Let’s try a thought experiment. Most of us know what prime minister’s questions is like. A weekly piece of political theatre that signifies little in the grand scheme of things. Elections are not decided on who does best at PMQs. And by now we understand the format. No one expects Rishi Sunak to give straightforward answers to Keir Starmer. Just to operate a holding operation and try to limit the damage. Getting out in more or less one piece is all RishGPT can aspire to these days. He has nothing left to say for himself. Even he knows he’s out of ideas. You can see it in his body language.
But MPs are a different breed. More willing to suspend disbelief. For some of them, PMQs still has meaning. It shapes their mood for the rest of the week. A strong performance from their party leader can energise the entire parliamentary party. A poor one … Never underestimate the capacity for denial. To rewrite failure as at least a partial success. Or just to look on the bright side. To take the positives. Which is what the Conservative backbenchers have perfected over the past year as Rish! fails. Fails again. Fails better.
Why then, you may ask, do Tory MPs still turn up for the crushing disappointment of PMQs week after week? Surely they must have had all they can take of Sunak crashing and burning. After all, repeating the same mistakes and hoping for a different result is one definition of insanity. There again, that wouldn’t stop some MPs. It may even be an explanation.
To be fair, some Tory backbenchers have long since stopped coming to PMQs. Indeed, some never bothered to turn up even when they had a leader who could go toe to toe with a Labour leader. Quite what they were doing as MPs was a mystery, as they had no interest in parliament. They were unknown even to their closest friends. But the Commons is no longer standing room only. There’s more than enough green bench to go round.
So who are these brave souls who make the journey to cheer – or not – for RishGPT? Some are there week in, week out. Disaster junkies? MPs who are hoping their loyalty does not go unnoticed and will be rewarded in Sunak’s resignation honours list? Sooner or later. Sooner, probably.
Are they attention-seekers who can’t resist the thought of appearing on TV (even in a supporting role)? Or just curious observers who want to catch a few more PMQs first hand before they lose their seats? Probably a combination of all of these. But this is their story. The untold story of PMQs. So let’s try to imagine how it must have been for them today.
The first surprise would have been to find Nadhim Zahawi in their midst. The erstwhile chancellor and party chair has turned up in the Commons only once since he was forced to resign for being economical with his tax return. The sort of thing that could happen to anyone. We never did find out why Zahawi had chosen to show his face. He bobbed up and down, but the Speaker couldn’t be bothered to grant him a question. Maybe he was just excited to be off the electronic tag.
As usual, Sunak appeared behind the Speaker’s chair just before 12 and there were a few cheers as he took his place next to the dispatch box. A few backbenchers were excited enough to wave their order papers. Maybe they had already been to the bar. Or had just overdone it on the psilocybin. Whatever gets them through the day. As ever, RishGPT didn’t acknowledge the applause. He seems to have little time for his MPs. Too busy concentrating on his own survival.
The reason for the cheers soon became clear. If the MPs didn’t cheer now, they never would, because from here it was all downhill. Starmer began by asking how a suspected terrorist could be held in a category B prison and allowed to escape. RishGPT mumbled something about how great everything was going. Rather than focusing on the one suspected terrorist who had escaped, why didn’t we celebrate the prisoners who were still behind bars? Same with the schools. Stop talking Britain down. Enjoy the buildings that are still standing.
Starmer went for the jugular. Rish! was just continuity Osborne. We needed an election. Nothing worked. Nothing got better. He was Inaction Man. You could see the heads of some Tory backbenchers going down at the nickname: this one could stick. The smarter ones wondered if there was a marketing opportunity here. A tiny plastic doll in a smart suit with trousers too short in the leg.
Inaction Man G20: RishGPT goes to Delhi to be ignored by other world leaders and achieve nothing. Inaction Man Peloton: RishGPT spends hours on a stationary bicycle going nowhere. Inaction Man Teacher: RishGPT stands in a classroom while the ceiling falls in on his head. Inaction Man Billionaire: RishGPT just happens to do nothing while his capital value doubles offshore. Inaction Man PMQs: RishGPT stands there while Starmer runs rings round him. Spoiled for choice. Just time-limited to the next election.
Sunak looked dazed. Shell-shocked. His only response was to say that Starmer had once supported Corbyn. Beyond feeble. Just like he had once supported Boris Johnson: a serial liar who had betrayed family, party and country. The Convict. But then, Rish!’s short-term memory is completely shot. He can’t even remember if he’s keeping the triple lock. Or for how long. Almost as if he wants to lose the next election. Pensioners are about the last people who might consider voting for him.
By now the Tory backbenchers were also in shock. This was even worse than they had feared. Most were silent, their denial broken. No cheers. No cries of “More”. Just a few more moments of self-contemplation. Many left early. Those who stayed couldn’t bring themselves to glance at their leader as he hurtled for the exit. Sunak couldn’t leave soon enough. He was desperate to get back to his fantasy world where everything was just perfect. Good luck with that.
Had they stayed for the urgent question, backbenchers would have been treated to a collector’s item. It’s hard to think of a ruder, dimmer, more workshy minister than Thérèse Coffey. She acts as if being asked to do her job is an outrage. Her answer to why the rivers are full of shit is that she can’t be bothered to do anything about it. Nor does she care that her department is being taken to court. But in her own way, Coffey is a piece of performance art. A one-woman metaphor for a government that’s out of time.
