Pmqs sketch

Does Cameron care any more? Insouciance is a more attractive quality than earnestness in a leader but Cameron is taking his demob-happiness to extremes. He dismisses every crisis with a bored eye-roll and a wave of the hand. Doctors strike? No big deal. Backbench revolt over education? Been there before. Dodgy dossier on Brexit? All forgotten by the summer. Tax evasion scandal? A scrap of signed paperwork will sort it. Corbyn attacked Tory plans to academise schools against their will. This is the same freedom-at-gunpoint policy that worked so well in Iraq and transformed a malign dictatorship into a thrusting modern democracy. Cameron believes that cattle-prodding schools into accepting autonomy

A vandal smashing a window and calling it air conditioning. A mother marrying her son and declaring it a lesson in advanced sexual morality. A shoplifter caught with a chicken up his jumper and congratulating the store detectives on their commitment to property rights. That’s how David Cameron ducked the tax-abuse row at PMQs today. He basked in hypocrisy. He wallowed in smugness. He luxuriated in panic measures and called them far-sighted statesmanship. He chose to posture as the brilliant leader of a brilliant government whose brilliant new policy is to rip down the cloaks of secrecy that protect Britain’s tax-dodge paradises overseas. And he contrasted his zeal with the

Corbyn had an open goal at PMQs. Cameron is weaker than he’s ever been. His favoured successor is toast. His party are restive and mutinous. Three months from now the retirement committee may gather around the PM with tense smiles and whetted blades. All Corbo had to do was kick straight. But asking the Labour leader to bang the ball into an undefended net is like asking a fish to sing ‘Heroes’. Up he got, looking a little bemused, like an elderly patient called unexpectedly to his hearing-aid appointment, and he set about his flat-battery attack. It hardly helped that he’d been greeted by a tinkling silence from his own

All MPs are familiar with Jeremy Corbyn. The nylon tie and the charity shop jacket give him an air of respectability, of erudition even, but the unloved haircut and the whiny accent mark him out as a toxic hazard. He’s the kind of champion grumbler who shows up at every constituency surgery with sheaves of paperwork stuffed into plastic bags. And today Jezza came stooping and shuffling into PMQs with a heap of with grievances to dump on David Cameron. The Labour leader’s activism may have a political flavour but its origins are personal. He gets his kicks by enduring defeat. Misery is his life’s mission. He opened by accusing

Jezza is one of the oldest Out campaigners in the Commons. He’s not quite the ‘Father of the Outs’ – Bill Cash claims that honour – but the Labour leader is next in line. Yet the referendum has led him to a shrewd, albeit unprincipled, decision. If your enemies are tearing each other apart, pull up a chair and enjoy the show. Hence his silence on Europe. A slow but strengthening civil war has begun within the Tory party and the vote itself will sound the death-knell for many a high-profile Conservative. So Corbo’s pleasant task is to sit back and wait for the funerals. Meanwhile he’s obliged to pick

The referendum is slowly (very slowly) breaking up Cameron’s cabinet. It’s put him in a weird mood. Yesterday he was striding about in shirt-sleeves like a bogus realtor selling flats on the moon. At PMQs today he was calmer and prepared for some rough weather. It failed to materialise. Jez We Can (Do a U-turn on Europe) didn’t want to discuss the In-Out decision in case viewers spotted that his love of Brussels is a mere summer crush dating from his election as Labour boss. Previously he was a committed Europe-nobbler. With his mentor, Tony Benn, he used to trudge along to every anti-EU meeting available. Alas, no one noticed.

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

A new face at PMQs becomes samey after a few months. Corbo reached that point some time ago and Cameron can now contain him without breaking a sweat. He’s not threatened by the Labour leader for the simple reason that Corbyn lacks any forensic guile. To prepare, mount or press home an attack is beyond his powers so he just reads out his set questions in a low verbal moan, like next door’s Hoover. Today they tussled over the scrapping of bursaries for trainee nurses. Cameron said this reform makes it easier to fill the wards with bustling sisters and swishing matrons. No, said Corbyn. It’s harder. Amazingly, some light

Cameron has a dream. And Jeremy Corbyn wants to destroy it. Our belligerent prime minister has declared war on those inner-city council estates that foster poverty, despair, unemployment, truancy, social exclusion, (and an aversion to Tory candidates). His hope is to replace these crime-ridden concrete citadels with frondy low-rise dream-homes. It sounds like Syria organised by Foxtons. But consider the result as it takes shape in the prime minister’s mind. Acre upon acre of urban dereliction transformed into mini Chipping Nortons. A sofa from Habitat in every sitting room. A sea bass in every fridge. A sundial in every garden. A low-carbon Toyota Land Cruiser on every driveway. And a future

Corybn gave his wettest ever performance at PMQs. The party leaders had different theories about the authorship of the floods. Corbyn blamed Cameron. Cameron blamed the weather. Rainfall, he explained, had wept from the heavens in such unheralded quantities that a record-breaking dip-stick had to be lowered into the bucket to assess its full volume. Corbyn wouldn’t have this. He said government scrimping was at fault. He personified the issue with his usual set of hand-picked hankie-drenchers. He’d met a nice pair from Leeds, he said, called Chris and Victoria, whose holiday had been ruined by tides of sewage inundating their pressies. This prompted mystifying giggles from Tory backbenchers. Geography

Jeremy Corbyn is like the lights in a planetarium. Whenever he goes off, stars appear. Last week the radiation came from Hilary Benn. At PMQs today it was Angela Eagle who outshone her leader. With Cameron away, George Osborne manned the despatch box but he showed not a flicker of joy or anticipation as he uttered the golden words. ‘Today I had meetings with ministerial colleagues and others…’ Beneath the tomb-stone expression was this. ‘It’s mine already – try and take it off me’. Ms Eagle was dressed for a PTA meeting in a twinkly caravanning jumper and a Primark jacket. Her no-nonsense blonde hair was cropped short at the

Jezza! What a genius. The master plan is clear at last. You spend four days plumbing new depths of political incompetence with bungled cabinet appointments, surly refusals to talk to reporters, tedious waffly platform-speeches and grumpy scowls during a service at St Pauls. And then, when your reputation can dwindle no lower, you spring forth and dazzle everyone with a political revolution. Cameron was grinning sheepishly before the Labour leader rose to the despatch box. He smirked sideways at his new opponent, through half-closed eyes, like a shy girl about to enter a forced marriage. Corbs looked relaxed and far sprucer than before. He might have been a civics teacher

‘Put that on your leaflets,’ snarled Cameron at PMQs. Inwardly he was gloating. Labour voted against Tory welfare reforms last night so the PM was able to boast that Labour is fighting the new living wage. Some say Cameron is lurching to the left with his Five Year Plans and his state-controlled pay rises. The same applies to law and order. He’s getting a pinkish tinge. Philip Davies asked him to review the regulations governing early release for serious offenders. Cameron said he’d give it a go. It’s not good enough, he seemed to imply, having murderers murdering people shortly after gaining their freedom by promising to become pillars of

At last it happened. Benn led Labour. Hilary Benn, grandson of a hereditary peer, stood up at PMQs on behalf of the dispossessed. Gravitas was his chosen register. Radicalisation was his chosen theme. His policy: more cash for cops and teacher to discourage Muslims from joining the death-cult. Let’s hope it works. The SNP’s Angus Robertson asked how Sir John Chilcot is proceeding with his slim volume of research into the Iraq war. Who knows? It’s said that Lord Lloyd Webber has already abandoned his ‘Chilcot the Musical’ project because investors couldn’t agree how many years each performance should last. His spokesman, pressed this morning for a deadline, confirmed that

Cameron expected to walk into a firestorm of mockery at PMQs following his retirement bombshell. Quitter. Lame duck. Get yer pipe-‘n’-slippers. But barely an audible jibe was flung from the Labour benches. The Tories on the other hand greeted Ed Miliband with a roar that scared the pigeons in Parliament Square. Miliband and his superwonks had conceived a brilliant plan. Well, brilliant if you’re a superwonk. All available questions would be used to amass a Great Pyramid of Betrayals out of the PM’s broken promises over five years. Pointless really. Strictly for the bubble. No hope of making ‘the Six’. And Cameron wrong-footed Miliband. Asked to promise not to hike

Was this the day Ed Miliband lost the election? Only two PMQs remain before polling day and the Labour leader used all six questions to ask David Cameron one thing: when might he ask him more questions? Nothing on policy. Nothing on convictions. Just questions about questions. He meant questions outside the House, of course. On telly. That’s the difference, according to Labour. A televised head-to-head debate is nothing like parliament. Except that PMQs is a televised head-to-head debate. To quiz the PM about quizzing the PM is hardly the tactic of a confident popular leader about to sweep to power. But Miliband had made a calculation. Previously, Cameron had

Dodge and shimmy. Duck and weave. Cameron was at it again today. Ed Miliband asked if he’d care to join him for a spot of cut and thrust on TV. One to one. He had a date, 30 April, pencilled in for the gig. Kettle crisps and a glass of merlot on the PM’s rider. Tricky. Cameron would rather knight Rolf Harris, ennoble Gary Glitter and grant Myra Hindley a posthumous pardon than grapple with his main foe on live TV. So his course was clear. Dodge without appearing to dodge. Miliband pressed the question and forced his quarry onto the defensive but Cam’s camera-phobia won’t achieve cut-through with the

The Swiss list, or swizz list, dominated PMQs. Ed Miliband was keen to paint Cameron as the beneficiary of ‘dodgy’ donors who craftily side-stepped their tax bills and funnelled the proceeds back to Tory HQ. The stink also enveloped Stephen Green, given a peerage by Cameron, who ran HSBC at a time when it helped millionaires to, let us say, ‘overlook their obligations to the Treasury’. Nine years back it was even suggested, by Bloomberg, that the bank had stooped to money laundering while Green was in charge. Nonsense, said his friends, the money wasn’t being laundered, just given a rinse and a whizz over with the iron. In the