In his brown jacket, he made PMQs gutless, bloodless, bland, beige
PMQS is the essential Westminster joust, when our head of government can be speared in full gaze of his pennanted pavilion. Mr Corbyn made it gutless, bloodless, bland, beige.
Many of the people who will welcome this will be those who want to neuter our democracy – ghastly consensualists who consider dissent to be somehow vulgar.
In brown jacket and peering over his spectacles, Mr Corbyn spent 15 minutes regurgitating worthy but guileless questions suggested to him by members of the public: Marie and Steven, Paul and Claire, Gail and Angela. They could have been contestants on Countdown.
Mr Corbyn claimed the British people disliked the ‘theatrical’ nature of PMQs. ‘I thought I would do it in a slightly different way. I am sure the Prime Minister will absolutely welcome this.’ Mr Cameron nodded. Of course he did! The Corbyn method of asking long, pre-set questions was entirely to the PM’s convenience.
Mr Corbyn did not bounce off answers to engage in lively debate. He might as well have submitted his questions by post. Not once did he discombobulate Cameron. His backbenchers had nothing to cheer. He had entered the Chamber at 11.51am, waiting a minute before taking his seat. As he did so, there was again silence from Labour MPs.
Big Tom Watson, deputy leader, took his pew. So did Heidi Alexander, Shadow Health Secretary, v. keen on her nosebag. Colleagues sitting nearby were almost shot out of their seats like greased bullets of soap, there was so much pressure on space.
Shadow Chancellor John McDonnell stood, not wishing to sit near Mr Corbyn. Did he fear Mr Cameron might draw attention to his pro-IRA views?
The PM did not do that, as it happens. But Nigel Dodds from Ulster did. By that point Mr McDonnell had skedaddled.
MRDODDS, almost shaking with disgust, mentioned MPs who had been killed by the IRA. Would Mr Cameron denounce the likes of Mr McDonnell who praised terrorists? I saw one Labour MP, Scunthorpe’s decent Nic Dakin, discreetly nod agreement with Mr Dodds. Chris Bryant, on Labour’s front bench, fiddled with his fingertips.
Other Labour MPs remained sickly quiet while Tories ‘hearheared’ Mr Dodds.
Mr Cameron gave a moving, intense reply. One of those MPs killed by the Provos had been Ian Gow, whom he had known personally. Mr Cameron was close to tears – tears of anger, of vehemence. Here was true politics. It was the sort of spontaneous, smouldering – yes, theatrical – humanity that grips voters. No cowardly cold collation will ever twang a heartstring as that exchange did.
Beside me in the gallery sat a member of the House of Lords –some Lib Dem, I think. ‘Best PMQs I’ve ever seen,’ he brayed, intending to spin me. He complained that past PMQs have been too noisy and that Commons debates should be more like the rhubarbish affairs they have in the Lords.
Pointing at the MPs below, this fool said, with asperity, ‘those people need to learn to behave like grown-ups’. Those people, I told him, had, unlike him, been elected. Parliamentary pepper is a vital British virtue. How dare this ruddy Corbyn try to spey our Commons?