Pmqs

PMQs isn’t the total walk over it once was. Jeremy Corbyn has improved, albeit from a low base, and Theresa May hasn’t yet developed the mastery of the chamber that David Cameron had. Today, Corbyn led on the whole confusion over whether or not businesses would have to list their foreign workers. But May was fairly comfortable on her old Home Office turf. Corbyn then moved to Brexit, using May’s pre-referendum warnings about leaving the single market against her. May, however, had a decent line about a second referendum, saying that Labour MPs should know that you can ask the question again and still get the answer you don’t want.

Remember how it was? Many fans of Westminster still recall with fondness the happy afternoons when the Tories used to greet Ed Miliband at PMQs with a storm of ironic contempt. Nowadays the Labour-shambles is barely worth a half-hearted jeer let alone a burst of orchestrated scoffing. When Corbyn stands up at the despatch box, with his Oxfam suit and his whopping tofu-tum, he gets something close to library-silence from the Conservatives. There’s a Chinese whisper of resentment, a few chuntering snuffles, the odd yawned harrumph. That’s all. It’s the sound of 300 well-fed hogs resettling themselves during an afternoon nap. What politics needs is the intoxicating roar of crack-troops

Bit early for a lap of honour. At PMQs Mrs May congratulated her government (i.e. herself) on fifty marvellous days in government. And she drew comparisons between her polished style and the Corbyn car-wreck. One view is that the chimpanzees’ tea-party currently posing as Her Majesty’s opposition should remain beneath the attention of Number 10. Mrs May disagrees and she used Labour’s woes as the starting point for some carefully scripted comedy. With mixed results. Delivering gags is tough. Delivering someone else’s gags is tougher. Delivering someone else’s out-of-date gags is so tough that it borders on crazy. But the PM is, understandably perhaps, tempted by the illusion of omnipotence

With Labour’s list of all-male mayoral candidates announced last week, there has been some speculation that the potential loss of Andy Burnham to Manchester and Steve Rotheram to Liverpool will spell disaster for the Commons football team. While this of course hinges on both MPs being successful in their efforts, Mr S understands that should victory beckon Corbyn will have a far more pressing matter on his hands. As well as losing the shadow Home Secretary, the Labour leader would have to go without the man who preps him for PMQs. Since Rotherham was appointed as Jeremy Corbyn’s chief aide in September he has taken on a hands-on role assisting with speech writing and — most

What we know for sure about our secretive new PM is that she uses her clothes as a bush-telegraph. What did the tom-toms tell us? Mrs May was done up like an Evesham house-wife going to dinner with her husband’s boss in about 1950. Neat hair. Navy blue jacket. White top underneath. A rope of fake pearls and just a hint of neck. Across the shires the faithful will have cheered this display of Brief Encounter elegance. She was good at the despatch box, nervous certainly, sometimes stumbling over her words. But she produced a forceful impression of competence and compassion. Hard head. Soft heart. She has ‘grip’ as they

Nice send off for Cameron at PMQs. Both leaders acquitted themselves well. Cameron was wry, witty and self-deprecating. He claimed to have ‘addressed’ a total of 5500 questions during his premiership. ‘How many I’ve answered I’ll leave to others.’ Corbs got it spot on too and showed us a relaxed, funny, generous side. He asked Cameron to thank his mum for her tip that he should smarten up and wear a suit. ‘He’s taken the advice. He’s looking absolutely splendid,’ beamed Cameron. It was only a throwaway remark but it produced a Richter-scale eruption of mirth. And Corbs offered his heartfelt thanks to Cameron for pushing through the law that

The Labour party’s in-growing toenail, Jeremy Corbyn, (not to be removed without much screaming and blood), behaved like a man on a zero-hours contract today. He skedaddled through his six questions as if dashing away to another gig at 12.30. But doing what? Perhaps auctioning off the ‘Remain’ badges he bought in June at ‘lastminute.com’. At least he’s stopped reciting bleaty letters from Momentum supporters posing as undecided voters. Instead he played the internal politics game. He welcomed the chancellor’s decision to abandon fiscal prudence and to commit Britain to bankruptcy until 2020 and beyond. Big spender Corbyn has always wanted to splash other people’s money around like a dictator’s

Rare to see a plank-walker at the helm of the ship. Today there were two. Cameron has accepted the inevitable and his demeanour at the despatch box was relaxed, amused, peaceable. Buoyant at times. Even foes like Bernard Jenkin exchanged warm words with him. And he handled Corbyn with extreme mildness until a rush of blood seized him at the end. ‘For heaven’s sake, man, go!’ he lashed out. But go where? Jezza’s impersonation of Rasputin is his best performance yet. He’s indestructible. Last weekend he was hacked to pieces by a flash-mob of tooled-up colleagues. He then suffered a thundering defeat in a no-confidence vote which merely boosted his confidence

What a strange farewell. The slickest, sparkiest and most brutal street-fighter the Tory party has produced in a generation found himself agreeing with his worst enemies today. ‘That says something,’ shouted David Cameron (who remains prime minister for the next week or so). ‘We have huge disagreements,’ he explained. And yet despite the fault-lines his Remain campaign enjoys the support of nearly the entire opposition: the Greens, Labour, the Lib Dems, the Northern Ireland parties and Cameron’s bete noire, the SNP. ‘When we all agree,’ he finger-wagged, ‘that really says something.’ Absolutely. It says they’re all deluded. Does poor Cam know he’s finished? At times he seemed to sense it.