Watson’s Blair bouquets made Jez freeze like a Viking’s beard
TOM Watson did one of those rolling-applause riffs – when a politician talks through the initial clapping to generate more. Deputy leader Watson was listing accomplishments of the Blair government. Yes, Blair, the man the Corbynistas so malign! Jeremy Corbyn, on the platform, froze like a Viking’s beard.
Some delegates leapt to their size-nines, spanking their hands in defiance. A chap two rows in front of me made farmyard noises – a horny bullock mooing – he was so pleased to hear Blairism praised.
Other delegates sat squarely on their bottoms, grim-faced, arms crossed. It was not quite a ‘Kinnock attacks Militant’ moment but there was an echo of that in the prickled indignation Mr Watson had stirred with his whispery calculation. Having created this tension, he clenched his jaw – at least I think he did, for the Watson jawline is not altogether chiselled – and gave butch, meaningful nods, as if to say ‘yeah, I’m tough’.
Labour in Liverpool is Murkyside, Aggroville, the place surging with crossness and plots. You can not even escape it in the loos. I was having a piddle and the chap in the next urinal started briefing me against Corbyn. I felt like telling him to zip it but feared that might be open to misinterpretation.
For much of the day here was a batey disagreement over voting arrangements for the National Executive Committee. Momentum-leaning delegates raged about ‘stitchups’. And a Jewish speaker took some gyp from the floor for daring to suggest antisemitism was improper.
EIGHTIES Militant firebrand Derek Hatton was seen lunching with Mr Corbyn’s union ally Len McCluskey. And London Mayor Sadiq Khan made a laughably transparent plea for the leadership, saying ‘power’ 38 times. Subtext: I won an election, you can’t.
Some of the theatrics were clunky. Education spokesman Angela Rayner, attacking grammar schools, yelled ‘segregation, segregation, segregation’, whereupon about 200 delegates held up placards saying ‘Education, not Segregation’. Risible, but not as richly comical as some attempted rabblerousing by an MP called Ashworth who sounded like a squeaky Harold Wilson. Mr Khan’s speech was shallow, self-preening, delivered in an ‘gottle-o-gear’ manner which rendered ‘pay and equality’ into ‘pain quali’y’. The audience (perhaps amazed that Labour won anything this year) gave him an ovation. Mr Khan pranced around, both arms raised like a boxer.
He then walked behind Mr Corbyn, avoiding any danger of his moment of glory being marred by having to pose for photographs with the party leader.
Mr Watson praised both Mr Khan and Bristol’s new mayor, Marvin Rees (more palatable than his London counterpart) as being winners. ‘What about Jeremy?’ shouted a Corbynite.
After Mr Watson did his Blair stuff, another heckler popped up to yell ‘what about the Chilcot report?’ Mr Watson flattened her with a (prepared?) putdown: ‘Jeremy, I hope she got the “unity” memo.’
Listening to Mr Watson praise Blairism, you slightly wondered why, as one of Gordon Brown’s henchmen, he so long plotted to topple Tony. But lest it be thought he was going soft, his praise of Blair was followed immediately by denunciation of Margaret Thatcher.
This crafty slaloming between Left and Centre-Left was encapsulated by the single sentence in which he said: ‘Capitalism, comrades, is not the enemy.’
Some of them bridled at that, though. Mr Watson might want to employ the services of an official food taster, just to make sure no one drips some hemlock over his family-sized portion of curry-chips.
WHEN he finished, he was more gracious to Mr Corbyn than charmless Khan. He advanced slowly on the leader, his tummy throwing a vast shadow. Taking ownership, and with the tenderness of a gourmand walking to his table with a bowl piled high with trifle, he then steered Mr Corbyn centre-stage for flashbulb shots and further applause.
If something unfortunate should happened to Jezza, Mr Watson wants it to be known he was polite to the old gent.