There stood husky Emily, like a lemon puff made flesh
CLAPPING reached frenzy levels as octogenarian MP Dennis Skinner gave the conference his economic philosophy. ‘We’re gonna borrow!’ yelled Mr Skinner. ‘That’s what you do. All those people who stick a camera in your face, tell ’em we will borrow the money!’
He was screaming so hard – actually howling – that his tortoisey old eyeballs nearly popped their moorings. Smack smack smack went delegates’ palms. ‘Yoarrrr!’ Borrow borrow borrow!
Next contributor was Shadow Chancellor John McDonnell, a man you might not want to entrust with a syringe of your best cyanide. Much of his faintly sinister speech followed the Skinner doctrine. Mr McDonnell vowed to spend undetailed billions.
But then, near the end of his speech, he launched an indignant attack on what he said was the Tory idea ‘that it is normal and acceptable for people to be saddled by debt’. Hang on. If you borrow money, you place yourself – or your citizenry – in debt. Don’t you?
On a morning of ferocious revivalism, the Brighton conference hall became hot and occasionally bothered. Some floor speeches about Brexit generated booing and defiant applause in equal measure.
A German lady from York – she could have been Angela Merkel’s stumpy younger sister – twice bawled that ‘Brexit must be stopped!’
A well-spoken Adrian Mole from Grantham upbraided the delegates for not being more Europhile. When they started to give him the bird, he said, ‘Now, conference, be comradely.’ ON
the other side of the Brexit argument, one Darryl Telles from Hove whipped up loyalists’ fervour by saying that the Remainers’ ‘ real intention is to undermine Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership’. Showing a gift for mimicry, Mr Telles quoted the old Monty Python sketch and said Remain was ‘a dead parrot’.
Peter Firmin from Hampstead and Kilburn noted that it was only in chi-chi Hampstead that Brexit caused much concern.
An older comrade, Jean Roberts from Brent, said TUC membership had fallen since Labour had started going colder on Brexit. She also uttered the marvellous phrase, ‘We’re not all agreed which is why I am pleased we’re not going to have a vote.’
Jean, dear heart, Momentum is clearly for you.
Of the bigshots, Shadow Foreign Secretary Emily Thornberry had the best of the day. There she
stood, dimpled and husky, a lemon puff made flesh, the reincarnation of Hattie Jacques.
‘My friend Jeremy,’ she said, all jowls and whispery. ‘Nothing is stronger – nothing on Earth! – than…’ A flash of the eyes and an inner shudder. ‘Than… a man of principle.’ Mockneyfying her grand vowels a little, she had a fruity crack about Boris Johnson and how he should have a paternity test to see if he had fathered Brexit.
She laughed hard at her own joke, a contralto, provocative gurgle. They could use that laugh in adverts for Mr Muscle drain unblocker.
Boris was not her only target. Chuku Umunna took a sly bullet, as did the Blair government. Her peroration was positively saintly as she clutched her bosom, stared into the distant ether and said, ‘We must set a shiny example to the world.’
The delegates loved her. Tom Watson should beware. My goodness, what a sumo bout we’d have if those two fought for the deputy leadership.
Prominent Remainer Sir Keir Starmer, officially in charge of the party’s Brexit policy, delivered a speech so slow, it could have been overtaken by a bee. Lawyer Sir Keir – beaky, with the too-small, startled eyes of a bird – is no orator. HE floated a possibility that Labour, ‘when’ it won power, would reopen any Brexit settlement with the EU.
This won barely a ripple of support from the hall. He was boring them.
As for London mayor Sadiq Khan, grudgingly given a brief afternoon slot, dear me. Mellifluous and electrifying he was not.
His gaze kept darting back to the central camera lens. Corbynites are mad to try to silence palpably cocky Khan.
The more speeches he gives, the more the party membership will spot his limitations.