Today’s Urgent Question in the House of Commons about the state of the economy was dominated by two people who weren’t there: Liz Truss and Rachel Reeves. One wouldn’t expect Truss to be present; after all she lost her seat last year and is presumably busy on some important project elsewhere. Perhaps working on her list of ‘people who destroyed me’ – always just missing the most important name on it.
The problem is that Sir Keir is now even less popular than Truss was at her nadir
Truss is constantly invoked by Labour and today was no different. This is presumably in a crude attempt at subliminal messaging to get the public to remember how much they hated the Tories. The problem is that Sir Keir is now even less popular than Truss was at her nadir. Labour are fast running out of people they can invoke who are more hated than they are; unless they can somehow blame the spending review on Harold Shipman or the Chagos deal on Ebola.
Truss wasn’t there to defend herself, but you might reasonably expect the Chancellor of the Exchequer to pitch up for the briefest of chinwags about the economy. Not so. Since last week’s disastrous PMQs, the Chancellor has kept a low profile. Instead we were treated to Darren Jones, the Chief Secretary to the Treasury. Jones has the demeanour of a deputy head prefect who really enjoys the punishment side of the job. He is thought of by some in Labour as one of their brains. This has gone to his head: there were members of the pre-Revolutionary Bourbon monarchy who look like models of humility compared to Mr Jones.
Dame Harriet Baldwin asked the Chief Secretary about the presence of the Chancellor. After all it was her mental and physical state, Dame Harriet pointed out, which had spooked the bond markets; surely she needed to be present to calm those fears? Cue more sneering from Jones: ‘she seems to have learnt lessons from her party’s time in government… perhaps she could share them with her colleagues on the front bench.’
She was followed by Dr Jeevun Sandher who is fast running away with the title of most embarrassing MP of this Parliament. With the delivery of a soon-to-be-disgraced Blue Peter presenter c.1980 and the rhetorical clout of a sea anemone, Dr Sandher’s excruciatingly zippy non-questions now elicit a physical response in the chamber. MPs on his own side pre-emptively squirm as he rises from his seat, members of the public gallery utter silent prayers for the earth to swallow them up when he opens his lips, as he begins to speak even the mice that dwell beneath the green benches commit seppuku.
Dr Sandher’s standard format is a lame joke married to an attempt to show how achingly right-on he is, rounded off with a non-question designed to show his utility as lobby spam to whips who rate loyalty above all else. Today’s offering went thus: ‘I can’t believe the party opposite is asking a question about fiscal rules. Guys – and it is all guys – come on!’ Not a single spine remained unshivered. Mel Stride just stared at him with a look that teetered three ways between pity, contempt and despair.
Other embarrassing Labour toadies invoked Ms Truss again and again. Kanishka Narayan managed to bungle the ‘In Liz we Truss’ gag which he had clearly been practicing in front of the bathroom mirror for weeks. Similarly car-crash-like was David Pinto Duschinsky, who accused the Shadow Chancellor of being like ‘an arsonist complaining about the fire brigade’ because he had served in previous Tory governments. In this analogy the fire brigade were presumably Labour: if they have firemen of the quality of Mr Pinto-Duschinsky on the job then we shouldn’t be surprised if they try to put the blaze out using petrol. Jas Athwal read out a toadying non-question from his iPhone.
Yet amid these horrors, by far the worst person to watch was the Chief Secretary himself. Every answer was shamelessly predictable, his delivery sneering and arrogant. Obviously no answers were given, and we came no closer to finding out more about the government’s economic plans than had Sir Mel given the time intended for his question over to reading out his shopping list or singing the theme tune to Grandstand.
One thing we did learn though was this – that miracles can happen. I didn’t think anything would make people yearn for the return of Rachel Reeves to public scrutiny after the Crying Incident: but forty minutes of Darren Jones did just that.
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