Clowns to the left of her, jokers to the right

( Here May is, stuck in the middle with EU )

THERE comes a time in a columnist’s life when the bile well runs dry. The invective mine is exhausted. Not even Arthur Scargill could justify a year-long strike to keep it open. I’ve reached that threshold with Mother Theresa. There’s nowhere else to go.

Believe me, I’ve tried. Those of you who have been kind enough to stick with me over the years know that I’m no fan of Mrs May.

Her performance in Parliament yesterday was excruciating. At one stage, I turned off the sound and switched on the stereo.

Cue Roky Erickson’s I Walked With A Zombie. You can find it on YouTube. So tell me, what did I get wrong in Tuesday’s column? And yet, and yet. We’ll get there in a minute. Let’s get the caveat out of the way from the off. The bill of goods she is trying to foist on the British people is an absolute scandal.

But there was a certain magnificence about the way she did her Dido impersonation. She

will go down with the ship. Trust me. It’s only a matter of time. Just as I read the Guardian so that you don’t have to, I also keep a weather eye on Sky News with the sound down, while you’re watching something to do with buying a tumbledown villa on the Costa del Crime, or a cravatted spiv in dodgy corduroy strides knocking out a faux-Wedgwood ashtray, worth about three-and-six.

The worst decision Theresa made yesterday was scheduling her set-piece Commons turn to coincide with Ken Bruce’s Popmaster quiz on Radio 2.

I was in a major quandary. Popmaster is an integral part of my day, even if I get every question from the Eighties wrong.

And as I watched both Theresa’s alleged friends and enemies round on her, I couldn’t help thinking of Tennyson’s Charge Of The Light Brigade — which was, unless I’m mistaken, the B-side of Don’t You Want Me Baby. cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them, etc. Actually, more Steelers Wheel, come to think of it. clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right. Anyway, I looked up at Sky News and there was the latest bird who isn’t going to get Adam Boulton’s job — dressed up in hunting pink, like Ray Davies from the cover of The Kinks’ You Really Got Me EP — with another exciting scoop.

She revealed that some woman you’d never heard of had resigned from a job you didn’t know she had in the first place. And also, another chap, who most of us thought was a Sri Lankan batsman, has called it a day, too.

That’s going to make all the difference.

Nevertheless, even though she’s gone rip-roaring bonkers, it would be ungallant not to acknowledge Mother Theresa’s bovine intransigence. It was an hour before any MP had a good word to say for her ‘deal’.

She was like the lioness defending her cubs — even though her cubs had legged it to the bar long before she sat down.

One by one, they all dribbled away, until by lunchtime Mother Theresa was effectively talking to herself and Captain Underpants — Labour’s Chris Wossname — trying to get in on the act.

By then, the game was up. But on she soldiered.

OUTSIDE, Olivia Newton-Mogg was giving an hilarious press conference, reminiscent of the Tory leadership shambles a few years ago, five minutes after the first plane hit the World Trade Center.

Jacob, old son, we’re with you. No need for the 24-hour news channel nonsense. You’re better than that.

As I’m writing this, it’s 5pm and we’re all waiting for the PM’s press conference.

(Well, I say, all. More people were waiting for Wayne Rooney’s farewell at Wembley.)

By the way, what’s with the crossed Union Jacks as a backdrop? This isn’t the White House. We’re not American. We don’t go in for this Hail To The Chief cobblers. Bring on Jim Acosta from CNN! For 30 seconds, I actually thought she was going to do the decent thing. No such luck.

I walked with a zombie . . .