To say Mr. Corbyn’s Labour party is on a downward spiral would rather overestimate the elegance of its descent.
In fact, if things keep going the way they are presently then one can only presume next week will reveal that John McDonnell is actually a 94 year old former Waffen-SS operative in disguise and Shabana Mahmood chucks cats into bins for japes. Or that John Mann goes one step further and ends up literally battering Ken Livingstone to death with a cudgel on the Daily Politics as Andrew Neil and JoCo try vainly to intervene. To paraphrase D:Ream: Things, they can only get worse.
So onto proceedings. Having witnessed such an utter shambles David Cameron decided the best plan of attack was to go the full IDF and blast his opposite number to smithereens with extreme prejudice and overwhelming force. No softly, softly today. No, Sir. Now was the time to don his smart shirt (plain blue twill as opposed to the usual modish gingham number) and hit Corbyn with everything he’s got in time for the upcoming council and mayoral elections.
Karl McCartney teed the PM up, asking him to “condemn the actions and propaganda of Hezbollah and Hamas”. Cameron naturally went straight for the jugular. “The point he makes about Hamas is important. They are a terrorist group who believe in killing Jews”, he intoned sternly, finishing by asking if his Labour counterpart would “withdraw the remark that they were his friends”. This would be the first of four times the PM would make such a request.
Corbyn would not bite, and stuck to his well-worn line that “anti-semitism has no place in our society whatsoever and we all have a duty to oppose it”. Translation: “Crisis? What crisis?”. But it was a weak get out and one that Bibi Cameronahu was not buying one bit. So again he pressed him on his now infamous remarks about his old muckers from Hamas and Hezbollah: “Withdraw that they’re your friends” Cameron boomed, with the Tory benches echoing him to shouts of “withdraw!” across the House.
At this point Corbyn played his trump (not to be confused with Trump) card. Having boasted about his impeccably right-on Chakrabarti led inquiry, he replied that he only referred to the terrorists as his friends “in order to try to promote a peace process and it was not an approval of those organisations”. This defence might perhaps have more weight if he had made the remarks in his capacity as an international diplomat or renowned scholar of the conflict, as opposed to an odd little man who spends his days cycling around Islington in a polyester shell suit. In fact, the idea that Jeremy Corbyn had any meaningful bearing on the Israel-Palestine peace process is about as laughable as the idea that Shami Chakrabarti will conduct a thorough and meaningful review into anti-semitism in Labour’s ranks.
Cameron probed once more, only for Corbyn to again refuse to denounce Hamas and Hezbollah, before shifting the attention to the Jews. The real problem, he moaned, was Zac Goldsmith “systematically smearing my friend the Member for Tooting”. Just what is it with Corbyn and calling extremists and terrorist sympathisers his friends?
He then went on to press the PM on foodbanks. At this point the previously mouthy Diane Abbot (or at least the half of her that was visible in the wide angle-camera shot) quietened down, seemingly aware that starvation may not be an issue she was best placed to pontificate on.
Such evasion meant the PM was by now glowing with anger, his face a shade of red that resides somewhere on the Dulux colour chart between “Beelzebub Rouge” and “Burst Blood Vessel Scarlet”. Holding back the temptation to scream at Jeremy Corbyn, “Jesus Christ man just admit it. You hate the Jews! Admit it you accursed swine!”, Cameron asked for the last time: “One more time. Say you withdraw the remark about Hamas and Hezbollah being your friends”. Corbyn being Corbyn ignored the request entirely and instead prattled on about the housing crisis. No dice, I’m afraid, Dave, Corbyn was no St. Peter. Four times he was asked. And four times he refused to sell out his friends. Roman Centurion, Cameron you ain’t.
With the prolonged shelling of Corbyn now over and the Labour leader still just about standing, it was time for Angus Robertson to pipe up. And pipe up he did, proceeding to spend a second week moralising on the migrant crisis in his effete Edinburgh drawl. In fact, one would assume the camp Scottish leader in the Commons was a homosexual if it wasn’t for his complete lack of sartorial elegance. This week he came bedecked in a shiny blue tonic suit, brown shoes, and gelled over hair spectacularly failing to cover his bald patch: quite a get-up. The PM was typically evasive. Although the more interesting question was just how the hyper-nationalist, bare-chested, blue painted, SNP voters that were so vocal in the Scottish Referendum feel about having their Parliamentary representative devote all of his time to the issue of “refugees”.
Finally, to end proceedings on a suitably low note, out from a particularly unfortunate rock crawled Keith Vaz. The slimy, oleaginous little toad was noticeably bedecked in a Leicester City scarf that a parliamentary aide will have been sent out to fetch two days previously (keep an eye out for “Scarf x 1” when the next parliamentary expenses are released). Desperate to bask in some of the glory bestowed upon the side, the grimy little man had a stab at humour. Referencing Gary Lineker’s pledge to present Match of the Day in his boxers should Leicester win the League, Vaz asked the PM to agree that “in politics, as in football, when you make a promise you should keep it”. In the presence of a fellow sycophant, the PM responded warmly, agreeing that Lineker hasn’t “quite answered the question” of whether he’ll do the full Hodges, before adding that such evasion was “something of course that no one ever gets away with in this House”. Corbyn smiled to himself…
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