Illtyd Harrington with Westminster Extra’s news editor Tom Foot at Michael Foot’s funeral

MEDIA people were arguing among themselves this week – as they tend to do ­– after the New Statesman (it’s a political magazine) rebranded its online gossip column and called it The Hitch.

The name was a direct “tribute” to its former foreign editor Christopher Hitchens and announced itself with the message: “There’s a new gossip in town.”

The response was as predictable as a delay at City Thameslink.

“This gossipy The Hitch column is a debasement of the memory of a greater writer,” came the online response. “Shame on the New Statesman.”

“I’m sure Christopher Hitchens would hate to be associated with this media-watching banality.”

“Christopher Hitchens would see you as a f***ing embarrassment.”

We need not go further, you get the gist.

It didn’t help that one of The Hitch’s first attempts at being edgy was the tweet: “Jeremy Corbyn and Zarah Sultana won’t sit in the same green room.”

The “if in doubt, make fun at Corbyn” recipe is nearing the bottom of the engagement farm barrel.

Ms Sultana immediately called it out as untrue and it all looked rather awkward and desperate.

It’s a difficult spot for the New Statesman, trying to marry attempts to liven up its coverage – signing Oli Dugnore from Politics Joe is probably a good move – with a wished-for reputation of being on top of the nation’s political mood.

The sad thing for journalists who like badgering on for thousands of words in analytic pieces about where it all went wrong for this party or that ­– usually blaming Brexit – is that people just prefer bitesize snaps of things that make them go “oooh”. See the success of TikTok, Daddio.

I mean well done for getting this far into this column. In fact, the worldwide drop in attention spans means nobody would probably get through an entire Christopher Hitchens piece if he was still alive and typing, on the grounds of them being more than 300 words alone. It should be said that the New Statesman has stated that it sought and obtained the consent of the writer’s family to base the column on his name and image.

This diary is, of course, also named after someone no longer with us. Our friend Illtyd Harrington.
This month marks 10 years since we lost his wit and kindness. He was the books editor for this paper and wrote his own weekly column called As I Please… a sort of late-life reflection on how our national politics are repeatedly held back by hypocrisy, personal ambition, cliques and one-upmanship. He could see through it all having lived a bruising life in the same game himself.

His carefree commentary would tease politicians for their inflated egos, but it was laced with a knowing affection, which might explain why he could be friends with the most militant left-winger as well as Alastair Campbell, the de facto son-in-law of his great friend Audrey Millar.

These two had both served as spirited councillors in Westminster ­– the days when speeches weren’t read like robots off pieces or notes on their phones.

Although there can be similarities some weeks with the subject matter, this page is no attempt to pretend anybody here can write as Illtyd did.

But they say that someone only really dies when they fade from people’s memory, and that’s why we are happy to keep that name, Harrington, in print.

He’s still fresh in ours, his beautiful Welsh rasp, his warm advice and his turns as Santa at Christmas, a little swig of something in between each visit we made to community centres to spread a bit of a cheer with him dressed in a big red and white suit.

Politics didn’t really treat him kindly. The “best mayor London never had” was one label used for him after his death in 2015 aged 84.

He’d have probably laughed at people going OTT in the way the nation does when anybody famous dies. Everybody is a legend, whatever their flaws, once their last breath has been drawn.

But Illtyd left a legacy that he doesn’t get the credit for. Firstly, he helped make the canals of London more accessible to people on both boats and the towpaths, promoting them as a place for leisure time.

Even better, it was Illtyd, as deputy leader of the old GLC, who brought in the Freedom Pass for the elderly and then defended it fiercely against every attempt to remove it.

Not many politicians really leave a bequest that people are still feeling the benefit of decades later. He did, and he should be celebrated more for it.

As for this column being named after him, it’s a way of keeping his story alive ­– we think he’d have appreciated the gesture from colleagues who became friends.

And we can solemnly promise there will be no naff tweets about Jeremy Corbyn.