Good old Brooks Newmark, he hath done the sketch some service.
On a question about the inner workings of the penile system and afflictions of the testicles there he was, lounging behind the questioner in his paisley-coloured dreamland. He’s certainly in touch. He definitely gets it.
Unlike – oh how very unlike – our friend who speaks for the Labour Party on these occasions.
Ed Miliband brought his finger to the fore. Long and odd, as you’d expect in an alien. It’s an open secret, isn’t it? The Labour leader is not of this world. He belongs in the basket of a little boy’s bicycle. We’re all waiting – I mean literally everyone is waiting – for the Miliband fingertip to light up and for him to croak, “Home!” Oh, the relief in his party on that joyful day.
For his weekly turn, Ed let out six fluent streams of static, six bursts of passionate telemetry. It’s a language Geiger counters understand well.
Decoded, it appears he wants us to believe that the NHS in crisis. Which it may very well be. Cameron’s complete answer consists of: 1) Labour wanted to cut its funding. And 2) The country needs to make the money before it can be spent on health.
That is the only answer necessary and one he gives every week. For all his other-worldly intelligence, Miliband hasn’t found a way round or through it.
Labour claims to be listening to the electorate. The one thing we know – polls, phone-ins and doorsteps all agree – is that Britain doesn’t want Ed Miliband as prime minister.
If Labour were actually listening they’d send him home before the election.
And they still might.
The Emily Affair won’t be the last incident of its kind, now that the narrative is established. Nadhim Zahawi, a magnificently Othello-looking MP representing Shakespeare on Avon gave a patriotic tribute to the man in the white van. Where would we be without his sceptre’d excellence. He brings me my caviar! He brings hay for my horses!
The cheering and shouting, the baying and lowing went unchallenged by the Speaker. Labour’s front bench remained above the hurly-burly in aristocratic aloofness. They were thinking: “Bought his own furniture.”
Jamie Reed from Labour popped up to say when he saw a white van his only thought was – was it his father or brother driving it. Much good humoured laughter.
If only we could see the face behind Harriet’s outer face.
This is NOT what is meant by diversity.
Mark Reckless got a late question. A sly-looking fellow sitting at the end of Labour’s front bench next to Speaker’s pet Thomas Docherty and the Welsh wet patch that is Huw Davis. He looked alone and out of place, as defectors do. I wonder if anyone actually wants to join him?
The noise was important. Sources inside the chamber say it was constant, relentless. Conversational groups chattered, outbreaks of laughter, heckling, cheering, jeering.
The Speaker has discerned the antipathy underlying the disrespect and bides his time.
Speaker Watch floats this theory and makes a prediction. Bercow will survive his current difficulties, and be reinstalled after the election. He will seek to stay on through the next parliament and half way through the following one, to supervise the five-year absence from the Commons (the building works absence). He will use the transitional confusion to try to impose a new seating system for the temporary parliament – a continental-style arrangement with everyone at their desk. Much easier for a Speaker to control.
“To reform and improve and modernise the Commons we had to destroy it.”
Ah well, MPs have only themselves to blame.