All the King’s horses and the King’s men put aphorisms together again
With the Coronation looming this will be a week of great British tradition: the Commons was no different as MPS spent the final PMQS before the local elections trying to crowbar constituency issues into their speeches. The PM went hard on potholes. There were panto boos for “Labour-run Kirklees council” and triumphant hallooings for “Conservative-led Solihull”.
Karl Mccartney’s meandering monologue on the uncertain fate of Lincoln’s Christmas market proved too much for Speaker Hoyle, and the rest of the Chamber. “Get on with it!” someone yelled. By the end, you half expected an announcement of a record-breaking marrow grown in a marginal constituency.
The Commons veered schizophrenically from the impending majesty of the Coronation to noncompliant hand car washes. Similar levels of incongruity abounded when Sir Keir Starmer attempted to blame Tory “casino” policies for higher mortgage payments. He invoked, for the second week running, the words of George Osborne, that famed socialist economist, who is attempting to convert his public image from Nosferatu to Dr Barnardo by, er, calling for the banning of smoking and attempting to return the Elgin Marbles.
Yet the Leader of the Opposition was on to a winner here: when house prices have reached almost nursery-rhyme levels of unreality; and many old women (and men) would happily live in a shoe, housing was an open goal.
By way of defence, the PM cited his Government’s 95 per cent mortgage guarantees (what could possibly go wrong?) This proved about as convincing as a prescription of a sticking plaster and some ibuprofen as post-fall trauma treatment for Humpty Dumpty. Fortunately one of the King’s horses/men/counsels was on hand; not so much to put things together again as to provide commentary. “Every week he stands there and pretends everything is fine across the country,” snorted Sir Keir in his best “not angry just disappointed” voice, though he soon spoiled the effect with a sneering mention of the PM’S swimming pool.
Next, the pair squabbled over housebuilding targets; Sunak accused Starmer of “riding roughshod over local communities”, and promised to defend the green belt at all costs. Roars of approval from Tory backbenchers – although the Conservative party cheering the inevitable death of property-owning democracy is like a turkey pivoting to being one of those who celebrates Christmas every single day of the year.
Perhaps in a bid to obstruct Sunak’s weekly rousing finale by lobbing in an apolitical question at the end, Sir Keir veered into a tribute to the late Queen and invited his opposite number to agree. Starmer is not one of life’s gushing monarchists and he delivered these carefully scripted lines with all the enthusiasm of Oliver Cromwell presiding over an episode of Bake Off.
Undaunted, Sunak returned to potholes, and a final meaningless aphorism. “Labour talk and the Tories deliver,” he cried.
Deliver what, exactly? The financial equivalent of an envelope of ricin? A special delivery of dog waste?