Wednesday, November 04, 2015

#pmqsketch Chancellor George and the rictus grin.

There is no better warm up act to Prime Ministers Questions than the monthly half hour devoted to matters north of the border.
It has never been more fun than since the Tory Party had it’s representation in Scotland reduced to just one MP.

Every four weeks he - name irrelevant -  is dressed up as Secretary of State and thrown to the Scottish National Party as a
For non-Scots what then follows can often sound like multiple invitations to a punch up - when only a few actually are.

But being present at the ringside is enough to get the rest of the Commons in the mood for the main event.
So it was today as Gentleman Dave - photo shopped to a poppy - entered to roars of support from his own side.

It is an accepted political axiom that volume increases as information decreases; Everyone knew the PM was in the odure again.
And so it proved as Jeremy Corbyn squared off for what was to follow.

Sadly it is at this stage in the story when the about-to-be overworked cliches about fighting have to be abandoned.
Jeremy only practices New Politics and in NP there are no fights, no insults and no volume.

This is obviously already being practiced on the Labour side since the arrival of their new leader is marked by almost total silence.

But NP has also caused total confusion on the Tory benches where the usual suspects don’t know when to bray or not to bray.
Never more so than today when Jeremy returned to the scene of last week’s triumph with yet another question about tax credits.

Now that even the dumbest Tory MP knows that Chancellor George has cocked-up, the sound set new decibel records.
As the Labour leader fixed them with his NP eye, Dave tried a diversion.

Jeremy had packed his team with marxists, communists and every other ist, he said.
As Dave’s back benchers went noisily berserk at the stimulus words, Tom Watson, slumped next to his leader, looked aggrieved at being excluded.

But Jeremy, charged with dabbling in an ist or two himself over the years, ignored both the jibe and the around sound.
Instead he stuck to his task and mentioned threaded tax credits again.

By now Dave, out of steam, and apparently out of insults, was floundering.
Wait three weeks, was his almost plea, until George has time to think up and issue tax credits Plan B.

Tory back benchers, fearful of having to wait until hell freezes over, howled their appreciation.

George, who’d had a rictus grin photo shopped to his face, used it.