Jeremy Corbyn hasn’t changed his clothes since Christmas. He arrived at PMQs today in his dependable outfit of non-slip shoes, biscuit-coloured suit and minimum-wage tie. His white, flattened scalp and his mood of perplexed fatigue make him look like a dutiful pensioner inspecting a care-home for his beloved mum and wondering if he might check in as well, while he’s there. Today, however, mighty deeds summoned him to parliament. International monsters awaited his challenge. There were slavering dragons to tame. And famous victories to be won and celebrated. But he wasn’t up to it. As always. When Corbyn fails, it has to be said, he does so placidly and almost noiselessly, with a dogged acceptance that not-good-enough is his personal best. His point of attack was Google and its penny-pinching tax-bill. The tech giant has recently made six billion in profits and yielded only a few meagre shillings to the Treasury.
Mouse-like Mr Corbyn asked if three per cent was the correct rate for Google? Cameron was prepared.
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