Ninety-eight minutes it lasted. So said the kindly nurse who brought me out of a coma after Sir Keir Starmer‘s liaison committee hearing. But while Sir Keir was droning away, time might as well have stood still. Westminster’s pigeons halted mid-air. The tidal Thames became viscous. Big Ben’s bongs became bent out of shape.
Sir Keir does that to you. He is the human equivalent of foxglove, able to slow pulses to perilous levels. They should paint the skull and crossbones on his A4 folders. Pay his aides danger money.
The meeting was chaired by Dame Meg Hillier (Lab, Hackney S), in one of her floral tents. The SAS should consult Dame Meg next time they need to hide men in a herbaceous border.
To the MPs’ questions Sir Keir replied, mechanically, ‘We are keeping it under review’. At other times he spoke about ‘the legal framework’. What about the future of artificial intelligence, the chemical industry, women’s rights? He was keeping such matters ‘under review’. Sometimes, with an extra twist of ennui: ‘We are working at pace.’ There was even one ‘action plan’. The words seeped out of him at glacial speed.
Things were on his desk. Meetings would be held. Work was ‘well advanced’ and Sir Keir himself was ‘utterly focused’. That drew an enormous yawn from one reporter. ‘I’m tempted to say I’ll write to you,’ burbled Sir Keir before realising he had already promised letters on many other matters.
Behind him two civil servants smiled sadly at the thought of this extra work. One of them was wearing thick yellow socks. In the stifling heat, all I could think about was how his feet must whiff.
While Sir Keir was droning away, time might as well have stood still. Westminster’s pigeons halted mid-air. The tidal Thames became viscous, writes Quentin Letts
Although the central heating had gone mad, Sir Keir kept his jacket on throughout. He began by talking about the attack on Jewish ambulances in Golders Green. For a few seconds he did sound convincingly revolted by what had occurred, but soon the nasality reasserted itself and he was on to his ‘social cohesion strategy’.
Here was our head of government at a time of intense flux. Was he energised? Did he produce stirring phrases to reassure the public? No. A few poor devils in the public seats wore the lifeless stares of sardines on a Morrisons fish counter. An ear-phoned sound engineer ground his jaw and thrashed, fighting to concentrate. Liam Byrne (Lab, Hodge Hill) narrowed his heavy eyes. How he stayed alert, I cannot say. Liam Byrne is a hero.
Jamie Stone (Lib Dem, Caithness) sought to galvanise Sir Keir by arguing that offshore oil and gas were a precious asset to be extracted. Sir Keir, in the manner of a juke box, produced the same old tune he always does when those buttons are pressed.
‘Oil and gas will be part of the mix for many years to come….’ I have heard him say this 100 times. Even now, with the Gulf on fire, with energy so crucial, there was no difference in the delivery.
The one brief moment things became jumpy was when Sir Bernard Jenkin (Con, Harwich & N Essex) prodded the PM about his apparent lack of urgency on defence spending. Sir Keir snapped at him about the last government. A flash of real indignation.
‘Why not get on with it?’ bellowed Sir Bernard. ‘This is an emergency now!’ Sir Keir didn’t like it. But soon he was back to saying he was ‘engaged in the process’ and ‘working on finalising the Defence Investment Plan’. Zzzzzz.
After those 98 minutes my senses were numbed. Post-operative. When astronauts return from long space missions they have to be helped to walk. After drifting about in the nothingness of Sir Keir’s universe, one understands that condition. If a heavy-water factory in Norway could only distil and vaporise the essence of Starmer, we could drop it on Tehran and bring instant paralysis to the ayatollahs’ regime.
Do you think it was exposure to Sir Keir that sent Trump mad?
