Two years ago, if any event were addressed by Owen Jones, then he himself was the event.
But, like Peter Tatchell, he has now joined the long list of old left-wing star turns who resent having been made into supporting acts by a man whom they had spent decades assuming was the cloakroom attendant, yet who turns out to have an appeal beyond their wildest dreams.
When I pointed out that his approach to certain previous military interventions and American Presidents made him an impossible spokesman or figurehead for the opposition to Donald Trump, then he blocked me on Twitter and unfriended me on Facebook, after the manner of a petulant teenager.
He is utterly unused to criticism, and he reacts to it very badly indeed.
Lewis is now the other key figure in the “official” demonstrations against Trump.
Those are all from the 2015 intake. In no particular order, they are Rebecca Long-Bailey, Angela Rayner and Richard Burgon.
None of those is Clive Lewis, nor is any of them likely to engage the services of Owen Jones.
Phillips has built a media career on the lie that MPs first elected in 2015, and especially the women among them, have not enjoyed preferment under Corbyn.
But they have. So it’s you, Jess. It’s just you.
Yet she is now dropping broad enough intends that she intends to stand for the Leadership this year. Well, bring that on, say I. For the sheer hilarity, bring it on.
David Miliband is neither of those things.
The attempted revival of the Transatlantic Torturer declared that Corbyn’s enemies included no sitting MP whom anyone might consider capable of becoming Leader of the Labour Party.
Big before Twitter and Facebook were, he was such an object of ridicule in his day that he would be drowned in the gales of derision these days.
But he is a nasty piece of work.
Whereas Phillips, Lewis and Jones are merely laughable.