, and that is precisely what these conversations need.

Olley’s Live exists for that reason. No fixed studio, no polished stagecraft, just real conversations with people who know what they are talking about. We go to them, because place matters and context matters.

Tuesday shifted sharply to Westminster and the growing discomfort around the Peter Mandelson appointment.

Politics always has a moment where the script slips. This week, that moment came when Zarah Sultana called the Prime Minister a liar and was removed from the chamber. Lee Anderson followed the same path.

Procedure restored order, but the words had already landed.

The deeper issue was never simply whether every phrase could survive legal scrutiny. It was whether the full truth had been told. Keir Starmer’s defence was neat, disciplined and lawyerly, but politics is not judged only on technical precision. It is judged on credibility.

When appointments are rushed, processes bent, and explanations arrive only after exposure, doubt begins to settle. And in politics, doubt spreads faster than certainty.

What stood out just as much was the silence. Labour MPs, especially across the Midlands, offered little visible defence and even less visible challenge. Silence in politics is rarely neutral. Often, it is calculation wearing the clothes of discipline.

By Wednesday, the story deepened.

Olly Robbins added his own account of the Mandelson affair, giving detail and texture to how the appointment unfolded. It clarified pressure inside the system, but it did not close the argument. In truth, it sharpened it.

The real question is not “did Starmer lie?” in the courtroom sense. It is whether he told the whole truth, or merely enough of it.

Mandelson was chosen for one reason: Donald Trump. It was a strategic political decision dressed in diplomatic clothing. Once outcome becomes more important than process, the risk is built in from the start.

When the process catches up, the consequences belong to those who made the choice.

Again, what lingered was not proof of deceit, but the uncomfortable space where confidence should be. A rushed appointment, concerns known early, an exit that confirmed something had gone wrong, and a defence that answered the narrow question while leaving the wider one hanging.

That is where political damage begins.

Thursday brought us back home, and perhaps to the most locally revealing contest of the week: Harborne.

Some elections are about party colours. Others are about whether voters still trust the person standing in front of them.

Martin Brooks represents the second kind.

He is not a newcomer asking for a chance. He is already known to residents, already tested, and already associated with fighting for libraries, community centres and the practical civic structures that make neighbourhoods function.

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That matters in a city where Birmingham Labour is carrying the scars of effective bankruptcy, service cuts and public exhaustion.

People notice when things disappear. They notice when libraries shrink, when local provision fades, and when decline is renamed “transformation.”

They also notice who objected.

Brooks did.

He challenged the direction, refused to perform the theatre of pretending cuts were progress, and Labour pushed him out. The assumption was that party discipline would matter more than public trust.

That may prove a serious miscalculation.

This is not simply a councillor with a grievance. Brooks has operated at serious levels, from Birmingham governance to post-conflict international work in southern Serbia and Afghanistan, helping rebuild institutions where governance meant the difference between order and collapse.

That perspective matters when looking at a city slowly hollowed out by poor decisions.

Harborne may decide it prefers the councillor it trusts over the machine that removed him.

That would not just be a ward result. It would be a message.

Friday closed with something even more significant because it came from inside Labour itself.

Former MP Khalid Mahmood said aloud what many Labour voters in Birmingham have been saying quietly for months: Labour is losing touch.

That matters because it is not opposition attack. It is internal recognition.

Bins left uncollected. Council tax rising. Transport policies frustrating working people. A city still carrying the humiliation of effective bankruptcy. These are not abstract frustrations, they are daily reminders of competence lost.

Government begins with basics.

When people pay more and receive less, they notice. When leaders cannot explain where the money went, they stop trusting.

Some drift to Reform UK. Some to the Greens. Many simply disengage because they no longer believe anyone is listening.

That is how decline really happens, not through one dramatic betrayal, but through slow emotional abandonment.

Khalid’s warning was simple: if Labour forgets the people it was built to represent, those people will look elsewhere.

He is right.

And Birmingham may become more than a difficult local election. It may become the warning shot.

That takes us directly into next week.

May’s elections are now moving from background noise to centre stage. The ejections, the upsets, the quiet rebellions and the very public punishments are coming into view.

Who survives? Who gets pushed aside? Which wards stop being “safe”? Which assumptions collapse?

We will be looking closely at all of it.

There will be more focus on the May contests, the local consequences of national mistakes, and the candidates who suddenly discover that party branding no longer guarantees protection.

And, of course, politics being politics, there will almost certainly be something entirely unexpected thrown into the middle of it.

There usually is.

That is why Midlands GRIT exists, not to repeat the press release after everyone else has printed it, but to catch the fracture when the official version begins to crack.

To the more than 30,000 readers who joined me this week, thank you again.

You are not just reading, you are helping build something independent, stubborn, and determined to keep asking questions.

If you have not yet subscribed, I would be delighted if you joined us. There is a free subscription option, and it ensures you never miss a piece as the political weather becomes even more interesting. Independent journalism depends on readers choosing to stay close to the story, and every subscriber helps keep that work alive.

Next week promises even more.

May is approaching, patience is thinning, and political consequences are getting closer.

Stay with me.

The story is only getting started.

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Khalid Speaks Out, But Will Labour Listen?

Sometimes in politics, somebody simply says aloud what a lot of people have been muttering quietly for months, and when that happens it tends to cut through far more effectively than another carefully managed party statement. This week, that voice came from Khalid Mahmood, and whether Labour likes it or not, Birmingham should probably pay attention. Khalid is not some passing commentator looking for relevance, nor is he a man throwing stones from the sidelines for the sake of it. He spent more than two decades representing Birmingham Perry Barr in Parliament, he understands how Labour works, and he has seen enough political cycles to recognise when trouble is building.

I have known Khalid since the 1980s. He has always been direct, sometimes blunt, and never especially interested in dressing things up to make them more comfortable. That does not mean he is always right, because nobody in politics ever is, but it does mean that when he speaks this plainly, people tend to stop and listen. This time, he has delivered a very public warning, and it is one Labour would be foolish to dismiss too lightly.

His argument is simple enough: Birmingham Labour is losing touch with the people it was supposed to represent. That should concern them far more than the usual internal manoeuvring over positions and personalities. When Khalid says, “Labour in Birmingham is facing real and visible difficulties, and people can see it in their daily lives,” that is not opposition attack material being thrown from across the chamber. It is a former Labour MP looking at his own party and deciding the problems can no longer be politely ignored. Frankly, many residents would agree.

The bins are perhaps the clearest example because they reduce politics to something everyone understands. You can have all the strategy papers, all the speeches, and all the internal leadership battles you like, but when rubbish sits uncollected for months and streets begin to look neglected, voters make their judgement very quickly. Government begins with bins, not with faction fights, not with positioning for the next leadership contest, and certainly not with councillors obsessing over their own advancement. For more than a year Birmingham has struggled badly with that most basic civic responsibility, and people notice it every single day when they walk out of their front doors.

At exactly the same time, council tax rises. People are being asked to pay more while receiving less, and that is not some complex ideological debate requiring a panel discussion on regional governance. It is a simple household calculation understood perfectly well by every family opening the bill. Khalid called it a failure of governance, and many people across the city would struggle to disagree with that description. It feels less like management and more like managed decline.

He is also tapping into something very real on transport policy, because across Birmingham there is now a growing sense that the people designing these schemes are often insulated from the practical consequences of them. The Clean Air Zone, reduced speed limits, endless congestion measures, and the wider feeling of anti-car policy have created genuine resentment. If you are comfortable financially, replacing your car may be irritating but manageable. If you are a tradesman, a delivery driver, a shift worker, or a family relying on an older vehicle because that is what life allows, it becomes another bill, another delay, and another daily frustration.

Politics is never judged by the elegance of a policy document. It is judged by whether ordinary life feels easier or harder. For many people in Birmingham, it currently feels harder. Getting to work takes longer, getting across the city feels like punishment, and every new policy seems to arrive with another cost attached to it. The wealthy adapt, professionals work from home, but the people Labour was built to represent often end up carrying the real burden. That matters politically because frustration eventually becomes voting behaviour.

Then there is the council’s financial collapse, perhaps the greatest humiliation of all. Birmingham should be Britain’s second city, not a case study in municipal embarrassment, yet bankruptcy, confusion over the true scale of the deficit, and the arrival of commissioners have created exactly that impression. Was the gap £700 million? Was it £300 million? Even now, clarity feels strangely absent, and when the numbers move around like that public trust disappears quickly. People do not expect perfection, but they do expect someone to know where the money has gone.

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The commissioners, brought in under the Conservatives and still there under Labour, have created the strange political theatre of local democracy without much obvious democratic control. Councillors remain in place, meetings continue, statements are issued, but power often appears to sit somewhere else entirely. Responsibility becomes blurred, accountability evaporates, and residents see only the end result: higher taxes, worse services, and nobody who seems fully in charge. That is dangerous political territory for any governing party.

But Khalid’s most important warning is not really about bins, traffic, or bankruptcy. It is about identity, and that is where Labour should be most worried. Labour is losing its emotional connection with working people. That is the bigger issue because once that connection starts to break, rebuilding it becomes far harder than fixing a missed bin collection or balancing a budget spreadsheet. Traditional Labour voters increasingly feel the party no longer speaks for them, only at them. Their concerns are treated as awkward, their frustrations as unsophisticated, and their priorities as something to be managed rather than understood.

Some drift towards Reform UK, others look to the Green Party of England and Wales, and many simply disengage from politics altogether because they no longer believe anyone is listening. That is how parties decline, not usually with one dramatic betrayal, but through the slow erosion of trust and the quiet emotional withdrawal of the people who once formed their foundation. It is rarely loud at first, but it is always dangerous.

So what happens now? Will Labour listen? That is the real question. Political parties are rarely comfortable with internal criticism. They prefer discipline to honesty and often treat people raising problems as though they are the problem themselves. There will be those who quietly agree with Khalid over coffee and then publicly keep their distance by lunchtime. There will be muttering about timing, about unity, and about not helping the opposition. In politics, inconvenient honesty is rarely rewarded, particularly when it comes from your own side.

So what happens to Khalid? Probably what often happens to people who say uncomfortable things inside Labour, polite acknowledgement followed by determined silence. Some may try to dismiss him as part of yesterday’s politics, an older voice looking backwards rather than forwards. That would be too convenient. Because whether one agrees with every point or not, he is describing something many voters already feel, and pretending otherwise will not make it disappear.

And what is his next move? If I know Khalid, he will keep saying it. Long before Westminster, he was a prop forward for Camp Hill Rugby Club, my old rugby club, and he approached rugby much the same way he approaches politics, direct, determined, and not especially interested in standing back politely while others talked around the problem. Props do not deal in subtlety. They deal in hard yards, collisions, and going straight at what is in front of them. Fair to say, Khalid never messed around.

That same instinct remains. He tends to go straight at the issue rather than circle around it, which makes him useful in politics and occasionally unpopular. He is not likely to retreat quietly because that is simply not how he is built. If Labour hoped this would be a brief moment of discomfort before everyone moved on, they may be disappointed.

Now comes the real test, May 7th. If Labour suddenly woke up, listened, and acted, could it still save itself in these local elections? Possibly, but only just. Not with slogans, not with another round of carefully managed statements, and certainly not with another internal blame game. It would require visible change, quickly: competence on basic services, honesty on finances, and a genuine willingness to listen to people outside the usual political circle.

Voters can forgive mistakes. What they rarely forgive is being ignored. If Labour shows humility and urgency, it may still steady the ship. If it carries on assuming loyalty is automatic, if it mistakes control for consent, and if it keeps treating working people as a demographic rather than a duty, then May 7th may become more than a difficult local election. It may become a warning shot for Labour nationally.

Because voters are patient, but they are not infinitely patient. Khalid Mahmood has said what many were already thinking. The only question now is whether Labour hears it before the ballot box says it much louder.

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GRIT: The councillor Labour forced out, and Harborne may return

In Harborne, this is not a contest built on slogans, gimmicks or a candidate trying to make themselves known in the final stretch. It is something much more settled than that, shaped by familiarity, reputation, and the quiet accumulation of trust over time. Martin Brooks is not asking voters to take a chance on him. He is asking them to continue with someone they already know, someone they have seen at work, and someone whose record exists in plain sight rather than in the usual bundle of campaign promises.

That matters more than party strategists often care to admit. In local politics, especially in places with a strong sense of themselves, recognition is not a shallow advantage. It is often the difference between a candidate who feels rooted and one who feels imported. Harborne knows Brooks. It knows his manner, his positions, his willingness to speak up, and that puts him on very different ground from someone still trying to establish a relationship with the electorate.

The wider political backdrop only sharpens that advantage. Across Birmingham, there is now a mood that is difficult to ignore and even harder to disguise with the usual managerial language. Years of financial crisis, visible service reductions and the gradual thinning-out of local provision have left their mark. People may not follow every internal argument at the Council House, but they know when a city begins to feel poorer in its public life. They notice when a library opens less, when a centre loses its purpose, when something familiar is steadily hollowed out and then described, insultingly, as transformation.

They also notice who speaks when that happens, and who chooses not to. Brooks spoke. He did not need to shout, and he did not need to posture. He simply said what many residents could already see for themselves, that decline was being repackaged as reform and that local provision was being chipped away under cover of tidy language and bureaucratic reassurance. That is not rebellion for the sake of it. It is judgement, and in politics judgement can be far more unsettling to a leadership than noise.

By the time his break with Labour came, it felt less like a bolt from the blue and more like the inevitable end of a relationship that had been under strain for some time. A councillor who would not fall fully into line had become an awkward presence inside a structure that increasingly prized message discipline over independent thought. Yet in forcing the issue, Labour may have made the oldest mistake in politics: assuming that removing a man from a group also removes his standing with the public. It does not. It simply sends him back to the electorate on new terms.

And those new terms may suit him rather well. In Harborne, Brooks does not have to construct an identity from scratch or persuade people he understands the ward. That work has already been done through presence, consistency and local engagement. What he now offers is not novelty, but continuity. In a political culture addicted to churn, that can be a surprisingly powerful thing.

There is, though, a deeper story to Brooks, and it is one that gives shape to everything else. He is not simply a councillor who found his voice late in his political life. He was here before, decades ago, a young councillor who rose quickly, chaired committees and operated at a level that gave him a city-wide reach rather than the narrower viewpoint of ward-only politics. Even then, he was not some anonymous backbencher drifting through the system. He was a figure of substance, involved in the machinery of the city and familiar with how decisions were made, where power sat, and how easily institutions could drift away from the people they were supposed to serve.

Then he left Birmingham, not into obscurity, but into a very different arena altogether. His work took him into post-conflict environments where governance was not an item on an agenda but the difference between stability and fracture. In southern Serbia, working with the OSCE, he was part of the difficult, patient effort to help hold together a region emerging from violence, rebuilding institutions, restoring trust and giving communities some chance of functioning again. It was not glamorous work. It was grounded, complex and immensely serious, and it earned him an OBE for improving regional security and stability.

And that was not the limit of it. His path took him through the Balkans and beyond, into other conflict-affected settings, including Afghanistan, places where systems had collapsed outright and had to be pieced back together with care, resolve and a proper understanding of what failure looks like when it is no longer theoretical. Work of that kind leaves its mark. It teaches lessons that cannot be acquired in committee rooms or absorbed from briefing papers. It gives a person a much sharper sense of what public institutions are for, and of how much damage is done when they begin to retreat from ordinary life.

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That is why his politics in Harborne make more sense than some of his critics would like to admit. When Brooks talks about libraries, local centres and the steady erosion of public provision, he is not speaking as a man fussing over marginal amenities. He is speaking as someone who understands that communities depend on structures that often go unnoticed until they begin to disappear. Strip enough of them away and the damage is not always immediate, but it is always real. A place becomes thinner, meaner, less connected to itself. People may not dress it up in policy language, but they know when it is happening.

Seen that way, his stance is not some burst of theatrical dissent. It is continuity, shaped by experience. He was a serious figure in Birmingham when he was young, he went away and worked in environments where governance mattered in its rawest form, and he came back with a broader frame, a harder-earned perspective, and a lower tolerance for managed decline dressed up as necessity. Labour, to its cost, seems to have mistaken that for mere troublemaking.

The political context now makes that misjudgement look even more dangerous. Labour is not approaching these elections from a position of confidence, either in Birmingham or nationally. Locally, its record has been defined by financial collapse, service retrenchment and a growing sense that the leadership has lost its feel for the places it governs. Nationally, the wider party has hardly offered a more reassuring picture, lurching from one problem to the next and often looking less like a government-in-waiting than a machine permanently caught between caution and confusion. The result is that the Labour badge no longer carries the automatic reassurance it once did. In some wards it still has force, but in others it has begun to feel less like an asset and more like dead weight.

Harborne may be one of the clearest examples of that shift. It is a ward with a strong local identity and a population not especially inclined to vote as instructed. It tends to look hard at what is in front of it. And what is in front of it here is not simply a Labour candidate versus an opponent. It is a last-minute Labour replacement set against a well-known independent who has already built trust, already made his case and already shown that he is prepared to take a stand when the easier route would have been silence.

That is why the balance of expectation now appears to be moving. No serious reading of this race presents it as a straightforward Labour hold. Quite the opposite. The drift of opinion, the weakness of the brand, the strength of Brooks’ local recognition, and the clarity of his message all point in the same direction. Nothing is guaranteed in politics, and only a fool writes the result before the voters do, but it would be equally foolish to pretend this contest is evenly poised. It does not look that way. It does not sound that way. And increasingly, it does not feel that way.

Brooks, by all accounts, is campaigning hard and doing so with mounting confidence. That matters. Candidates do not always admit when a campaign is going badly, but confidence that grows through sustained canvassing usually rests on something tangible. It suggests doors opening rather than closing, conversations going the right way, and a sense that support is not merely polite but active. In a race like this, that can become self-reinforcing. Momentum is not everything, but it is not nothing either.

Arguably, the deeper irony is that Labour may have done him a favour. At a time when the party brand is under serious strain, being pushed out allows him to stand before voters free of that baggage, carrying only his own record, his own politics and his own name. There is a case, and not a wholly absurd one, that in some wards the most practical thing Labour could do for certain candidates would be to expel them and let them run as independents. That may sound flippant, but it captures a real problem: the badge is not helping the way it once did, and in Harborne it may be doing the opposite.

If Brooks wins, and at this stage that looks a very live possibility, the significance will extend beyond one ward. It will suggest that local recognition can beat party machinery, that experience can still count for something, and that voters are willing, when given the chance, to choose the person they trust over the structure they are told to obey. More than that, it will expose something Labour would rather keep hidden, that in trying to discipline a man who would not keep quiet while his ward lost provision, it may have removed not a liability, but one of the strongest candidates it had.

And if that is the verdict Harborne returns, the message will travel far beyond its boundaries.

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Just Enough Truth: The Silence Before the Storm

The story has moved on. Olly Robbins has now had his say. The former senior civil servant at the centre of the Mandelson vetting process, and now out of his role, has given his account. It adds detail and sharpens the picture. But to understand why this matters, you have to be clear about what actually happened. Peter Mandelson was pushed into the role of British Ambassador to the United States at speed, a political appointment made with urgency and purpose. Concerns were raised during the vetting process. They did not stop the appointment. He took the post. And then, as those concerns refused to go away, he was forced out. That is the story. Robbins’ evidence helps explain how it unfolded, but it does not settle whether it should have happened at all.

Which is why the question needs to change. “Did he lie?” is the obvious one. It sounds strong and feels decisive, but it is the wrong test. It belongs in a courtroom, not in politics, because it demands proof, intent, and a clean break from the truth. That is not what Robbins’ evidence gives us. The better question is simpler and far more dangerous. Did Keir Starmer tell the whole truth, or just enough of it? Because what Robbins appears to describe is not a moment of deception, but a process under pressure, a decision already moving, already shaped, already expected to happen, with the machinery of government working to keep pace. That does not prove a lie, but it does raise something else entirely, whether the decision outran the safeguards. And once you ask that, something else comes into view, not what has been said, but what has not.

Across the Midlands, the silence is striking. This is Labour territory, Birmingham, Coventry, Wolverhampton, Derby, Nottingham, not fringe seats but the backbone of the party’s electoral strength. And yet, from Labour MPs across the region, there has been almost nothing. No chorus of defence, no visible dissent, no urgency to step forward. Just quiet. That is not accidental. Politics does not produce silence like that by chance. It is chosen.

Silence in politics is never empty. It is not neutrality and it is not absence, it is a position. Sometimes it is loyalty, sometimes it is fear, but most often it is calculation. And calculation fits this moment perfectly. Because if the Prime Minister has told the whole truth, then the case is simple, you defend it, you repeat it, you reinforce it. But if he has told just enough of the truth, then you hesitate. You do not contradict him, you do not over-commit to him, you wait.

Strip it back and this was always a political choice. Peter Mandelson was not sent to Washington by accident. He was chosen, and chosen for one reason above all others, Donald Trump. The appointment was made at pace because the relationship mattered. Trump is not a conventional partner. He does not respond to the usual diplomatic playbook. He is personal, unpredictable, transactional. So the response was equally direct, send someone who can handle that world, send Mandelson. At the time, it looked pragmatic, hard-headed, focused on outcome. But once you make that choice, you own it.

There is another uncomfortable layer to this. Concerns about Peter Mandelson were not invented after the event. They were there at the outset. Questions about judgment, associations, and suitability were raised early, quietly at first, then more openly as the appointment gathered pace. But here is the harder question. Did the vetting, in reality, matter all that much? Because the system it sits within is designed largely for career civil servants, cautious, discreet, and bound by convention. Mandelson was none of those things. He was a political operator, a fixer, a figure who had spent decades moving at the highest levels of power, business, and international influence. His past was not hidden, his connections were not unknown, and his controversies were already part of the public record. He was a former Labour MP, a member of the House of Lords, a Privy Councillor, and for a time the closest thing Labour had to a deputy prime minister in all but name.

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In other words, the file was already written. So the issue was never really whether Mandelson fitted the system. It was whether the system would bend to fit Mandelson. At the time, it did, because the priority was not procedural neatness but outcome, the relationship with Donald Trump and the belief that Mandelson, precisely because of who he was, could manage a volatile and unpredictable White House in a way others could not. That was the calculation, and for a while it held. But calculations like that come with a cost. Once you decide that the outcome matters more than the process, you lose the protection the process is meant to give you. The questions you parked do not go away. They return, louder and harder to contain.

What we are seeing now is something familiar in government. The decision came first and the process followed. That is why the defence sounds the way it does, controlled, narrow, precise. A timeline is laid out, a process defined, responsibility edged away, surprise expressed. It is disciplined and effective, but it leaves a gap. If the appointment mattered enough to be rushed through, why were the risks not resolved before it happened? Why did concerns surface after the fact strongly enough to end the appointment? That is not a question about lying. It is a question about judgment.

And so we return to the Midlands, not for noise this time, but for stillness. These MPs understand the stakes. They know their voters. They know what trust looks like when it holds and what it looks like when it starts to fray. And yet, they say nothing. Because timing matters, because elections matter, because stepping out of line carries risk. So they wait. But waiting does not erase the question. It stores it.

It might be worth asking your local Labour campaigning team what they make of all this. They will tell you it is not a local issue. They will point you to process, to national messaging, to the official line. But Labour is not loosely run. It is tightly controlled, disciplined, directed from the centre. And at the centre sits Keir Starmer. So the question does not disappear. It travels. Did Starmer tell the whole truth, or just enough of it? And if those closest to the voters are not willing, or not able, to answer it, that tells you something as well. Because in a party this tightly run, silence at the edges usually reflects something unresolved at the centre.

The political temperature is rising. Kemi Badenoch has called for Keir Starmer to resign. That, in itself, is not unusual. Opposition leaders call for resignations as part of the rhythm of Westminster. What is more telling is what is happening behind the Prime Minister, not in front of him. The silence from his own MPs is no longer just notable. It is becoming defining. Because if this were a storm that could be easily ridden out, you would expect voices to emerge, steady, supportive, confident. Instead, there is hesitation, distance, quiet.

And that raises a harder question still. Do they believe he can ride this out, or are they simply waiting for the moment when they no longer have to defend him? In politics, leaders rarely fall because their opponents attack them. They fall when their own side stops believing they can survive. Which leaves one final, uncomfortable thought. Is Keir Starmer the only person who still believes he can recover from this?

So we come back to the core. Not a legal test, but a political one. There is no proof of a lie, but there is no sense of full candour either. A rushed appointment, a process that struggled to keep up, an exit that confirmed something had gone wrong, a defence that answers the narrow point, and a silence that fills the space around it. That combination does not prove guilt, but it does create doubt. And in politics, doubt is the thing that lingers, the thing that spreads, the thing that waits, just like the silence.

This is not the end of the story. It is the moment before the next one begins.

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PART ONE: The Midlands spoke first, the rest stayed silent

There is always a moment in a political crisis when the script slips. When the polished lines, the careful phrasing, the lawyerly calm all collide with something raw, blunt, and impossible to ignore.

That moment did not come from the Cabinet. It did not come from the Labour front bench. It came from the Midlands.

Zarah Sultana MP stood up and called the Prime Minister what many are now thinking, a liar. She was promptly thrown out of the House of Commons. Procedure demanded it. Parliament does not allow that word. But the force of it landed anyway. Then came Lee Anderson MP, Midlands through and through, who said much the same thing in his own style, rougher, sharper, impossible to polish. He too was ordered out after refusing to withdraw, adding that the Prime Minister “couldn’t lie straight in bed”. And that is where the story truly starts, not with what was said, but with who said it, and who did not, because while those two were marched out, the Labour benches sat in near total silence.

The speech that sounded perfect, and felt wrong

Keir Starmer delivered what felt less like a political explanation and more like a performance drawn from the long tradition of advocacy that runs from Thomas Erskine through to the modern Bar, the sort of craft that would not look out of place in the chambers Rumpole would recognise. It was a classic “concede and contain” exercise, admit what cannot safely be denied, then control everything around it before it spreads. The structure was unmistakable, a tightly managed timeline, a carefully defined process, and then a deliberate distancing from the critical moment, expressed as surprise, even disbelief, that key details about the vetting of Peter Mandelson had not reached him.

It was disciplined, polished, and in purely forensic terms, highly effective. But that is also the problem. What was delivered was not the language of open political accountability, it was the language of case construction, where the aim is not to tell the whole story, but to present the version that can be sustained. It makes for excellent, even theatrical, barristering. It makes for very poor politics.

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Mandelson, Trump, and the calculation that now haunts him

Strip it back and the truth is uncomfortable. Peter Mandelson was brought in for one reason above all others, Donald Trump. That was the calculation, that was the gamble, because Trump is not a man easily handled by cautious diplomats or tidy officials, and the belief inside Downing Street was obvious, if anyone could manage that relationship it was Mandelson, with the experience, the contacts, the instincts, and the political ruthlessness to match the moment. At the time, very little else mattered, not the baggage, not the associations, not the optics, because the priority was the United States, the economic weight behind it, and the belief that results would justify the decision.

That was the bet, and now it is the problem, because once you decide the ends justify the means, you lose the right to look surprised when those means come back to haunt you. Starmer now says he did not know key details about the vetting process, and that may be true in the narrowest administrative sense, but politically it sounds implausible, because he chose Mandelson, backed Mandelson, and drove the appointment through, and now asks the country to believe that the crucial warning signs passed somewhere beneath him, unnoticed and unspoken. That is not a proven lie, not yet, but it is a version of events that many will struggle to accept.

The silence that says more than the shouting

Labour MPs are not blind. They can read the mood. They understand when something is going wrong. And yet what followed was not a wall of support, not a disciplined defence, not even a visible show of unity, but something far more telling, quiet. That silence is not loyalty, it is calculation, because with elections looming no one wants to detonate their own leadership in public, no one wants to be first over the top. But silence like that does not protect a Prime Minister, it leaves him exposed, it suggests waiting, it suggests distance, and more dangerously it suggests that, when the moment comes, the challenge will not be loud and chaotic, it will be cold and decisive.

Midlands voices, Westminster caution, and the Labour thread running through both

There is another layer to this that should not be ignored. Both Zarah Sultana MP and Lee Anderson MP come out of the Labour tradition, one still rooted in it, the other having walked away from it entirely. These are not outsiders lobbing grenades from a distance, they are products of the same political culture now closing ranks around Keir Starmer. They understand how the machine works, how discipline is enforced, how language is controlled, and how dissent is managed.

That is what makes the contrast so striking. Those no longer fully bound by the Labour whip, whether by position or by temperament, are the ones prepared to say the unsayable. Those still sitting on the Labour benches, tied to the leadership and the electoral cycle, chose silence. That does not prove they agree with the accusation, but it does raise an uncomfortable possibility, that the quiet is not conviction, it is containment, a holding position until it is safe to move.

So did he lie?

Here is the straight answer. There is no clear proof, at this stage, that Keir Starmer deliberately lied to Parliament, but there is already a strong sense that he has not been fully open, that he has relied on precision instead of candour, that he has answered the narrow question while stepping around the wider one, and that he has defended himself like a barrister rather than spoken like a leader. That distinction matters, because people will forgive a mistake. They rarely forgive the feeling that they are being managed.

What comes next

This story is not finished, it is only beginning. Olly Robbins, the senior civil servant at the centre of the vetting process and now out of his role, will give his account, and that is where this moves from suspicion to substance. If his version aligns cleanly with Starmer’s, the Prime Minister survives, damaged but standing. If it does not, if even small cracks begin to show, then this stops being a question of judgment and becomes something far more serious.

For now, this is Part One. But already the outline is clear. A Prime Minister convinced of his own precision. A controversial appointment made for hard political reasons. A defence that sounds flawless but feels incomplete. And a Parliament where the only voices willing to break ranks came from the Midlands while the rest chose silence.

This tale is not over, not by a long stretch. There will be more accounts, more evidence, and more pressure.

There are plenty more Part Twos to come.

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Olley’s Live, Birmingham thinking, national reach

There is a particular honesty to live television. No edits, no safety net, no second take to smooth the edges. What you see is what is said, and what is said has to stand on its own merit.

That is precisely why we do it.

Olley’s Live is presented by myself and Lorraine Olley, and it is built around that principle. A table, a guest, and a conversation that is allowed to unfold without interference. It is filmed as live, which matters. The pace, the rhythm, the pressure of getting it right in the moment, all of that stays intact. What the viewer sees is not manufactured television, it is conversation under light.

Episode 5 of Series 3 was filmed recently at Birmingham City University’s STEAMhouse, and it captures something that sits at the heart of what this programme is trying to do. Not noise, not theatre for its own sake, but a proper conversation. Grounded, informed, and rooted in the Midlands, yet reaching well beyond it.

The format is simple. Sit down with people who know their subject. Ask the questions that matter. Let the answers breathe.

This episode does exactly that.

Across the table sits Dr Michaela Kendall. Not a commentator, not a career panel guest, but a builder. A manufacturer. A scientist who has spent decades in the field of hydrogen fuel cell technology, and who has taken that work from theory into industry. Her company, established over 30 years ago, is part of a conversation Britain urgently needs to have with itself.

Energy.

Not as a slogan, but as a cost. Not as a policy headline, but as a constraint on whether this country can still make things at scale.

The discussion is split into two parts, and rightly so. The first deals with the mechanics and potential of hydrogen energy cells. What they are, how they work, and where they might realistically sit within the UK’s energy mix. There is no indulgence here in fantasy timelines or miracle solutions. It is a measured, technical conversation, translated into plain English.

The second part moves to something more uncomfortable, and more immediate. The cost of energy for British manufacturing, and what that cost is doing to the country’s industrial base. If Britain is serious about remaining a credible producer of goods, not just a consumer of them, then energy pricing is not a side issue. It is the issue.

Dr Kendall does not deal in slogans. She talks about systems, constraints, and the gap between political ambition and industrial reality. It is the sort of contribution that rarely survives the compression of mainstream broadcast formats, which is precisely why long form, live-style discussion still has a place.

The building matters

The setting for this episode was not incidental.

STEAMhouse is a £70 million investment by Birmingham City University, built on the restored shell of a Victorian industrial site that once housed the Eccles Rubber and Cycle Company. It is a building that quite literally sits on Birmingham’s manufacturing past while trying to engineer its future.

At around 100,000 square feet, it is not a passive academic space. It is a working environment, part lab, part workshop, part business incubator. Inside are fabrication zones, prototyping facilities, design studios and collaborative workspaces, all deliberately designed to bring together students, engineers, entrepreneurs and established businesses under one roof.

It is, in effect, a modern engine room.

And that matters, because the conversation taking place inside it, about hydrogen energy, industrial cost pressures and the future of British manufacturing, is exactly the kind of problem the building exists to address.

Birmingham does not always shout about its successes. It should shout about this one.

STEAMhouse is not a vanity project. It is a serious piece of infrastructure, rooted in heritage, built for purpose, and aimed squarely at the question of whether this country still intends to make things. It is a credit to the university, and a statement of intent from the city.

No studio, no fixed stage

There is also a deliberate choice behind how Olley’s Live is made.

We do not have a fixed studio. No permanent set, no controlled backdrop that flattens every conversation into the same visual frame.

We go to our guests.

That is not just a production decision, it is editorial. Place shapes conversation. Context sharpens answers. When you sit down with someone in their environment, or in a space that reflects their work, you get closer to the truth of what they actually do.

STEAMhouse is one example, but it is not the only one. Over the course of the series, we have filmed in a range of locations across the Midlands, each chosen because it adds something to the conversation rather than simply housing it.

It allows us to capture more than just words. It captures atmosphere, intent, and the reality behind the role.

A Midlands lens with national reach

As for the programme itself, Olley’s Live is not trying to compete with national broadcasters on scale. That would miss the point entirely. It is built instead on access and authenticity. Local television, sitting on channel 7 across the network, reaching more than 250,000 viewers, offers something different. A platform where regional voices are not filtered out, and where national issues can be examined through a Midlands lens.

That reach is also evolving. One in four programmes now goes out nationally, on a weekly basis, taking what begins as a Midlands conversation and placing it into a wider UK context. That matters, because the issues discussed here do not stop at the M6.

Energy costs, manufacturing decisions, investment choices, workforce realities. These are not abstract debates. They land in places like Birmingham, the Black Country, Coventry. They shape whether businesses expand, relocate, or quietly disappear.

The programme will be broadcast in the coming weeks, and it will also extend across social media channels, where the conversation tends to take on a second life. Clips travel. Arguments are tested. Viewers respond.

That is where the real value sits. Not just in the broadcast itself, but in what follows.

The open door

There is also a broader intention here. To keep building a roster of guests who have something substantive to say. People with experience, with evidence, with a perspective that goes beyond the immediate news cycle. The Midlands has no shortage of such voices. What it has often lacked is a platform willing to give them time.

We are addressing that, one episode at a time.

Dr Kendall will, one suspects, not be a one off. The issues she raises are not going away. If anything, they are moving closer to the centre of the national conversation. Britain’s ability to produce, to compete, to sustain industrial relevance in a changing energy landscape is not settled. It is still being written.

And that is precisely the sort of story that deserves to be told properly.

If you have something to say, and more importantly something to back it up, then there is an open door here. Not for performance, but for contribution. The bar is not fame, it is substance.

That is the deal.

Olley’s Live. Live for a reason.

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Midlands GRIT Weekly Digest

A week where the ground moved, even if only slightly

There are weeks where politics follows a familiar rhythm. This was not one of them.

Across Birmingham, the West Midlands, and beyond, the stories this week did not sit neatly on their own. They overlapped, echoed each other, and pointed in the same direction, towards a landscape that is becoming harder to predict and easier to question.

Let’s take it from the beginning.

Monday: The ballot paper that tells a bigger story

We began the week with what may prove to be the most important piece, a full, ward-by-ward analysis of the Birmingham City Council elections.

615 candidates. 69 wards. 101 seats.

Those numbers are striking enough. The detail beneath them matters even more.

Across the Labour Party, Conservative Party, Liberal Democrats, Green Party of England and Wales and Reform UK, full slates are colliding with a surge in independents and issue-led campaigns.

Ward by ward, the picture becomes more intricate, not less.

What emerges is not a single contest, but dozens unfolding at once, each with its own tensions and turning points.

Labour is under pressure. Reform UK is converting momentum into credible local challenges. The Greens and independents are finding space where traditional loyalties are loosening.

The outcome is unlikely to be clean. No overall control is now a credible end point.

And once control fragments, the politics changes with it.

Tuesday: When failure becomes familiar

Tuesday brought a much heavier focus.

Three children in Southport. A report concluding their deaths could and should have been prevented.

It is a line that should stop people in their tracks. Yet it is no longer unfamiliar.

Across the West Midlands, the pattern repeats. From the death of Khyra Ishaq to the murder of Arthur Labinjo-Hughes, the sequence is painfully consistent. Risks identified. Concerns raised. Action falls short.

Afterwards, the system responds. Reviews. Reports. Apologies.

And then it continues.

What makes this harder to accept is the imbalance in consequence. When families fail, the response is immediate. When systems fail, it is more diffuse.

Over time, that begins to look less like accountability and more like management.

Wednesday: A candidate who isn’t waiting

Midweek, the focus shifted to a different kind of story.

Hugo Rasenberg, 21, standing in Harborne for the Conservative Party.

His route into politics has been fast, practical, and built through effort rather than patience. Campaign hours, digital reach, constant visibility.

It is not the traditional model. It does not wait for permission.

Win or lose, what matters is what it represents, a generation approaching politics differently, blending ground campaigning with digital instinct, and stepping forward earlier.

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Thursday: The script isn’t working anymore

Then came Thursday, and something closer to the ground.

The reality of campaigning itself.

The familiar lines are still there. Stability. Responsibility. Difficult decisions. Shaped within Birmingham City Council and reinforced by the wider Labour Party.

But they are not landing in the same way.

On the doorstep, candidates are being asked to defend decisions they did not shape, explain problems that have not been resolved, and hold together a narrative that is under strain.

The bin strike continues. Agency spending rises alongside it. However it is explained, the pattern is visible.

And it raises an uncomfortable question about Labour’s relationship with its own workforce, and how that is now being perceived.

At the same time, those workers are not standing back. They are campaigning, directly and visibly, targeting Labour candidates.

That changes the contest.

Add to that wider pressures, rising costs, everyday service issues, and the cumulative effect becomes harder to manage.

Then there is selection.

The shift away from locally rooted candidates towards centrally influenced choices is no longer subtle. It is visible. And it is noticed.

All of which leaves a simple question.

Not just what is being said on the doorstep.

But whether those saying it still believe it.

Friday: When politics moves into uncomfortable space

By Friday, the conversation shifted again.

South Derbyshire’s MP, Samantha Niblett, and the call for a “summer of sex”.

It jars. It challenges expectations of tone and place.

But it also reflects something broader.

Attitudes to relationships and expectations are being shaped differently, often influenced more by what is seen online than by lived experience.

In that context, avoiding the subject altogether becomes harder to justify.

That does not remove questions about judgement. But it does suggest some conversations are no longer avoidable.

The thread running through it all

What links these stories is not party or policy.

It is a sense that established ways of doing things are being tested.

Political messaging is meeting resistance. Systems are being questioned. New entrants are approaching politics differently.

And across Birmingham, voters are responding in ways that are less predictable than before.

Nothing has fully broken.

But it is no longer holding in quite the same way.

Final word

And finally, a genuine thank you.

Close to 30,000 of you have read, shared, and engaged with Midlands GRIT this week. That is not just reach, it is attention, and attention matters.

It means these conversations are being followed, considered, and carried forward.

This is the weekly digest.

The full pieces, including Monday’s exclusive ward-by-ward Birmingham election analysis, continue to run on midlandsGRIT, where the words have space to breathe and the seams are left deliberately unpolished.

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South Derbyshire is not a constituency that arrives quietly in Westminster. Those of us with longer memories will recall Edwina Currie, a Conservative MP who first made her name as a Birmingham councillor at Birmingham City Council, carrying the sharp elbows of municipal politics into the national arena. She had a talent for saying what others would not, and sometimes what they should not. A ministerial career undone by a blunt warning about salmonella in British eggs. A private life that later spilled into public view through her relationship with former Prime Minister John Major. Fame, infamy, and very little in between, followed by a second life in broadcasting and writing, where controversy became currency rather than career-ending. Currie never quite left the stage, she simply changed the stage she performed on.

And now the same seat sends a very different kind of disruptor to Westminster. Samantha Niblett is a Labour MP who does not come from council chambers or the factional skirmishes of 1980s Birmingham. Her background is in technology, data, and the modern corporate world, shaped less by place than by profession. Yet the instinct feels oddly familiar. Where Currie shocked by force of personality, Niblett provokes by design. Her declaration of a “summer of sex”, and her intention to bring sex toys into Parliament to stimulate open discussion, is not a slip of the tongue. It is a deliberate act of political communication, designed to force a conversation many would prefer to avoid.

At first glance, it is easy to recoil. Parliament is a place of law, scrutiny, and national seriousness. The idea of sex toys crossing its threshold, even something as commonplace as a dildo, feels to many like a jarring collision between the private and the public. One can almost imagine the Speaker being asked to rule on whether an arm’s-length distance should be maintained between Honourable Members, in keeping with the centuries-old convention designed to prevent swords being drawn on the floor of the House. It is absurd, faintly comic, and entirely modern all at once.

That discomfort is real, and it should not be dismissed lightly. There are questions of judgement, tone, and propriety that deserve to be asked. But stopping at embarrassment risks avoiding a far more serious and pressing issue.

Because beyond the chamber, and far from its traditions, a different reality has taken hold. It is now widely reported that teenage boys and young men send unsolicited images of their erect genitalia to girls and young women, often without invitation and with little apparent understanding of the impact. What would once have been shocking has, in some circles, become normalised behaviour.

At the same time, there are increasing and deeply troubling accounts from women of being subjected to expectations shaped by online pornography, including pressure towards acts such as choking during sex, presented as routine despite the absence of discussion, consent, or understanding. What is depicted as performance on screen is too often carried into real relationships without context, care, or mutual agreement.

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Surveys and research in the UK have consistently shown that a significant proportion of women report receiving unsolicited explicit images online, while others describe pressure to accept behaviour influenced by what partners have seen on the internet. Reports from organisations working in this field have raised sustained concerns about harmful expectations, including aggressive conduct being normalised without conversation or consent.

This is not something that can be hidden away or ignored in the hope it resolves itself. It is a cultural shift happening in plain sight, and one that demands an adult response.

In that context, Niblett’s willingness to talk openly about sex, however jarring the language or theatrical the delivery, may not be as misplaced as it first appears. There is a case, and a serious one, that silence has allowed misinformation to fill the gap. A generation raised online has not been met with a corresponding honesty offline. If Parliament is, in part, a reflection of the society it serves, then perhaps it was inevitable that these conversations would arrive, sooner or later, at its door.

That does not mean the method is beyond criticism. Parliament is not a podcast studio, nor a stage for provocation as performance. There remains a question of judgement, of tone, and of whether the deliberate courting of controversy strengthens or weakens the argument being made. The risk is not simply that the message is lost, but that it is trivialised, reduced to headline and spectacle rather than substance.

What is striking, however, is how the nature of political controversy itself has changed. Currie’s moments came as eruptions, unscripted and often costly to her career. Niblett’s feel constructed, calibrated for a media environment in which attention is currency and visibility is power. The Midlands has not lost its capacity to produce outspoken representatives, but the source of that outspokenness has shifted. It no longer emerges from the rough and tumble of local government, but from a culture that prizes disruption and rewards those who can command the narrative.

South Derbyshire, then, offers a small but telling lens on a larger transformation. From a Conservative MP shaped in Birmingham’s council chambers to a Labour MP shaped in the world of technology and modern communications, the journey reflects a wider change in how politics is conducted and consumed.

And perhaps, in this case, it is worth ending on a note that Westminster does not always allow itself. Sex, in its proper place, is not something sordid or shameful. It is a fundamental part of human connection, at its best rooted in consent, respect, and mutual enjoyment. That is the aspect so often absent from the distorted portrayals that dominate the online world.

If Samantha Niblett MP is attempting, in her own striking and unconventional way, to draw attention back to that truth, then she may be doing more than simply provoking a reaction. She may, in fact, be performing a quietly important public service.

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The Script Isn’t Working Anymore

There is a moment, just after the door opens, when everything pauses. It only lasts a second, maybe two, but it is long enough to feel whether what you are about to say will land or whether it will drift past unheard. I have stood in that moment more times than I care to remember, knocking doors, delivering the line, doing what Labour people have always done, and perhaps that is why, looking at this election now, I find myself quietly relieved that I no longer have to.

This is not just another round of local elections in Birmingham, it is a campaign being fought under pressure, where Labour candidates are being asked to defend decisions they did not always shape, explain problems that have not been resolved, and persuade voters to trust a story that is becoming harder to hold together with each passing week.

Because once you have done it yourself, once you have stood on those steps with the leaflet in your hand and the argument in your head, you know exactly how it works. You begin with stability, with responsibility, with the careful language of difficult decisions taken in difficult times. The lines are not accidental, they are prepared, refined somewhere deep within the machinery of Birmingham City Council, and increasingly echoed and reinforced by the wider apparatus of the Labour Party itself, shaped by professional political operators and career administrators whose role is to maintain message discipline rather than reflect local nuance. These are not always the visible figures at the top, not the well-known strategists whose names occasionally surface, but the quieter, largely unseen layers of the organisation, the permanent machinery that drafts, adjusts and circulates the language that candidates are expected to carry. Most of the time, you do not know who they are, and that is part of the point. The system functions as a machine, and the machine endures. Those who prepare these lines will still be there long after the votes are counted, another councillor in, another councillor out, another script adjusted and delivered, while the candidate is left to carry the weight of it as though it were entirely their own.

At first, it works. It always does. There is a rhythm to campaigning, a familiarity in the exchange, a sense that if you hold your ground and deliver the message clearly enough it will land somewhere. But then the questions begin to change, not dramatically, but enough to unsettle the flow. Why is the bin strike still dragging on? Why does it feel as though nothing is being resolved? Why, if everything is under control, does it not look that way from the street outside?

And it is precisely when that carefully constructed language meets the harder edge of reality that the strain begins to show. The spending on agency staff has risen sharply as the dispute has hardened, not drifting or fluctuating, but rising in step with the conflict itself in a way that is difficult to separate from the strike it is said not to be replacing. The explanation is always there, carefully worded, technically sound, but the pattern is visible, and once seen it becomes difficult to dismiss. And that is before you confront what it actually represents, because Labour was never meant to be the party that replaces its own workforce with insecure labour in order to sustain a dispute. It was meant to stand with workers, not manage them, not sidestep them, and certainly not spend heavily over a protracted period to wear them down. Agency work, by its nature, offers no security, no long-term future, no real protection when things go wrong, and yet here it is being expanded in the middle of an industrial conflict as though it were simply another operational tool. You do not need to dress that up in legal arguments or financial categories to understand how it looks. To many, it appears as though Labour is doing the work that employers have always done, holding the line against its own workforce, using public money to outlast them, and hoping that, eventually, they will give way. That is not a comfortable position for a party built on the idea of solidarity, and it is one that sits uneasily, however carefully it is explained.

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That discomfort only grows when you look beyond your own campaign and see the bin workers themselves out there, visible, organised, speaking directly to the same residents. This is not passive support, it is active, targeted campaigning, and it is directed, quite deliberately, at Labour councillors and Labour candidates. They have resources, they have structure, and they have something far more powerful than either, a base of striking workers, their families, their friends, and a wider network of political supporters who are motivated, engaged, and willing to act. I have been part of campaigns where getting a dozen people out felt like strength, where that level of turnout carried energy and presence. Now you look across and see that doubled, sometimes more, and you understand instinctively that this is not the kind of campaign you would choose to have against you, particularly not when the wider polling position of Labour is already under pressure. This is organised, visible resistance, meeting you on the same ground, speaking to the same voters, and doing so with a clarity and conviction that cuts through the carefully balanced language you are trying to maintain.

So you move the conversation on, as you must, into the bigger picture. Regeneration. Growth. The future of the city. You point, quite reasonably, to developments such as Paradise Circus, Perry Barr regeneration scheme and Smithfield Birmingham as evidence of ambition and progress. These are the flagship schemes, the ones meant to define Birmingham’s future, and yet they now carry with them a different set of associations, rising costs, widening gaps, figures that no longer feel settled. None of this rests solely with the current leadership, these are long-running projects with deep roots, but that distinction offers little comfort when you are the one standing there being asked to explain where the money has gone and what it is all delivering.

And just as you begin to steady that argument, the conversation drops back down to ground level again, to the things people encounter every day. Potholes. Roads left unrepaired. The small but constant irritations that tell their own story about how a city is functioning. Again, there are explanations, there are always explanations, funding constraints, weather, maintenance cycles, all entirely logical, all perfectly defensible, until you are standing in front of someone who simply wants to know why nothing has been done.

It is at this point that the accumulation becomes impossible to ignore. The strike. The spending. The developments. The condition of local services. Each one manageable on its own, each one capable of explanation, but together forming something heavier, something that feels less like a series of isolated issues and more like a pattern.

And then there is the part of the story that rarely gets said out loud, but which sits quietly underneath everything else, the way candidates themselves now come to be standing on those doorsteps in the first place. There was a time, not so long ago, when local Labour parties selected their own candidates, when those who knew the ward, who had worked in it, who had built relationships over years, had a real say in who would represent them. That process was not perfect, nothing ever is, but it carried with it a sense of ownership, of local democracy, of decisions being made by those who understood the ground.

Selection as a Labour Party candidate is now, in many cases, increasingly shaped by full-time party officials rather than rooted local membership, individuals tasked with ensuring candidates are in place across vast numbers of seats, often operating to tight timelines and central expectations rather than the character or needs of any one ward. These officials may only occupy such roles for a short period, a year or two, before moving on, yet during that time they exercise significant influence over who is deemed suitable to stand. The process is frequently mediated through a small circle of trusted local figures, but that does not remove the reality that decisions are being shaped away from the wider membership, and it is not unknown for personal preferences, alliances, or less generous motivations to determine outcomes. Good councillors, well regarded in their communities, can and do find themselves removed without meaningful local challenge, not because they have failed, but because, for whatever reason, they no longer fit.

That contradiction does not disappear just because it is not spoken.

And layered on top of all of this is a broader unease about where the party itself now stands. Labour was never just an administrative machine, it was an expression of alignment, a clear statement of who it represented and why. That clarity feels less certain now. Whether it is a kind of self-absorption at the top, or a belief that the old loyalties no longer need to be tended in the same way, there is a growing sense that the connection to its working roots has been loosened, not necessarily by design, but by drift, by distance, by a failure to notice what is changing on the ground.

You do not need to spell it out to understand where this leads, because what is happening here does not end with the council elections. It moves beyond them. Labour MPs, particularly across Birmingham and the wider West Midlands, should be looking at this very closely, because the same tensions, the same perceptions, the same questions are already beginning to take shape at a national level. Seats that once felt secure may not feel that way for much longer. It is no longer unrealistic to suggest that more than half of the current Labour MPs in the city could be at risk if this trajectory continues, and across the West Midlands the figure could be higher still. The question is not whether they can see it, but when they will choose to act on it. Will they continue to stay quiet, to hold the line, to support a position that many voters increasingly question, or will they recognise what is unfolding and respond accordingly? Because once the May council elections pass, the immediate campaign may end, but the consequences will not. What follows may feel less like a recovery and more like the beginning of something darker.

And so the candidates continue, because they must, moving from house to house, holding the line, delivering the message, doing the work that campaigning has always required. But beneath that steady rhythm there must be moments, however brief, where the distance between what is being said and what is being felt becomes harder to ignore, where the script begins to feel less like a guide and more like something that no longer quite fits.

Because in the end, this is not simply a difficult election. It is something else, something heavier, something that does not resolve neatly once the votes are counted. It is the sense that the ground has shifted, that the connection has weakened, that the argument no longer carries in the way it once did.

And when the results come in, and the immediate noise fades, what may be left is not clarity, but a quiet, uneasy realisation.

Not a new dawn.

A darker one.

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There is something faintly improbable about meeting a 21-year-old who speaks about ward-level campaigning with the weariness of a veteran and the metrics of a digital strategist. Yet that is precisely where Hugo Rasenberg sits, somewhere between political enthusiast and fully formed operator, already shaped by defeat, persistence, and the quiet grind of local politics. He is standing in Harborne for the Conservative Party in the May 2026 elections, but his story does not begin in Birmingham. It begins, more tellingly, on a school bus in High Wycombe.

At eleven years old, Hugo had a question read out publicly at a school event chaired by John Bercow, at the time both a sitting Member of Parliament and, more importantly, the Speaker of the House of Commons. The question itself cut through the room with a clarity that belied his age: why could teenagers not vote in the referendum when it was their future at stake? It drew amusement, as such moments often do, a child asking an adult question in a room not quite ready to answer it. But that moment matters. It sits there as an early signal. Because while others moved on, Hugo did not. He was already tuning into the Today programme on the bus, not out of boredom, but because his education came easily and left him with time. Time that might have been wasted elsewhere was instead spent absorbing political debate, listening closely to James O’Brien on LBC, not passively, but with intent. This was not a passing interest. It was the early formation of something more deliberate.

His early schooling, by his own admission, was not marked by discipline. An all-boys environment, plenty of energy, little direction. The usual distractions filled the gaps, not because he lacked ability, but because he had not yet found where to place it. That changed in sixth form. Something sharpened. He describes it as stepping into adulthood early, a moment where the drift stopped and focus took hold. The studies followed, the results improved, and good A-levels were achieved not by chance, but by application. It was the first real indication that the earlier restlessness had simply been misdirected energy rather than lack of capability.

By the time most students arrive at university still adjusting to independence, Hugo had already begun building something resembling a working life. At sixteen, he joined the Conservatives, but more significantly secured a short-term internship with Joy Morrissey. It was not a grand title or a long posting, but it was a foothold, and an unusually early one. From there came the now familiar introduction to local party life, fish and chips events, rooms dominated by older members, and the quiet decision to engage rather than withdraw. He set up a Young Conservatives branch, undertook further work experience, and secured a paid role with a sustainable development company whose message was rooted less in ideology and more in practical economics, turn the lights off, save money. By the time he arrived at the University of Birmingham, studying politics, social policy and economics, he was not approaching the subject as theory. He had already seen its application.

University, for Hugo, was not a retreat into academia but an extension of activity. He found the academic side manageable, which freed time for what he clearly preferred, campaigning. It was through this that he came into contact with Andy Street, and from there, an unexpected turning point. A direct call. An invitation to join the mayoral campaign team. The work was demanding, forty to fifty hours a week, modestly paid, and largely unglamorous, but it provided something far more valuable, immersion. Six months inside a major regional campaign is not something many 20-year-olds experience. He did, and by his own account, he absorbed everything. When the campaign ended in defeat, it hit him hard. Not disappointment, but devastation. The distinction is telling. It reflects investment, not detachment.

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What followed was less structured, but perhaps more revealing. With the campaign over, he needed to sustain himself. So he turned to what he had, contacts, skills, and persistence. He began producing video content for Conservative councillors, reaching out directly, building work incrementally. It was not glamorous, but it worked. All of this ran alongside his university studies, a balancing act that would stretch most students, but which he seemed to absorb into his routine. Eventually, this led to a more stable role with Founders Makers, a firm specialising in social media and HR content, a natural progression for someone already fluent in the language of digital reach.

His selection as the Conservative candidate for Harborne in December 2024 marked a clear transition. By March 2025, he had formally launched his campaign outside the Royalty Cinema, drawing media attention and assembling a sizeable group of activists. Since then, the work has been sustained and methodical. Thousands of doors knocked, repeated engagement, visibility built not in bursts but through consistency. He speaks of being recognised in the street, drivers stopping, conversations beginning before introductions are made. Whether anecdotal or indicative, it points to presence, and in local politics, presence matters.

Alongside this, his campaign has developed a significant digital dimension. In the last 90 days, he reports 820,000 unique Facebook views, with a single post relating to graffiti removal reaching 600,000 after council inaction. He was notably keen to demonstrate the figures, producing them repeatedly, not as boast, but as proof. And on inspection, they hold. This is not wild exaggeration. On Twitter, now X, he cites one million views within a week. For a ward-level candidate, those figures are not incidental. They reflect an understanding that modern campaigning operates as much through screens as it does on pavements.

Looking forward, his ambitions extend beyond simply winning a seat. He speaks of structural change, beginning locally but with broader implications. Central to this is the idea of a community development company for Harborne, structured as a credible CIC, with local backing and endorsement from Andy Street. It is, by any measure, ambitious, perhaps overly so for a first-term councillor, but it signals intent. Not merely to participate, but to shape.

There is a temptation to dismiss Hugo Rasenberg as another young political hopeful. That would be a mistake. He is not drifting into politics. He has been moving towards it, deliberately, for years. He has already experienced the early cycle, curiosity, discipline, exposure, defeat, recovery, and now candidacy, all by the age of 21. If he does not secure election in Harborne this time, it will not be through lack of effort or commitment. He has approached the ward with an intensity that many more experienced candidates struggle to sustain. There is also, increasingly, a sense of genuine connection to the area, built not through rhetoric, but through repetition and presence.

Win or lose, he is not the finished article. But he is clearly an emerging one. And in a political environment where endurance is often in short supply, that alone may prove to be his most valuable asset.

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THE APOLOGY MACHINE: CHILDREN DIE, SYSTEMS SURVIVE

In the days after a child dies at the hands of violence or neglect, the language arrives almost immediately. Senior figures express deep regret. Agencies acknowledge that opportunities were missed. Reviews are commissioned, processes are examined, and assurances are given that lessons will be learned. It is a ritual now so familiar that the wording often feels pre-written. Yet behind that language sits a harder question. If the same failures are identified time and again, why do the outcomes remain so unchanged, and why does accountability so rarely follow?

The publication of the Southport attack inquiry on 13 April 2026 provides a fresh and brutal example. The report concluded that the deaths of three young girls could and should have been prevented. It identified failures in information sharing, a lack of clear ownership of risk, and systemic weaknesses across agencies. That finding is not simply about one incident. It is a lens through which to examine a wider and more uncomfortable pattern.

Across the West Midlands, and over many years, children known to the authorities, or visible enough to have been protected, have died in circumstances where intervention was possible but insufficient. The details differ, but the structure does not. Information exists. Responsibility is shared. Action is delayed, diluted, or lost. Afterwards, the system explains itself.

The case of Arthur Labinjo-Hughes murder remains one of the clearest modern examples. Arthur died in Solihull on 17 June 2020, aged six. By the time of his death, multiple agencies had already built a fragmented but significant picture of concern. The national review into his murder identified weaknesses in information sharing, a lack of robust professional challenge, and a failure to properly understand the child’s lived experience. Practitioners relied too heavily on the account given by his father, while concerns raised by wider family members were not given sufficient weight. Arthur was not invisible. The system saw parts of him, but failed to assemble those parts into action.

That conclusion is not new. More than a decade earlier, the death of Khyra Ishaq murder exposed the same structural weaknesses. Khyra died in Handsworth, Birmingham, on 17 May 2008, after prolonged starvation and abuse. The Serious Case Review found missed opportunities for intervention and highlighted failures to properly assess risk, particularly in relation to her removal from school and the absence of effective oversight of her home environment. It concluded that safeguarding processes had not operated with sufficient rigour to protect her.

What links these cases is not simply tragedy, but repetition. Across years and different administrations, the same findings recur. Missed opportunities. Poor information sharing. Lack of coordination. Failure to challenge. The language evolves only slightly, but the substance remains strikingly consistent. Systems designed to protect children continue to identify risk without consistently acting on it.

There is also a stark imbalance in how failure is treated depending on who commits it. When parents neglect or abuse a child to the point of serious harm or death, they face prosecution, conviction, and often long custodial sentences. The state acts with clarity and force, and rightly so. Yet when professionals, trained and salaried precisely to identify and act on that same risk, fail in ways that contribute to the same outcome, the consequences are fundamentally different. Reviews are commissioned, apologies are issued, and systems are said to have fallen short, but individuals rarely face sanctions that reflect the gravity of the failure. One form of neglect leads to prison. The other leads to process.

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Over time, this begins to resemble a culture of administrative containment. Failure is acknowledged, but managed. Responsibility is shared until it becomes indistinct. Language softens the edges of accountability. The system does not deny error, but it absorbs it. Apology becomes the mechanism through which failure is recognised without materially altering the position of those involved.

If safeguarding is to mean anything, that imbalance cannot remain. Where risk to a child is known and documented, there must be clear ownership at a senior level. Responsibility cannot be allowed to dissipate across agencies and committees. Where reviews identify failures to act on known risks, failures to escalate, or failures to coordinate effectively, those findings should lead to formal disciplinary processes with meaningful outcomes. Dismissal should not be exceptional where gross safeguarding failure is established.

There is also a legitimate, if uncomfortable, question about financial consequence. Where catastrophic safeguarding failure is linked to identifiable senior oversight, it is reasonable to ask whether pension protections and long-term financial security should remain entirely untouched. At present, the system allows individuals to preside over serious failure and leave with their position largely intact. That disconnect between outcome and consequence weakens public confidence and undermines the credibility of reform.

Structural change is also required. Senior safeguarding roles should be subject to fixed-term, performance-linked contracts, with renewal dependent not only on procedural compliance but on demonstrable outcomes. Alongside this, there is a strong case for independent national oversight with the authority to review local findings, mandate action, and publish conclusions without local filtering. Without external challenge, systems have a natural tendency to protect themselves.

None of this removes the difficult truth that some parents fail their children, sometimes gravely. Safeguarding systems exist because of that reality. When both fail, parent and state, the outcome is tragically predictable. What these cases demonstrate is not a lack of knowledge, but a failure to act decisively on what is already known.

From Birmingham in May 2008, to Solihull in June 2020, to the findings published in April 2026, the pattern has proved remarkably durable. Children die. Agencies apologise. Reviews identify familiar weaknesses. The system absorbs the shock and continues.

Until that changes, these inquiries risk becoming less instruments of reform than rituals of absolution, carefully worded processes in which failure is acknowledged, lessons are recorded, and the professional order remains largely undisturbed.

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A ballot paper that deserves more respect than it gets

There are 615 candidates standing in Birmingham this year for the local elections on 7 May 2026.

Pause on that for a moment. Six hundred and fifteen individuals, each with a network behind them, family, supporters, expectation. In parts of the city there will be a real energy to this election. It is unusually open. With both Labour and the Conservatives under pressure, even so-called paper candidates may find themselves in contention.

That figure, 615, is not a flourish. It is drawn directly from the Statement of Persons Nominated, adjusted for withdrawals. What remains is a ballot paper of real substance: 69 wards, 101 seats, and a field that is both broad and genuinely competitive.

In an age where cynicism about politics comes easily, that matters. This is not a thin exercise. It is a dense and active democratic moment, whether we choose to recognise it or not.

And it becomes more interesting from there.

The five that turned up properly

Five parties have fielded a full slate of 101 candidates:

Reform UK
Labour, including Labour and Co-operative
Liberal Democrats
Local Conservatives
Green Party

That should not be taken lightly. It requires organisation, persistence, and depth.

The Liberal Democrats have long treated this as standard practice. Once the system is in place, it becomes repeatable, and they have refined the use of paper candidates into something deliberate rather than incidental.

For the Greens, the achievement carries a different weight. They do not have the same historic infrastructure, yet they have still produced full coverage. That reflects organisational effort rather than routine.

Labour and the Conservatives will also have felt the strain. Fielding 101 candidates in the current climate, with weak polling and internal pressures, is no small undertaking.

Reform UK have approached the task differently. By starting earlier and building deliberately, they have arrived with a complete slate. There have been adjustments along the way, but the end position is clear: they are now operating at full electoral scale.

Taken together, this is not a narrow field. It is a crowded and serious one.

Beyond the main five

Step outside the main parties and the picture shifts.

Independents account for 70 candidates across 37 wards. The Workers Party fields 27. TUSC six. Your Party five. Others appear in smaller numbers.

These are not insignificant figures, but they reflect a different kind of politics. This is activity without the machinery of a major party, often without infrastructure, and frequently without a safety net. It is more exposed, more personal, and more volatile.

Some independents benefit from looser organisation through the Independent Candidates Alliance, much of it shaped by Gaza-related politics. That network has encountered its own difficulties in recent weeks. Whether that has hindered or energised its candidates remains to be seen, but the direction of travel is clear. They are likely to take votes, primarily from Labour.

What this layer of candidates demonstrates is that a ballot paper is not just a list of names. It is a map of organisation, capacity, and intent.

Not quite as local as it sounds

Then comes the question that is always raised, sometimes quietly, sometimes not.

Do all these candidates actually live in Birmingham?

No.

From the published addresses, at least 14 candidates clearly reside outside the city. Tamworth, Stratford-upon-Avon, Dudley, Solihull, Redditch, Shropshire. The commuter belt is well represented.

There will be more whose locations are less obvious, either through broad descriptions or minimal disclosure.

Does it matter?

Less than is often suggested. The legal framework allows for a range of qualifying connections, not simply residence. Voters, in practice, tend to prioritise visibility and competence over strict geography.

The real question is not where a candidate lives, but how effectively they operate.

What the ballot really tells us

Step back and the picture sharpens.

Five parties have fielded full slates. Smaller parties and independents have filled what space they can. Some candidates are local. Some are not. Some are serious contenders. Some are not expected to be.

And yet the ballot is full.

At a time when politics is easily dismissed as hollow, Birmingham presents something more substantial. A crowded, contested, imperfect, but undeniably active democratic exercise.

That is not something to sneer at.

It is something to recognise.

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Ward by ward analysis
The following ward by ward analysis draws on a combination of local intelligence, contributed by individuals with direct knowledge of their areas, alongside national and local polling trends and indicative modelling. The modelling reflects the most up-to-date projections available at the time of writing. However, it remains sensitive to shifts in political momentum. Changes in support, whether towards Reform UK, the Green Party, or others, will naturally alter projected outcomes at ward level. This should therefore be read as a structured interpretation of current conditions, not a fixed prediction.

Acocks Green Ward

A strong Liberal Democrat ward for several years, though Labour has maintained ambitions here. In the current climate, Reform UK could make inroads by attracting disaffected Labour voters, while any fragmentation in the Lib Dem vote would make the contest more competitive. The Liberal Democrats should retain at least one seat, but the second appears more vulnerable. Reform cannot be ruled out.

Allens Cross Ward

A Labour ward unsettled by the councillor’s prolonged absence and recent resignation, timed to avoid a by-election. Reform UK has complicated matters by dropping Paul Smith in favour of former Conservative councillor Eddie Freeman, prompting Smith to stand as an independent. Reform still looks well placed, but Smith’s local support could disrupt what might otherwise have been a relatively straightforward gain.

Alum Rock Ward

Long a solid Labour ward, recent decline in Labour support has been compounded by sensitivities around Gaza within a majority Muslim Kashmiri electorate. Veteran Labour councillor Ansar Ali Khan, a former assistant leader of the council and an experienced local figure, may offset some of that pressure through personal standing. Even so, pro-Gaza independents appear strongly positioned and could be in prime contention here.

Aston Ward

A former safe Labour ward, won four years ago by Ayoub Khan, then a Liberal Democrat councillor, who used Aston as a springboard to become MP for Perry Barr. With Khan having withdrawn his nomination, five independents, largely aligned around Gaza, are now contesting the ward. His local influence is still likely to shape the result, and any winning candidates are likely to be viewed as his proxies.

Bartley Green Ward

A fiercely contested ward shaped by local culture, inherited loyalties and a shifting opposition vote. Conservative candidate Brucey Lines faces a strong challenge from Reform UK, including Rajbir Singh, the former Sandwell Labour leader. Although the ward can appear Labour on paper, Lines has a deep-rooted local base built over two generations. This remains a difficult contest to call, but he appears well placed to perform strongly.

Billesley Ward

An eclectic ward with no dominant heavyweight candidate. Though currently Labour territory, it has previously been Conservative and now looks more fluid. The Greens have worked the area steadily and appear quietly confident, while Labour faces headwinds from national decline and local dissatisfaction, including the bin strike. This may come down to organisation and turnout. The Greens look well placed, though Reform could yet break through.

Birchfield Ward

A ward where the so-called local Conservative candidate is in fact from Tamworth, which rather sums up the wider problem. None of the major parties appears especially invested in the seat, and with six candidates in the field the contest is likely to turn on issues beyond the local. Gaza is likely to feature heavily in voter sentiment, which could work to the benefit of an independent candidate.

Bordesley and Highgate Ward

With four independents in the field, this becomes a fragmented and opportunistic contest. Your Party, the Workers Party and various independents are competing over ground they would not traditionally have expected to win. Alignment around Gaza-related politics may deliver gains through proxy independent candidacies. In such a fractured field, the risk is that voters are left with a contest shaped more by tactical positioning than coherent local representation.

Bordesley Green Ward

As with many inner-city wards, politics here is layered and volatile. Labour support appears to be weakening, with Gaza again a significant factor in shaping voter behaviour. The Greens could benefit, particularly where there is informal overlap with pro-Gaza independent sentiment, but independents themselves are also in contention. In this type of contest, message and positioning may now count for more than conventional local government experience.

Bournbrook and Selly Park Ward

Not a headline battleground, but one where ground campaigning will matter. Labour incumbents appear vulnerable and have little obvious advantage at present. The fragmented wider political landscape makes this a more interesting contest than it might once have been, even without independents in the field. The Greens will hope to capitalise, though the Liberal Democrats could still emerge as the surprise beneficiaries.

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Bournville and Cotteridge Ward

Labour has weakened its own position here by deselecting a well-known and hardworking councillor. That, combined with poor national polling and weak local performance, leaves the party exposed. Reform has selected a candidate from Stratford-upon-Avon, which may limit its local appeal. The Greens appear best placed to take advantage of Labour’s troubles and could make serious gains in this ward.

Brandwood and King’s Heath Ward

Labour has again damaged itself by deselecting a prominent and hardworking councillor, though Lisa Trickett remains a substantial figure for the party. Veteran Liberal Democrat Emily Cox adds experience and credibility, while the Greens should also poll well in an area suited to their message. This looks one of the more competitive three-way contests in south Birmingham.

Bromford and Hodge Hill Ward

A strikingly unusual contest. Labour councillor Majid Mahmood, closely associated with the bin strike, faces a difficult defence, though he is supported by Diane Donaldson, one of the city’s better-known and harder-working councillors. A more organised left and independent challenge could make this highly competitive. Labour may still edge it, but the Greens and Workers Party could perform strongly.

Castle Vale Ward

On older assumptions this should be a straightforward Labour hold, but both national and local Labour performance have opened the door to Reform UK. The Labour councillor is well known on the estate, though recognition alone may not be enough in the current climate. Polling patterns and local demography suggest Reform could be in a strong position to take this seat.

Druids Heath and Monyhull Ward

Currently held by the Green group leader on the council, built on years of visible local work and persistence. Even so, this is demographically the sort of ward Reform UK will target hard. The incumbent’s record gives him a fighting chance, but there is a real possibility that wider political currents could make him vulnerable.

Edgbaston Ward

It was once said that if Edgbaston ever fell to Labour, Soviet tanks would roll into the Council House. It did fall, and no tanks appeared. Now held by Conservatives Matt Bennett and Deirdre Alden, both well known locally, the ward remains a key Tory stronghold. On present form they look well placed to defend it.

Erdington Ward

Robert Alden, leader of the Conservative group and son of Edgbaston’s Alden, has built a strong personal base here alongside Gareth Moore. Together they have turned what was once a precarious seat into a solid Tory hold. Reform UK could still make this more difficult than in previous years and may threaten one of the two seats, but the Conservatives remain strongly positioned.

Frankley Great Park Ward

A revealing example of Birmingham’s changing political psychology. Former Conservative councillor Simon Morrall left the party some time ago but never stopped working hard locally. That independence may now be his greatest asset. Reform appears strong on paper, but Morrall’s personal visibility and reputation mean he retains a credible chance of holding the seat.

Garretts Green Ward

A ward that should be natural Labour territory, and councillor Saddak Miah does at least maintain a visible presence. Even so, the demographics and wider climate now appear to favour Reform UK, particularly if the party can convert national momentum into local turnout. Labour would need a strong and disciplined ground campaign to resist that shift. As things stand, Reform looks well placed.

Glebe Farm and Tile Cross Ward

Currently represented by Labour leader John Cotton and veteran councillor Marge Bridle, both of whom bring experience and recognition. Yet poor council performance and weak national Labour polling leave them under pressure. On present trends the ward looks increasingly favourable to Reform UK, which appears well positioned to make gains here.

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Gravelly Hill Ward

Like a number of Birmingham wards, Gravelly Hill is being reshaped by demographic change, including a growing Kashmiri Muslim electorate. Labour incumbent Mick Brown faces pressure from two independents, meaning Gaza is likely to influence the result. Reform UK also poses a threat, creating the possibility of a three-way split. In practice, however, this may still come down to Labour versus Reform.

Hall Green Ward

Still broadly a Labour ward, but one in which both national decline and local invisibility are weakening the party’s position. The Liberal Democrats are likely to compete, but the Greens may be better placed to benefit from anti-Labour sentiment, particularly where it overlaps with pro-Gaza feeling. This is no longer as comfortable a Labour seat as it once appeared.

Hall Green South Ward

Conservative councillor Tim Huxtable has held this ward through sustained local effort and a recognisable personal vote. Despite the wider weakness of his party, that base should be enough to see him through again. The Greens may mount a visible challenge, especially with a local candidate, but their organisational depth here still appears limited.

Handsworth Ward

Former Labour Lord Mayor Chaman Lal, deselected from Soho and Jewellery Quarter, now stands here as an independent. He remains a well-known and popular local figure, and his candidacy could split the vote in what would otherwise be Labour territory. He looks well placed to win in his own right, and this ward may become one of the more telling examples of Labour’s self-inflicted problems.

Handsworth Wood Ward

Labour has again deselected a local councillor under unclear circumstances, but councillor Narinder Kooner remains a stabilising presence. With four independents splitting the opposition vote, Labour may benefit from fragmentation rather than suffer from it. For all the internal damage, the ward’s underlying political structure still gives Labour a good chance of carrying both seats.

Harborne Ward

Reform UK mishandled this ward, with candidate withdrawals and replacements exposing a party still learning its craft. Former Labour councillor Martin Brooks now stands as an independent after falling out with his old party over local service issues, while Conservative candidate Hugo Rasenberg is also campaigning hard. With several credible figures in the field, an unusual split outcome cannot be ruled out.

Heartlands Ward

Despite wider Labour difficulties, this remains the seat of former Lord Mayor Shafique Shah, a popular and long-serving local figure. He faces a serious contest, but years of groundwork, visible campaigning and a strong team leave him well placed. Labour is favoured to retain the seat, though almost certainly with a reduced majority.

Highters Heath Ward

A suburban ward somewhat removed from the inner-city dynamics affecting other parts of Birmingham. Conservative councillor Adam Higgs has built a reputation as a hardworking local representative. His main challenge has traditionally come from Labour, though Reform may now become the more serious threat. Even so, Higgs’ local commitment may be enough to hold the seat.

Hollyhead Ward

A reliably Labour ward on paper, rooted in dense inner-city communities and long-standing patterns of support. Yet the ground is more fluid than the headline suggests. Housing pressure, transient populations and low turnout can all distort the result at the margins. Opposition parties are unlikely to break through decisively, but protest votes and local issues may narrow Labour’s advantage more than expected.

Kings Norton North Ward

Held by Labour councillor Carmel Corrigan, who does not appear to have a deeply entrenched personal vote. That adds to the ward’s fluidity. Labour’s weakening position creates an opening, while the Conservatives retain a residual base and Reform UK could also make inroads. This now looks like a genuinely open contest rather than a straightforward hold.

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Kings Norton South Ward

Held by Green councillor Rob Grant, a well-liked and hardworking local figure who has built his position through visible effort rather than inherited party strength. That gives him resilience, but not immunity. The wider political climate and underlying demographics may now favour Reform UK, placing Grant under real pressure despite his personal standing.

Kingstanding Ward

A highly competitive ward with several recognisable local personalities. Desmond Jaddoo stands as an independent, Anita Ward for Labour, and former Labour councillor Des Hughes also runs as an independent. Incumbent Conservative Clifton Welch and Reform UK both see the ward as fertile ground. With so many competing personal votes, a split result looks plausible, and both Welch and Reform appear well placed.

Ladywood Ward

With previous Labour councillors stepping down, this once-secure ward enters a more uncertain phase. A mixed electorate, from social housing communities to younger apartment-based professionals, creates a more complex electoral picture than Labour would like. Frustration over botched housing regeneration also cuts against party incumbency. Labour remains favourite on paper, but the ward is more exposed than it first appears.

Longbridge and West Heath Ward

A mixed suburban ward shaped by regeneration in Longbridge and more settled residential politics in West Heath. Traditionally competitive between Labour and the Conservatives, but Labour has softened, opening the way for Reform UK to enter the contest seriously. This now looks like a genuine three-way fight where local organisation and turnout will be decisive.

Lozells Ward

A traditionally strong Labour ward, shaken by the unexplained death of Wasim Zaffar. His sister now steps forward, though whether she can inherit his support base remains uncertain. A growing Bangladeshi electorate adds another layer of complexity. Labour may still begin as favourite, but community dynamics, personal networks and possible fragmentation make this less secure than it once appeared. Bangladeshi Taj Uddin looks a leading contender, though his campaign has already been marked by unacceptable attacks and the destruction of posters.

Moseley Ward

A strong Liberal Democrat area, though one where the Greens will be looking to make progress. Councillor Izzy Knowles appears secure, but the second seat may be more open to pressure. A full Green breakthrough still looks unlikely, but a partial shift cannot be ruled out in a ward whose demographics broadly suit their politics.

Nechells Ward

The loss of councillor Lee Marsham creates a clear gap in what has been Labour territory. Without that incumbency, Labour’s position weakens and the field opens up. Gaza-influenced candidates may attract support, and the Greens could also become competitive. This is much more open than usual, with Labour no longer able to rely on the old assumptions.

Newtown Ward

Traditionally a Labour ward, but now more exposed than before. Two independents introduce a serious variable, especially if they can draw on Gaza-related sentiment and local community networks. That risks splintering Labour’s base. Labour still begins as favourite, but the field is less stable and the result could prove much closer than expected.

North Edgbaston Ward

A mixed and evolving ward that still leans Labour, though not as securely as before. Especially will Labour deputy leader Sharon Thompson standing down. Demographic change and broader political fragmentation bring both the Liberal Democrats and the Greens into consideration, while Reform may seek to test the ground. Labour remains the likeliest starting point, but this is no longer a simple hold, and the Greens in particular look capable of advancing.

Northfield Ward

A five-candidate field in territory Reform UK will regard as highly promising. Labour and the Conservatives remain present, but Reform appears best placed to benefit from the current conditions, provided internal tensions do not blunt its local effort. This is the kind of ward where Reform’s broader appeal can translate into a credible local challenge.

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Oscott Ward

Reform sees this as an opportunity, especially with former Conservative councillor Graeme Green standing for them and well versed in voter mobilisation. Yet former Reform parliamentary candidate Jack Brookes is also in the field as an independent, and veteran former Labour councillor Barbara Dring brings her own weight. Reform remains competitive, but the ward is far from settled.

Perry Barr Ward

A crowded field of 13 candidates follows the retirement of long-serving Liberal Democrat councillor Jon Hunt, whose personal vote will be hard to replace. Popular Mariam Khan remains for the Lib Dems, but the seat now looks more open than in previous cycles. Long a Liberal Democrat stronghold, it will now be tested by both fragmentation and the loss of Hunt’s local anchoring effect.

Perry Common Ward

Labour incumbent Jilly Bermingham faces a stern test in a ward long shaped more by estate politics than identity politics. Gaza is unlikely to be decisive here. Reform UK, however, is well placed to benefit from frustration with Labour and a fragmenting traditional vote. This could become one of the tighter contests of the election.

Pype Hayes Ward

Traditionally Labour territory, though the Liberal Democrats have held it and the Conservatives have often run close. Labour has weakened itself further by deselecting Basharat Mahmood under unclear circumstances. With both Labour and Conservative support softening, Reform UK could turn this into a genuinely unpredictable contest.

Quinton Ward

A suburban marginal that has moved between Labour and Conservative control over time, where campaigning on the ground matters greatly. Former Labour councillor and barrister Sam Forsyth now stands as an independent and may command a personal vote. With the two main parties both softer than before, Reform UK may also benefit. This looks fragmented and highly competitive.

Rubery and Rednal Ward

Currently held by Conservative Adrian Delaney, one of the strongest local operators on the council. His personal reputation and constituency work raise the bar for any challenger. Reform UK will undoubtedly target the ward, but overcoming Delaney’s local ground game is a harder task than the demographics alone might suggest.

Shard End Ward

A traditionally strong Labour ward, but the retirement of former council leader Ian Ward removes a substantial personal vote and local presence. That changes the calculation considerably. Reform UK will see this as a major opportunity, although the fact that its candidate is from Solihull may weaken the message. Even so, the ward now looks highly vulnerable to Labour.

Sheldon Ward

This is the seat of incumbent Paul Tilsley, one of the most experienced and widely respected figures in Birmingham local government. His long service and deep local roots give the Liberal Democrats a serious asset here. Reform UK is mounting a challenge, but that may also consolidate Lib Dem support around Tilsley. His personal record may yet prove decisive.

Small Heath Ward

Another troubled Labour seat with a deselected Labour incumbent along with a Labour defection to the Lib Dem’s. With 15 candidates for two seats, this is one of the most crowded and fragmented contests in the city. Labour’s old base appears to have substantially weakened, and there is no clear sense of secure incumbency. Your Party and the Workers Party seem better positioned than either Labour or the Conservatives. The central question is whether voters prioritise local delivery or Gaza-related political identity.

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Soho and Jewellery Quarter Ward

A ward in transition. Grandee former Lord Mayor Sybil Spence is retiring, while Chaman Lal (also a former Lord Mayor) has been deselected and moved elsewhere. The loss of both removes two long-standing pillars of Labour support. Against that, the Workers Party, independents, Greens and Your Party all have some claim on protest and alternative votes. Labour now faces a much more coordinated challenge than it would once have expected.

South Yardley Ward

Held by Liberal Democrat Zaker Choudhry, this is a classic personal vote ward built over years of local presence. The absence of independents may help challengers such as the Greens or Workers Party slightly, but Choudhry remains the central local figure and still appears the one to beat.

Sparkbrook and Balsall Heath East Ward

A densely populated inner-city ward with a young electorate increasingly detached from traditional party loyalties. Labour’s old structures no longer command automatic support, and the Conservatives are not a natural fit. Gaza will be central here, and that may offer the Greens an opening, particularly among younger voters. This looks volatile, fluid and potentially surprising.

Sparkhill Ward

A dense inner-city ward where community dynamics and Gaza-related sentiment are likely to dominate the result. Labour has historically held ground, but support now appears softer and more conditional. Particularly as incumbent Nicky Brennan is chancing her luck elsewhere in the city. The presence of controversial or high-profile candidates adds another layer of complexity. Turnout, local credibility and community networks are likely to determine the outcome.

Stirchley Ward

A changing south Birmingham ward with a younger, more professional population and an increasingly distinct cultural identity. Labour’s older base looks less secure here than it once did. Incumbent Labours Mary Locke remains a committed local figure, but the ward’s direction of travel appears better suited to the Greens, who look well placed to capitalise on these changes.

Stockland Green Ward

An inner-north Birmingham ward with a strong working-class tradition, historically Labour but now heavily destabilised. Both sitting councillors, Amar Khan and Jane Jones, were deselected and now stand as independents. That strips Labour of incumbency and splits its vote. In these circumstances Reform UK will see a major opening, and the ward looks one of the more genuinely wide open in the city.

Sutton Four Oaks Ward

One of the most affluent and settled parts of Sutton, and still recognisably Conservative territory. The retirement of former Lord Mayor Maureen Cornish means the loss of a personal vote, but the underlying electoral profile remains favourable to the Tories. Reform may shave off some protest support, making the margin tighter than usual, but a Conservative hold still looks the likeliest outcome.

Sutton Mere Green Ward

A solid and well-heeled suburban ward where the Conservatives remain strongly placed. Meirion Jenkins brings personal steadiness and local credibility, reinforcing the Tory position. Reform may attract some disaffected voters, but this is not especially natural Reform terrain. The Conservatives should hold, though probably with a reduced margin.

Sutton Reddicap Ward

A more mixed part of Sutton, and one where the Conservative vote appears softer than elsewhere in the Royal Town. Richard Parkin holds the seat, but without the same entrenched personal base seen in neighbouring wards. Reform UK will view this as prime territory and may draw directly from the Tory vote. Of all the Sutton wards, this looks among the most vulnerable to a Reform breakthrough.

Sutton Roughley Ward

Traditionally Conservative, but the retirement of Ewan Mackey changes the tone of the contest. Mackey leaves large shoes to fill, having been one of the more able and recognisable Tory councillors. Without him, the Conservative hold looks weaker, and Reform UK may see an opening. This ward now appears more competitive than it would have been with Mackey still standing.

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Sutton Trinity Ward

A solid Conservative ward anchored by David Pears, an experienced and capable councillor whose personal standing reinforces the party base. Reform may attract some protest votes, but the ward does not look naturally fertile ground for a breakthrough. The Conservatives should hold, though margins may tighten.

Sutton Vesey Ward

The only Labour-held ward in Sutton, sustained more by local work than by the natural politics of the area. Incumbent Rob Pocock retains a strong personal vote, which remains Labour’s key asset here. The Conservatives have been unusually active, and Reform could also play a part, but the ward still looks to be Pocock’s to lose, albeit more narrowly than before.

Sutton Walmley and Minworth Ward

A traditionally strong Conservative area, but one helped further by the presence of incumbent Ken Wood, a former Lord Mayor and one of the most warmly regarded figures in Birmingham politics. His local standing gives the Tories a real advantage. Reform may make some inroads, but the Conservatives remain well placed to hold.

Sutton Wylde Green Ward

A solid Conservative seat strengthened by the presence of incumbent Alex Yip, an articulate and able local councillor with a clear grasp of ward issues. Reform may attract some protest support, but this remains more naturally Conservative territory. The Tories should retain the seat, though perhaps less comfortably than in previous cycles.

Tyseley and Hay Mills Ward

A Labour seat, but one weakened by the retirement of current Lord Mayor Zafar Iqbal, whose personal vote mattered. That opens the contest somewhat. This does not look like natural Reform territory, so the more plausible threat comes from Greens or community-driven candidates. In a climate of disillusionment with Labour’s local management, the ward could prove more competitive than usual.

Ward End Ward

A densely populated inner-city ward shaped by high deprivation, strong community ties and identity politics more than conventional party branding. Labour has historically dominated, but that base now appears under pressure. Gaza is likely to be decisive, particularly among younger voters. Reform is not a serious factor here, but Labour is no longer secure in the way it once was.

Weoley and Selly Oak Ward

A split ward, combining the more traditional Weoley Castle estates with student-heavy Selly Oak. Reform may find traction on the estate side, especially with Labour weakened, but student turnout has the capacity to offset that. The Greens look well placed overall. Students may not dominate numerically, but they are enough to complicate any easy Reform path.

Yardley East Ward

A settled suburban ward where cost of living and local services are likely to dominate voter thinking. Both Labour and Conservative support appear softer than before, creating an opening for Reform UK. The Greens have limited presence. This looks like the sort of ward in which Reform could turn general disillusionment into a serious local breakthrough.

Yardley West and Stechford Ward

A mixed working-class ward on the edge of inner Birmingham, shaped by both local issues and community networks. Labour remains present but with a softer base than before, while Conservative support also looks weaker. That creates space for Reform UK, which appears well placed to challenge in this kind of terrain. The ward is more competitive than it may first appear.

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What the ward analysis points to

Taken together, the ward-by-ward assessment does not suggest a conventional election. It points instead to fragmentation, volatility, and a council that is unlikely to fall neatly into anyone’s hands.

Across the city, three clear patterns emerge. Labour is under sustained pressure, particularly in outer wards and parts of the inner city. Reform UK is converting national momentum into credible local challenges, especially where frustration with council performance runs deepest. At the same time, the Greens and a range of independent candidates are benefiting from a more issue-driven vote, most visibly around Gaza in inner Birmingham.

When those forces are applied across 101 seats, the result is a highly fractured outcome.

Projected council composition

Based on current ward-level conditions:

• Reform UK: 30 to 38 seats

• Labour: 28 to 35 seats

• Green Party: 12 to 18 seats

• Conservatives: 10 to 16 seats

• Liberal Democrats: 8 to 14 seats

• Independents and others: 5 to 12 seats

What it means

No party is projected to reach a working majority.

Instead, Birmingham appears to be moving towards a no overall control council, with power fragmented across multiple blocs. Reform UK is likely to emerge as the largest single gainer, Labour significantly reduced from its traditional dominance, and the Greens and independents occupying an increasingly influential position.

If Reform UK and the Conservatives both perform at the upper end of expectations, Birmingham could find itself with a Reform-led council, albeit one governing on a knife edge.

The outcome is therefore less about a single winner and more about a reshaped political landscape, where alliances, issue-based voting, and local personalities will carry far greater weight than party labels alone.

Final read

This is not a routine election cycle. It is a structural shift.

The old two-party dominance is weakening. In its place is something more unstable, more competitive, and far less predictable. Birmingham is not simply changing hands. It is changing shape.

©Mike Olley 2026

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The Weekly GRIT Digest, Britain’s Quiet Drift Between Systems

There is a habit in modern British politics of treating each problem as if it exists in isolation. Banking is discussed on its own terms, housing in a separate column, manufacturing as a nostalgic concern, and political missteps as passing storms that can be ridden out with a few days of careful messaging. That is not how the country is experienced on the ground, and it is certainly not how it feels across the West Midlands.

What emerges instead is something more connected. A pattern of decisions, omissions, and recalibrations that together shape whether a place feels stable, investable, and understood. This weekly digest draws those strands together, not as a set of headlines, but as a single narrative about a country that has not collapsed, but has quietly lost its thread.

The most visible sign of recalibration comes from the high street. After years of closures, Barclays is signalling a return to physical banking. At first glance, this looks like an admission that the pendulum swung too far towards digital-only services, and that something essential was lost along the way. In truth, it is not a reversal but a refinement.

Challenger banks reshaped expectations by stripping banking down to its simplest functions. Payments became instant, interfaces became intuitive, and the entire experience was designed to feel frictionless. In doing so, they exposed the inefficiencies of traditional institutions, but they also built their model around a narrow version of customer behaviour. People do not remain in that simplified state. They acquire assets, take on liabilities, experience life events that introduce complexity. At that point, the limits of a purely digital system begin to show.

Traditional banks responded to the initial disruption in predictable fashion. They cut costs, closed branches, and centralised decision-making. Those moves improved efficiency but removed something less tangible and far more important, local accountability. When problems arise, customers are not looking for streamlined processes, they are looking for someone to take responsibility.

That is what is now being quietly reintroduced, though not evenly. In more affluent parts of Birmingham, areas such as Harborne, Solihull, and Sutton Coldfield, the logic for relationship banking remains commercially strong. These are places where mortgages, business activity, and accumulated wealth justify a more personalised service. In other parts of the city, including Alum Rock and Small Heath, the offer looks very different. Access is maintained, but the depth of service is not. Shared hubs and digital systems fill the gap where individual relationships once sat.

The language used to describe this shift is carefully balanced, often framed as placing human interaction where it matters most. The difficulty lies in who determines where it matters. In practice, it means human service where the return justifies the cost. Banking has not rediscovered its social function, it has refined its commercial filter.

A similar pattern of recognition without resolution is evident in Birmingham’s housing landscape. The debate around HMOs and exempt accommodation is well rehearsed, and the language used by politicians across parties is strikingly consistent. What has been lacking is any meaningful shift in outcomes.

Detailed council-held data shows that the spread of HMOs is not random. It follows patterns of concentration, with the same operators appearing repeatedly in the same neighbourhoods. In areas such as Erdington, the impact is cumulative. Streets change first, then adjoining roads, and eventually entire districts begin to lose their sense of stability. As turnover increases, the effect moves outward, weakening local economies and placing additional pressure on high streets that rely on regular, predictable custom.

This is not a sudden collapse but a gradual erosion, and it is widely understood. Paulette Hamilton has described the unchecked proliferation of HMOs as devastating to communities, while Robert Alden points to structural weaknesses in the planning system. Baber Baz speaks of the loss of community cohesion, and Roger Harmer has characterised the situation as a failure of governance. Calls for enforcement from Siobhan Harper-Nunes and demands for stronger action from John Lambert add to a chorus that spans the political spectrum.

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Yet despite this apparent consensus, the underlying model remains largely unchanged. Birmingham continues to rely heavily on externally driven provision, shaped as much by financial return as by social need. Without a rebalancing towards genuine social housing, and without consistent enforcement against poor operators, the trajectory is unlikely to alter. Regulation that fails to change behaviour quickly becomes performative, offering reassurance without delivering results.

If housing illustrates a failure to intervene, manufacturing highlights a failure to prioritise. The West Midlands remains one of the UK’s most significant industrial regions, but it operates within a policy framework that often works against it. Rachel Reeves has chosen to leave business rates largely unchanged, preserving a system that places a heavier burden on larger premises regardless of what they produce. For manufacturing, which depends on space, that creates a structural disadvantage.

Within factories across Birmingham, Coventry, and the Black Country, the consequences are tangible. Rising costs alter investment decisions, delay expansion, and in some cases redirect activity elsewhere. The question of political representation becomes more than rhetorical. It becomes practical. Who is not just advocating for industry, but actively reshaping the conditions in which it operates?

Jonathan Reynolds is widely regarded as an effective communicator, yet the extent to which policy has shifted in favour of manufacturing remains open to question. Andy Street demonstrated a clear understanding of the sector, but ultimately worked within a national framework that prioritises cost efficiency over domestic production.

Procurement rules illustrate the point starkly. They are designed around compliance and price, with little regard for where goods are produced. The result is a political culture in which British identity is frequently invoked, but rarely embedded in supply chains. Even symbolic gestures, such as party merchandise, often fail to align with the rhetoric that accompanies them.

The issue is not one of messaging but of structure. Without deliberate weighting towards domestic production, without adjustments to energy costs, and without aligning skills funding with industrial demand, the conditions required for a manufacturing revival remain incomplete. None of these measures are radical, but each requires a level of commitment that has so far been absent.

The consequences of that absence can be seen in unexpected places. The expansion of the West Midlands Ambulance Service offers a case in point. The service is improving response times and investing in its fleet, fulfilling its role exactly as the public would expect. Yet the vehicles themselves tell a different story about the state of British industry.

The base ambulances are sourced from manufacturers such as Mercedes-Benz, Fiat, and Volkswagen. Once in the UK, they are transformed by companies including Vehicle Conversion Specialists, O&H Vehicle Conversions, and WAS UK into highly specialised, life-saving machines.

This is British engineering operating at a high level, but it is also British engineering working on foundations built elsewhere. The capability to finish remains strong, but the capacity to originate has diminished. It is not the result of a single decision, but of years of incremental drift, in which strategy has repeatedly stopped short of execution.

The same theme of misalignment between perception and intent emerges in politics itself. The West Midlands remains a region shaped by its decision to leave the European Union, and that decision continues to influence how policy signals are interpreted. Against that backdrop, even minor controversies can take on disproportionate significance.

The recent row surrounding EU alignment and something as innocuous as marmalade is a case in point. The detail is trivial, and in practical terms little has changed. Yet in a region where many voters believed the direction of travel had already been settled, it is read differently. It becomes part of a broader narrative about drift and alignment, regardless of the technical reality.

There was a time when Labour instinctively understood how such signals would be received. Today, that instinct appears less certain. Figures such as Rachel Reeves operate within a political environment shaped by advisory roles and institutional pathways that can distance decision-making from everyday experience. In regions like the West Midlands, where judgement is often formed through instinct rather than detailed policy analysis, that distance matters.

People do not dissect every line of policy. They assess direction. They ask whether it feels grounded in the realities they recognise. When that sense of connection weakens, even minor issues can become markers of a wider disconnect. Trust does not collapse overnight, but it can erode through a series of small, cumulative signals.

Across banking, housing, manufacturing, and politics, the same underlying pattern emerges. Britain has become adept at managing systems as they are, but less effective at shaping them into something more coherent. Decisions are made, adjustments are introduced, but the broader direction often remains unclear.

This is not a story of sudden decline. It is a story of gradual divergence, between what is said and what is done, between what is recognised and what is acted upon. Until those gaps begin to close, the sense of drift will persist, not because the country lacks capacity, but because it has yet to decide how to use it.