Keir Starmer's deluded backers should learn one lesson from this stubborn northerner

OPINION

Let me introduce you to a little economic theory – not the most exciting way into a column I accept, but bear with me. The sunk cost fallacy is where individuals have a bias to continue a course of action because of the time, money or effort they have already invested in it. In other words, despite evidence to the contrary, they throw rationale to the winds and continue bloody-mindedly with something, even when it is blindingly obvious it is a miserable failure.

Think Labour MPs continuing to support Keir Starmer in the face of all the indications that he is one of the least competent and least popular PMs of modern (or indeed ancient) days and an electoral disaster. As an obdurate Yorkshireman, I have of course had my own sunk cost fallacy madness.

Some months ago, the usually very efficient Mrs T had a small accident. She left a blue biro in the pocket of a pair of trousers. Now the offending item survived the 40C wash but contact with the tumble dryer has proved more catastrophic.

The pen itself was unrecognisable, twisted grotesquely by the heat. But the damage the ink had done was biblical. My white work shirts, the bed sheets, underthings - all splattered with blue blotches everywhere. And impossible to remove. Tie-dying gone mad – and totally unwearable unless you’re at Glastonbury Festival.

I may have voiced my displeasure, binned a few items and put it down to experience.

Until the following week when although not as devastating, there continued to be new stains on different clothes. We gave the drum a good clean and thought job done.

But no. This has now continued for a year, although the colour has changed from Bic blue to a dirty greeny-grey. And every time it happens, I convince myself surely this must be the last time - there can’t be any ink left.

My wife’s valiant efforts to develop my “smart casual” look (she has only been trying for 23 years) have been dashed by a splodge on a light blue denim shirt, a splash on a fancy brown summer T-shirt, a smear across my holiday shorts.

Sometimes I have managed to ignore the blemish on a shirt cuff or hidden the discolouring next to some buttons.

But too often it’s left my wardrobe beyond saving.

Finally I have grudgingly invested in a new tumble dryer. Cost £250. The price of the clothes destroyed? Double that.

The lesson for stubborn northerners is sometimes you have to listen to the economists - and bite the bullet if something is broken.

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After first joining the Express in 2000, it’s time to finally pack away the notebook and pen and move on. It’s been a privilege to serve Express readers over the years. You are engaging, kind, appreciative and thoughtful. And in terms of politics? As they say, not so much right wing, just right.

I also say goodbye to many amazing colleagues, new and old. You are in good hands. Not least with the custodian of this column, the brilliant Frances Millar.

And, my God, It’s been a fun career.

I will be heading for pastures new. Or being put out to pasture. We will see which!

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My departure will see the number of people in the office who wear a tie every day drop to zero. When I started on Fleet Street, the boss at another title sent a reporter home for having the temerity to wear brown shoes. How things have changed.

On the tube I often find myself the only soul wearing a suit and tie, the subject of the odd raised eyebrow from other passengers, with their pastel open-necked shirts and chinos.

When I do see a fellow tie-wearer, we share a surreptitious nod. First rule of Tie Club, don’t talk about Tie Club.

And then we carefully tighten our Windsor knot.