Everything I have read about Tessa Jowell mentions her kindness. Many other qualities, too: her bravery; her humour; her work on Sure Start. But her kindness was stellar. What a power. I use that word knowingly, since kindness in public life is often confused with weakness, a more feminised way of doing politics. The opposite is true. Kindness is smart, strategic and absolutely lacking in public life at the moment.

Samuel Johnson knew it: “Kindness is in our power, even when fondness is not,” he said. Some time ago, we were going to have a kinder, gentler politics ushered in by Jeremy Corbyn. Remember that fantasy? What we have now is such a polarisation of discourse that neither kindness nor rationality can get a look-in.

If you did not vote remain, you are a brain-dead, selfish git. If you do not love Momentum, you are a Tory or, worse, a Blairite. If you want to ask a few questions about gender, you are a murdering terf (trans-exclusionary radical feminist).

Now we have the term “gammon” to describe angry white men. Oscar Wilde must be turning in his grave.

God knows if these hammy chaps are skilled or unskilled or live in the home counties or Sunderland. They are a bad joke. I am not a psephologist, but it would be a surprise to me if Labour never again needs their votes. Persuading former Tories to vote Labour is not, apparently, what it is all about.

What would I know? I do not have a socialist heritage, but a working-class, Tory-voting one. Gammon blood? This is probably why I joined the Workers Revolutionary party at 14. My family are dead – I see now that they must have died from avocado deprivation – but they were always complicated, saying things of which I disapproved but then being totally accepting of differences of sexuality or race.

I find it possible to hate what the Tories do yet fail to think that every Tory voter is a monster

My friendships have never been only with those who think like me. I find it possible to hate what the Tories do yet fail to think that every Tory voter is a monster any more than I think every former steel worker or miner is a paragon of radicalism. Indeed, much of the former industrial class is way nearer gammon than these new class warriors seem to understand. Sure, I am taking a bit of banter too seriously. Maybe. But this macho, confrontational, simplistic name-calling is as redundant as the kind of masculinity at which it pokes fun.

Are gammon, melts and slugs up the class scale from chavs? I thought “chav” was a class slur. But then the parts of the left that believe themselves morally pure will not see their own racism, misogyny and class snobbery. Instead, they will lead the people they disdain to the promised land.

Theirs is a worldview that says: do not show kindness to those who would not show kindness to you. The essential position of leave and remain is: do not seek to understand your enemy. Instead, yell insults. You are ham. You are angry. You are wrong. This is not conversation; it is road rage dressed up as analysis. Once you look down on someone, it is impossible to help them up. It is a losing game.

To engage takes kindness. Kindness is not a compromise or a cop-out. Above all, kindness demands courage. If kindness is not part of socialist vocabulary, count me out and call me any damn name you like. If I am lady gammon, cook me in Coca-Cola, as Nigella recommends. Delicious.

Is Fergie really the most ‘vulgar’ royal?

Royally ostracised ... the Duchess of York. Photograph: Startraks Photo/Rex Features

The firm really are a mean old lot, aren’t they? Inviting commoners to gawk at Harry’s do, but deigning not to feed them. And declining to invite to the private reception a woman who adds to the gaiety of the nation: the Duchess of York. Good old, bad old Fergie. Is she any better than she ought to be? No. I have loved her since 1992, when she was pictured having her toes sucked by her financial adviser in St Tropez. Yolo, Fergs!

A royal aide in 1994 called her “vulgar, vulgar, vulgar”. Unlike the others, some of whom need a valet to carry around their own toilet seat. I remember being at Diana’s funeral and Fergie being the only person who made any attempt to comfort those boys.

Still, she went on Oprah in 2011 and apologised, talking sadly of how completely worthless she felt and the mistakes she had made. She was not invited to Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding, although Prince Andrew and their two daughters were.

This is beyond rude. The fact that she and Andrew maintain properties – and a friendship – seems not to come into it. She is persona non grata. Yes, there is the matter of selling access to her former husband for £500,000 because she was broke. He denied any involvement. But what does he do when he is not on holiday, which normally he is? He had to step down from his role as a representative for international trade and investment because he liked to hang out with Jeffrey Epstein (jailed for sex offences), a Libyan gun smuggler and a billionaire in Kazakhstan. Is there a more vulgar lifestyle than doing deals with dictatorships?

In the absence of Fergie, we can only hope that Princess Beatrice does not disappoint us and outdoes the Cthulhu headwear from the most recent royal wedding. Do it, Beatrice, for your poor, ostracised mother.

Into the Fray: millennial struggles continue

Dining for one ... a Fray Bentos pie. Photograph: Alamy

Never mind that millennials – and I never truly have any idea of what they are – live in debt and can’t buy houses. Something even worse is happening to them. They cannot open Fray Bentos tins. They are not sure how and have to go on YouTube with hammers and screwdrivers and all sorts of gear to get them open. This is a terrible tragedy. The slightly soggy bit of pastry under the lid of a Fray Bentos pie, where it mixes with the dog‑food-style gravy, is one of the peaks of human civilisation. Another is the tin opener. I am truly worried for the future of mankind.