HENRY DEEDES Corks popped in Islington salons... but Jezza fell flat
AHEAVY storm battered the Brighton coast yesterday morning. High winds and torrential rain had us all darting along the seafront for cover. Shortly after 10.30am, another squall arrived inside the conference centre, this one so forceful it scooped all of us inside and out.
Labour members, union heavies and journalists had all flocked to the nearest television set to hear the Supreme Court’s historic judgment on the Prime Minister’s prorogation of Parliament.
That soggy whiff of damp labrador lingered as drenched delegates awaited Lady Hale’s decision. I’ve not seen so many heaving bellies huddled around a screen since attending the darts at Riverside.
Lady H, a Bond baddie spider brooch pinned to her lapel, began by announcing the case was ‘justiciable’. In other words, the court had the right to rule on it.
A collective sucking of wind between the gnashers whistled through down the granite corridors. The Prime Minister was almost certainly toast.
At this point, the corners of Hale’s mouth appeared to lift into a half smile. Would it be impudent to suggest that there was an air of satisfaction to her Ladyship’s tone?
She seemed to be revelling in the big reveal, the way Miss Marple does when she’s about to finger the village squire for strangling the chambermaid.
Then came words to send Prosecco corks popping through Islington’s scented salons. The PM’s decision to suspend Parliament was ‘unlawful and thus void with no effect’.
Delegates whooped. They punched the air. They embraced as long-lost hombres. Anyone would have thought the bar had announced it was giving away free pints of IPA. Such a momentous moment might be a good time for the leader of the opposition to land a hammer blow.
But this is Jeremy Corbyn we’re talking about. So predictably he botched it.
Appearing on stage, his tie so skew-whiff it’s possible one of his aides had lassoed it over his neck, Jezza repeated to the audience the Supreme Court’s decision.
The comrades’ energy was palpable. They’d just endured a dull dog speech by shadow business minister Rebecca Long Bailey. Wee Becky, for those who’ve not sat through one of her orations, is blessed with the endearing tones of the late, great Mrs Merton – though sadly not her merriment.
With the audience dancing in his hands, Corbyn announced that the PM must now ‘consider his position’. A subdued calm briefly fell across the auditorium.
Consider his position? Not be banged up