It was like the last night of the Proms at PMQs. Miliband stood up to hearty roars—Tory roars—that seemed to go on for minutes. This was the longest and most humiliating ovation of his life. But his throat had been hit by a lurgy and his voice was rasping like a misfiring chainsaw. This impairment made him a less tasty target. It took the fun out of the fight.
Still, Cameron had a pop. ‘If he gets a doctor’s appointment we do hope he doesn’t forget it.’
Miliband flashed back. ‘He noticed that I lost a couple of paragraphs in my speech. Since we last met he’s lost a couple of Members of Parliament.’
He brought up Lord Freud’s quote, about the disabled being unworthy of decent wages, but his main target was Tory moral turpitude. He woofed and snarled through a list of Conservative atrocities and then coughed out a final sound-bite.
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