A wallop for Boris – but Mogg takes it lying down
...sees the mother of parliaments turn into a rowdy football terrace
WHEN the result was announced it was no ‘abracadabra’ moment. There was no whistling intake of breaths, no howls of surprise.
Most of the Conservative rebels who voted against the Government had earlier made their intentions perfectly clear in the chamber. Labour even gave them an unctuous round of applause.
But, oh what a wallop to the sweetbreads for Boris Johnson. Just his second day in Parliament as Prime Minister and here he was already being forced to gulp down the briny taste of defeat. Worst of all, it had come at the hands of his own party. And hardly Johnny nobodies either.
Sir Nicholas Soames; Kenneth Clarke; Sir Oliver Letwin. As big beasts go, they’re grander than the Doges of Venice, names long synonymous with the Conservative Party and yet who have preferred expulsion rather than bend to the authority of the Prime Minister.
But then on a day when Jacob Rees-Mogg, Leader of the House and erstwhile possessor of impeccable manners and – they say – double-breasted pyjamas was upbraided for sprawling across the green leather like a priapic 1970s lounge lizard, perhaps nothing should surprise us in this place any more.
That John Bercow allowed the motion brought by Letwin to seize control of the parliamentary timetable to be heard came as little surprise. The Speaker even admitted as much when he announced his decision in the early evening.
There was a point of order from Peter Bone (Con Wellingborough) who said that because the motion had not been submitted by 10.30 that morning, it shouldn’t be heard until today.
Au contraire, said Bercow, it was submitted last night, so it was all hunky dory.
Bone slumped back. ‘Worth a try,’ he shrugged. And so for the umpteenth time this year, we then endured several hours of ill-tempered Brexit argument.
THE afternoon session leading up to the debate had certainly been lively. Following the long recess, the Commons bore a rowdy, football terrace atmosphere.
The Prime Minister arrived at 3.30pm to give a statement on the recent G7 summit. Hovering by the Speaker’s chair, he looked a tad frantic.
From my crow’s nest view, I can also report a trip to the trichologist might be in order. That golden mop’s grown pretty thin.
The chamber, predictably, was rammed. On the backbenches, Theresa May was making her first appearance since she left
Downing Street where she sat chuckling gaily with Kenneth Clarke. Up above in the visitors’ gallery, those buttery peers Lords Mandelson and Archer shared a few cheery bon mots. Proceedings took on a mildly slapstick flavour to begin with. Boris, making his way to his seat, narrowly avoided toppling head first into Andrea Leadsom’s lap after tripping on foreign minister Christopher Pincher’s boot.
Over on Labour’s side, Jeremy Corbyn was nowhere to be seen. His equalities spokeswoman/part-time carer Dawn Butler was dispatched to go and retrieve him. Then, just as the PM began his statement, a loud cheer went up.
Ex-justice minister Phillip Lee was crossing the floor to join the Liberal Democrats. Bang! The Government’s majority had disappeared in an instant.
Oooh, the Lib Dems looked pleased with themselves. Chuka Umunna had more swagger in his step than a gun-toting hombre. Which was more than can be said for
Lee as he took his place next to his new colleagues. I’ve seen cheerier prisoners at Guantanamo. The moment served as an extra squirt of paraffin on the session, not that it needed it. What a racket the opposition benches made. After Boris’s demolition of Corbyn in July, there appeared to be a co-ordinated attempt by the Labour benches to distract him. ‘Speak up!’ They kept yelling. ‘They’re wilfully closing their ears!’ protested the PM. Ben Bradshaw (Lab – Exeter) abruptly stood to leave. ‘See!’ shouted Boris! ‘They’re fleeing already!’ The cajoling grew louder as Boris’s statement turned to Brexit. ‘Our chances of a deal are growing,’ he insisted. Sir Oliver Letwin, pinker than a two-bottle trencherman, rolled his eyes and clasped his hands to his head.
‘Sham’ screamed Labour’s Mr Angry Steve Doughty. Down on the front bench, Emily Thornberry kept jabbing an accusatory digit at the ministers sat opposite.
Speaker Bercow did little to quell the din. Mind you, he resisted the temptation to get up on his little size fours, as many of us expected, and make a speech about the Prime Minister’s decision to prorogue Parliament next week, so perhaps we should be grateful.
When Jeremy Corbyn rose to speak, the atmosphere suddenly zapped. It was as though all the oxygen had been sucked from the chamber.
Trite attack lines dripped from his trim white beard but fell lifelessly to the floor. ‘Fiddling while the Amazon burns,’ he shouted. ‘No morals, no mandate and now no majority.’
Members on the Government front bench simply stared at the shoes and gnawed their fingers. So what next following last night’s drama? Search me.
From this point on we are off grid, ignorant explorers in a strange new world, tottering in virgin quicksand.
Stand by for another tumultuous day in this exhaustive drama.