Home tours and talk of furnishings are not the PR dream politicians believe

The Sunaks are the latest to offer an insight into their lives, writes Sean O’Grady, but such intrusions usually only ever cause minor controversy

Prime minister Rishi Sunak and his wife Akshata Murthy look on as the Christmas tree lights are turned on outside No 10 (Getty)

Readers dipping into the latest edition of Tatler are treated to a generous-to-the-point-of-sycophancy profile of Akshata Murthy – businesswoman, billionaire’s daughter and spouse of the prime minister.

The image is of a busy parent balancing family, political and work commitments. The family is also featured on the official Christmas card, all mucking in (taking place in an unnaturally neat kitchen) to make a cake or something. The hope may be that the publicity will offset the continuing economic disaster and Rishi Sunak's strange recent exchange about a career in finance with a homeless person, much derided, fairly or not.

Indeed, “new details” about Murthy’s renunciation of her non-dom status – revealed in The Independent earlier this year – are offered in the article. The Sunaks must be acutely conscious that they are by far the wealthiest people to occupy the old council house in Downing Street, and they do so at a time of “great anxiety and headship”, in the words of the King.

It is certainly far better all round that the Sunaks do pay for the refurbishment of their Downing Street apartment, rather than the taxpayer doing so, and certainly better than the involvement of a Tory party donor a la Carrie and Boris Johnson – before the then PM settled the costs. Naturally, Murthy is credited by the designer John Challis as being “not afraid of getting stuck in and helping” with the revamp. Although housing is a sensitive issue for the Conservative Party.

Speaking to Tatler, presumably with prime ministerial permission, drink in what the designer has to say: “Challis continues his expert precis of the private flat, with its ‘sheer unlined Roman blind behind a heavier blind and opulent curtains in the entrance areas. There are window seats in most of the rooms in a complementary colour. Most of the sofas were velvet, in jewel colours, and the cushions also became a work of art’. Curtains for the room overlooking the garden are ‘hand-pleated and held back with heavy co-ordinating tassels in red, gold and the ivory of the damask’.” Challis later adds: “The ornate cornicing was hand-gilded and a rug was commissioned to almost fill the room.”

In a casual takedown of the decor previously installed in the two flats above Numbers 10 and 11, the Tatler account shows little mercy: “It was all very tired,” says Challis. “Let’s say the blinds were not of the level we would put in. And, in fairness, it was an era where everything was very matching and coordinated, and times move on.”

In a way, though, the Sunaks have achieved very little in the way of positive personal publicity, and merely created additional press interest in what the private quarters of No 10 look like. Many of their predecessors, including Margaret Thatcher and the Camerons, have been content to allow the cameras in to see the family in the flat, and it’s done no harm.

Indeed, such licensed intrusions and light exploitation of family life have usually only ever caused minor controversy, at worst, for politicians. Kitchens seem to be a danger zone – the revelation that Ed Miliband had two in his smart Primrose Hill home in north London seemed to bemuse much of the Labour core vote. The late James Brokenshire was caught with a total of four ovens in his kitchen, to the dismay of some, while Tony Blair’s special mugs featuring images of his offspring were guaranteed to annoy Blair-haters long before it became fashionable. The basic rule, as so often in politics, is that you can’t really win on this front.

The Sunaks seem to be hovering painfully between friendly transparency and the embarrassment of riches that surround them. They should probably have learned to live with the “tired” decor.