A melted majority, a deflated beach ball and an atmosphere as pleasant as milk on the turn
That’s the risk, unfortunately, when you threaten to end the career of any MP who disobeys you. Before you can deselect them, the blighters have the cheek to deselect themselves.
Boris Johnson had just begun his first speech to the Commons in six weeks. “We are on the verge,” he trumpeted, “of taking back control of our trade policy, and….”
The rest of this proclamation, however, was drowned out by a burst of cheering. But the cheers were nothing to do with control of trade policy. They were prompted by something that was happening a few feet to the Prime Minister’s right.
Mr Johnson stared. Opposition MPS hooted and clapped. Without a word, a Tory had just walked across the floor of the Commons, to sit with the other side. There he was: Phillip Lee, MP for Bracknell and a former junior minister, calmly squeezing himself in beside Jo Swinson, leader of the anti-brexit Liberal Democrats.
And with that, like a cube of sugar in a cup of hot tea, the Prime Minister’s majority instantly dissolved.
What a moment. As his opponents giddily resettled, Mr Johnson mumbled something about wishing Dr Lee “all the best”, and then attempted to soldier on with his speech. It wasn’t easy. He sounded fretful and harassed. His usual bounce had deserted him. It was as if the air had been let out of a beach ball. His opponents, by contrast, were newly pumped up, and gleaming with defiance. How they howled and heckled.
“Sham!” they bawled, when he claimed to have made “progress” with the EU. “Ooooh!” they cooed sarcastically, when he raised his voice
and smacked his notes against the Dispatch Box. “Bring back Theresa,” honked an unidentified wag.
Tories sat in sullen silence. Well, not all of them. Several were on their feet, laying into their own leader. Ken Clarke accused Mr Johnson of wanting an early election “before the consequences of a no-deal Brexit become too obvious to the public”.
Philip Hammond invited Mr Johnson to publish forthwith any brilliant alternatives to the backstop he happened to have lying around. David Gauke, meanwhile, was one of four MPS to cite the excellent scoop by Peter Foster in yesterday’s Telegraph. Was it true, asked Mr Gauke, that the Government wasn’t really negotiating with the EU, and merely intended to “run down the clock”? And had the Attorney General really told Mr Johnson it was “complete fantasy” to think the EU would drop the backstop?
“I don’t comment on leaks,” murmured Mr Johnson, to groans of Opposition scorn. “Even in pages as hallowed as the ones described….”
The PM was absent for the evening’s main event: an emergency debate on rebel plans to avert a no-deal Brexit. Had he been present, he’d have witnessed his own MPS ripping into each other, and him, with blistering disdain. Mr Clarke scoffed at Jacob Rees-mogg. Mr Rees-mogg denounced Sir Oliver Letwin. Dominic Grieve denounced Mr Rees-mogg for denouncing Sir Oliver. Everywhere you looked, Tory was turning on Tory.
The mood was as sour as old milk. Months-old milk.
It’s almost seven years, now, since David Cameron decided that an EU referendum would reunite the Conservative party. I wouldn’t want to speak too soon, but just at the moment, it doesn’t seem to be going entirely to plan.
Finally, MPS took a brief break from savaging each other in order to vote.
The result came at 10. A walloping defeat for the Prime Minister. Mr Johnson sprang to his feet.
“I don’t want an election,” he snapped. “But if MPS vote to compel another pointless delay, that will be the only way to resolve this!”
He was livid. His face had turned bright pink. He looked like an angry marshmallow.
Up leapt Jeremy Corbyn. He was livid too. He fizzed and snarled. Brexiters roared. Their opponents roared back. The din was deafening. A continuous blast of incoherent bellowing rage. Up in the gallery, it was now impossible to make out a single word from any of them.
Frankly, after what we’d heard earlier in the day, it made quite a nice change.