Corbyn and Benn, colder than a pair of eskimaux
DEEP-SEA octopi will brood on their eggs more than four years. Jeremy Corbyn was not quite that slow hatching his reshuffle but Labour was plainly in a state of glacial uncertainty.
In the Commons at one point in the afternoon, seven of the Opposition frontbenchers present were flicking through the internet on their mobile devices.
The same was evident on the Labour backbenches where Diana Johnson, Robert Flello, Tom Blenkinsop, Graham Jones, Ben Bradshaw, Fiona Mactaggart, Peter Dowd, Paula Sherriff and Paul Blomfield were all glued to their computer screens.
Fevered introspection: what a way for the Comrades to start 2016.
It made life carefree for David Cameron when he approached the despatch box to deliver a Statement on Europe.
He apologised for interrupting the world’s longest reshuffle. (Laughter.) Alluding to the Shadow Cabinet’s Eagle twins, one of whom (the fair Maria) was struggling to retain her seat as Shadow Defence Secretary, Mr Cameron said, ‘ no matter how many Eagles you have, you’ve got an albatross at the head of your party’. More mirth. Even Angela Eagle, sitting two down from Mr Corbyn, cracked a smile. It was comparable to the moment in certain 1970s James Bond films when Jaws bares his gnashers.
There are rituals on the first day of any parliamentary year. Who had the best winter sun tan? Super- rich Jonathan Djanogly (Con, Huntingdon), brown as an old banana. Who was looking prosperous? Boris Johnson had plainly been at the mince pies over Christmas. That beard on the chin of Toby Perkins (Lab, Chesterfield) had sprouted another wispy inch, though it may not yet be Marxoid enough to secure loping Toby a place in the Corbynistas’ inner counsels. Mr Cameron looked sleek, lifting his chin headboyishly as he sauntered towards his place at 2.37pm.
George Osborne had a bigger claque around him as he entered. The Chancellor has become a silent-films cameo of scowly poses, sitting low in his seat, all crossed arms and sceptical eyebrows and Mexican villainy.
Cheer up, lad. You’ll never become Prime Minister i f you l ook so thoroughly cheesed- off the whole time. His communications director should buy a Ken Dodd feather duster with which to tickle Mr Osborne under the stifles.
Speaker Bercow delayed us briefly by announcing that the new Serjeant at Arms – the person traditionally i/c security at Westminster – is to be some Muslim chap good at martial arts.
THE Serjeant wears black stockings and a long ceremonial sword so one hopes he will not do himself a nasty injury if he attempts a taekwondo kick while in uniform. His previous job, said Mr Bercow, was ‘front of house’ at the Ministry of Justice. How very Drury Lane. While the PM made opening remarks, Mr Corbyn sat on the Labour f ront bench directly next to Hilary Benn, the man he had reportedly been trying to sack for the past several days. Two i cebound eskimaux might have radiated greater warmth.
At the end of the bench, tan-creamed legs crossed, sat Labour Chief Whip Dame Rosie Winterton. The New Year Honours damehood takes her even further into the realms of vaudeville. Marvellous. And to think she started her career as John Prescott’s typiste.
Of Michael Dugher, assassinated as Labour’s culture spokesman and democratic socialism’ s new Spartacus, there was no sign. ‘He’s appearing on telly ,’ explained a fellow scribe. But former Shadow Cabinet thruster Rachel Reeves was back from maternity leave, sitting beside Emma Reynolds. No fans of Corbyn, those two.
The Labour leader spoke in an unexciting manner for rather too long. He tried to give Mr Cameron tips on diplomacy, saying ‘to achieve change you need to make friends’. This created an explosion of laughter from several sides.
Mr Cameron said that when he was in Brussels, European leaders kept asking him ‘what on earth has happened to the British Labour party?’ Mr Corbyn, irked, shook his head as though he had a woodlouse in his ear. Mr Benn just turned the colour of uncooked steak.