The new Chief Whip has vast hands that look like they could garotte a hippo: HENRY DEEDES on the first outing of Boris Johnson’s reshuffled entourage
After weeks of partygate pyrotechnics, PMQs was back to being a snoozeathon yesterday.
Often happens this way when recess is upon us. All the fire, all the fizzle suddenly dissipates.
Mind you, after the unpleasantness of recent weeks, a dull session was probably just what the doctor ordered.
Highlights? Well, there were a few. Sir Keir Starmer delivered a few high kicks on Covid fraud which seemed aimed at Chancellor Rishi Sunak’s groin more than the PM’s.
There was a call for Boris to resign. Again.
But a Labour MP this time, not Tory. Plus there was a half decent ding dong between the Speaker and Business Secretary Kwasi Kwarteng. We’ll get to that in a mo.
After weeks of partygate pyrotechnics, PMQs was back to being a snoozeathon yesterday, writes HENRY DEEDES
Oh, and Boris announced an end to all Covid restrictions at the end of this month. Hurrah! Don’t tell the Health Secretary or his departmental drongos, but most of us ditched them long ago.
By far the most interesting sport was sizing up how Tuesday’s minor reshuffle had affected the power dynamics on the Government front bench.
A rather piddling detail to most ordinary people, but here in the political hot house who sits where and next to whom counts for everything. Making his first outing as the PM’s chief of staff was Steve Barclay.
Watching Mr Barclay yesterday, it appears part of his brief is to act as the Prime Minister’s personal secret service agent.
He entered the chamber several yards ahead of Boris and did a little swivel, scanning the chamber as though performing a recce.
Is it his role to rugby tackle the boss to the ground whenever he’s about to put a foot in it? Heck of a tough assignment if so.
He positioned himself directly next to the PM, his Match of the Day pundit thighs splayed wide to perform a protective barrier.
Even Rishi was made to keep his distance. Lootenant Barclay must have revoked his security clearance.
To the PM’s right sat his new chief whip, Chris Heaton-Harris.
To the PM’s right sat his new chief whip, Chris Heaton-Harris. ‘Who he?’ you ask. I know, a new one on me too. Former MEP. Very big on Brexit
‘Who he?’ you ask. I know, a new one on me too. Former MEP. Very big on Brexit.
He has ghoulish features and vast hands which look capable of garotting a hippopotamus. Just the man to restore discipline to the backbenches.
Shunted from was his usual place within whispering distance of the PM was newly ousted Leader of the House, Jacob Rees-Mogg.
Alas, poor Jacob. He was now squished at the opposite end alongside the other Cabinet dregs.
Occasionally, Mogg would remove his spectacles for a quick spit and polish and squint forlornly down at his treasured former berth.
An out-of-favour courtier forced to sit below the salt with the serfs.
It was down in this lonely corner that Mr Kwarteng found himself in hot water. He was heckling Starmer over his Covid fraud probings. ‘Rubbish!’ he yelled ‘Rubbish!’
As I have noted before, Kwarteng’s voice is never going to be suited to a barber shop’s quartet. It’s louder than all the Guns of Navarone combined.
It’s a problem that has long blighted Kwasi’s career. If he just mutters something in the tea rooms, it can be heard far away in the whips’ office.
Eventually, Sir Lindsay snapped. ‘If you want to carry on, carry on outside: I am not having this perpetual noise coming from the front bench,’ he said.
‘Secretaries of State should know better. I expect better. I certainly do not need to put up with it any more.’
Kwasi swiftly buttoned it, though with a look of amused mischief. Like the PM, rollockings simply wash over him.
As for Boris, well the best that can be said is that he remains astonishingly chirpy.
When the session finished, he was off on his usual victory lap toward the exit, shaking fist defiantly and hugging back-benchers promising them all goodness knows what.
Bringing up the rear was Barclay, struggling to keep the glad-handers at bay. Like I said, a tough assignment. I give him two months, tops.
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