Collywobbling for Keir. One hour after PMQs, Labour MPs abandoned lunch and herded back to the Commons for a ‘personal statement’ from Angela Rayner, property dealer and ex-deputy PM. First appearance since her tax scandal downfall.
Slimmer, luxuriantly groomed, her long face luminous, she delivered a speech of artfully undimmed ambition.
Here was a naked (yet innocent!) assertion of intent. Labour’s bedraggled infantry thought: ‘Oh, if only she were our leader – she’s SO much better than Starmer.’
The nasal knight had been before them earlier. He had not thrilled the throng.
Personal statements are not compulsory for ministers who have come a cropper. They tend to be used to attack a premier (G Howe, N Lamont, R Cook, C Short) or to grovel for forgiveness.
Mrs Rayner’s took the art form to a new place. This was a job application. The vacancy in question was Prime Minister.
Our tragic starlet had rehearsed her part. Imagine Judi Dench delivering Portia’s plea for mercy. This audition piece was expertly composed. One detected the hand of a professional.
One hour after PMQs, Labour MPs abandoned lunch and herded back to the Commons for a ‘personal statement’ from Angela Rayner, property dealer and ex-deputy PM
Her speech contained just enough self-flagellation (‘when you make a mistake you pay for it’) and a coded attack on Starmerite constipation. There was some waving of the onion, with gulped-back tears about Grenfell Tower.
Disabled children were mentioned. And there was a defiant swirling of socialism. Also an echo of Gordon Brown’s old slogan about Labour being ‘best at its boldest’. We all knew what Gordon was up to when he threw that gauntlet at Tony Blair’s feet in 2003. We all knew what Big Ange was up to now.
Her soliloquy had, naturally, a disavowal of self-interest. Personal advancement could not be further from her thoughts.
‘The trade union movement taught me that it’s not about yourself, it’s about us. It’s about who we’re here for.’ With which she twisted her head rightwards, leftwards, as guileless as Little Weed between the flower pots.
Labour MPs luxuriated under the warmth of her altruistic gaze. She had come to serve the jobless, the neglected and the underprivileged.
Among Labour MPs, that is. She was here to revive hope in the breasts of these parliamentary drongos not yet given a promotion by the Starmer regime.
Sir Keir Starmer was absent but David Lammy was on the front bench, face pulled into an expression of noble pity. Mrs Rayner congratulated him on nabbing her old job
Read More
QUENTIN LETTS: Brother Jenrick whacked Prince Andrew then proposed a burka ban
These supplicants crouched before her: MPs dumped in the recent reshuffle; those left on the shelf; those not yet, to their mystification, given ministerial office – Justin Madders, Navendu Mishra, Sarah Owen, that dozy chimp Jim McMahon, Emma Lewell, former used-car salesman Peregrine Half-Moon, crumpled Tulip Siddiq, Sarah Russell, manky Paul Foster and James Frith (it was, he had decided, not quite the occasion for his MCC tie).
Sir Keir Starmer was absent but David Lammy was on the front bench, face pulled into an expression of noble pity. Mrs Rayner congratulated him on nabbing her old job.
She offered her loyalty. Mr Lammy made a gracious show of accepting it. Such courtly deceptions.
Housing minister Matthew Pennycook, once Ms Rayner’s departmental sidekick, listened from the awkward-squad bench. A less obvious ally was Imogen Walker, a Whip, at the end of the Treasury bench.
She is married to Morgan McSweeney. An expression of stone. One of Sir Keir’s new parliamentary aides hovered on a single buttock at the far end of the House.
Ms Rayner invoked the suffering of her family. She proclaimed the innocence of her intentions. ‘An honestly made mistake.’ The Grenfell stuff was preceded by an oratorical gear-change as smooth as the silkiest double-de-clutch at Prescott Hill Climb.
‘I intend to continue!’ averred the Boadicea of benefits. Another Whip, Deirdre Costigan, twitchily bit her lip under a hairdo newly dyed green and purple.
She is one of those who has prospered under Starmer. But might she soon have to recalibrate? How confusing politics is. Just as your greasing has got you somewhere, you have to start all over again.
The speech ended. Acolytes rushed to touch Ms Rayner’s sleeve. A flurry of ardent attendants for a dangerously restored queen over the water.
